It lasted only long enough for him to realize he wanted the moment to play out forever, then Hadley quirked one eyebrow, shrugged, and squatted down among the cascade of books at her feet. “I better clean this up before it spontaneously combusts.”
“Exactly,” he said.
She shook her head. “You can’t be serious.”
He didn’t understand. “I guess I’ve turned into a serious guy,” he said, trying not to hear her annoyed sigh.
Fletcher knelt beside her and began returning books to a semblance of order, but he realized within seconds that he had no idea what that order might be. In his hands he held a dog-training manual, a science fiction novel from the sixties about space travel, and a brief history of bow ties in western Europe. His knee partly obscured a title that suggested ways to win any man, and one about beekeeping. A tattered copy of a romance novel with a shirtless fireman, complete with helmet in hand, made him blush.
Hadley said nothing as she created orderly piles, but he could see her beginning to giggle. She powered past it, though, breathing slowly and sliding one book between others, organizing them into a system that Fletcher could only guess at.
He wanted to do something helpful, but he had no idea what method he was supposed to use. Shelve by author? Subject? Level of disrepair?
“What section are we in?” he ventured.
Hadley met his eye for a brief moment before answering, “Yellow.”
Obviously. The answer was so completely his old Hadley that Fletcher laughed. “Have lunch with me?” he surprised himself by asking.
Her eyebrows flew up, but instead of looking offended, she looked surprised. “I can’t actually think of a reason not to,” she said, and her smile softened her words into a sweeter acceptance than he might have expected.
Chapter 6
Hadley told herself that the hardest part was now over. Fletcher had seen the shop. He’d reacted exactly as she’d expected him to. He’d been condescending, patronizing, and belittling. He’d treated her like a child, and she’d survived.
Obviously, she’d been right all along. She was fine without him. Better than fine.
No matter what her traitorous body had been trying to tell her by being drawn to him, it simply didn’t matter. They’d been finished for years, and they could and would and certainly should stay finished. She was glad this part was over, and now she looked forward to starting over, to being Fletcher’s friend.
As long as he never came back to her shop.
Or told her how to run it.
Hadley smothered the smile that kept trying to surface as she stacked the remaining yellow books back on the shelf and attempted not to notice that Fletcher was watching her. She felt unreasonably proud that she had squashed down the laugh that had tried to explode from her. It showed she was in control of something.
She wedged a fat fantasy novel, complete with swords and dwarfs on the cover, into the remaining space on the shelf and brushed her hands down her skirt.
Pitching her voice so it wouldn’t come out squeaky, she turned to face Fletcher. “Done. Lunch?” She hoped he read the appropriate distance in her friendly tone. Or at least that he didn’t hear how much breath accompanied her words. Come on, she thought. Pull it together.
She led him around a half-wall and back toward the break room, in which she never took breaks, but that title had a better ring to it than the tape-books-back-together room.
“Let me grab my purse,” she said, and stepped through the door. Closing it behind her, she leaned against the door and shut her eyes, allowing herself to notice the blood rushing through her entire body. She could feel her pulse in her neck and wrists and the backs of her knees. Fletcher’s presence, even when he was acting superior and annoyingly heroic, still made her heartbeat quicken.
She willed her body to knock it off already.
With her eyes closed, she could picture Fletcher’s face, his broad, defined shoulders, those hands that used to hold her so gently. An image she’d conjured so many times over the years…
When she felt a smile creeping across her face, she opened her eyes and shook her head to clear it. “Fantasy Fletcher not necessary,” she reminded herself in an undertone. “Real thing, right outside the door.”
Pulling her purse off the hook on the wall, she reminded herself that he’d dumped her. That she resented him. That it didn’t matter how tall and broad and chiseled he was, he was still the same guy. The same guy that could walk into her shop and point out everything he didn’t like, everything of which he didn’t approve. The same guy who could sound so patronizing with his talk about substandard wiring. The same sweet, attentive, tender guy… Stop it, she told herself. He broke your heart. You were all wrong for each other then, and you’re all wrong for each other now. This is only lunch.
She checked herself in the mirror on the wall. Her overpriced, non-stop lipstick was holding up as advertised. Even right on her front tooth. Great. How long had that been there? She scrubbed at the spot with her finger, glanced at her crazy pile of hair, and shrugged.
She did adore the flowy, vintage blouse she wore, paired with a charcoal pencil skirt. Discovering that she loved to dress to match the shop had been a surprise—a little bit of old, a little bit of new, a little bit of something surprising. Faith told her she was a brand. She could get behind that.
When she reemerged from the break room, Fletcher was standing in profile, head bent over a book in his hands. He was smiling at whatever he was reading, his lips slightly parted. Hadley, looking at his smile, remembered how he’d looked in his braces when they’d first met, and how different it had felt to kiss him the day those braces came off.
Her hands were sweating. “Stop being so shallow,” she whispered to herself.
Not hearing her, Fletcher kept reading, completely unaware that she was reliving the glory days a few feet away. She stepped over to him and pulled the book out of his hands. “No more free samples,” she said.
He had to know she was kidding, since every patron of the shop was currently standing in front of a shelf or sitting in a chair, nose in a book. He didn’t argue, and the leftovers of his smile still crinkled his eyes.
“Food.” She turned and strode toward the door, certain that he would keep up.
When they passed the front desk, she called out to Faith. “Grabbing lunch. I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Turkey with lettuce and tomato on wheat, please,” Faith called back.
Hadley waved her hand to show she’d heard, and the cowbell clanked as Fletcher reached around her to hold the door as she walked through.
She did not allow herself to feel the shudder that ran across her shoulders where his hand almost touched. “What are you hungry for?” she asked him as they walked down the sidewalk.
“You know me,” he said. “I’m always up for anything.”
She shook her head. “Once I knew you, but that was a long time ago.” She sneaked a look at him. It was difficult to be subtle about looking up at him while they walked side by side. As far as she could tell, he wasn’t offended by her statement. “Pick something.”
“Is there a good noodle place around here?” he asked.
She wrinkled up her nose. “Noodles? Like spaghetti?”
He laughed. “Noodles like pho?”
Really? “Haven’t you been living in some shack on the side of a mountain for the last five years? How did you develop a palate for Vietnamese food?”
“First of all,” Fletcher said, “your use of the word ‘shack’ offends me.” His smile and his tone suggested otherwise. “And secondly, yes. I’ve been living in a shack on the side of a mountain for the last five years. One of the guys liked to cook.” He shrugged as if the connection were obvious.
“Huh. Well, I am quite sure there is not a noodle place within walking distance. The Bamboo Hut is still dishing up their frightening blend of Chinese and Chinese-ish foods. They sell things made of noodles, I’m pretty sure.” She was bai
ting him, and she was certain he knew it.
“Pass,” he said. “After the all-night graduation party, I made a solemn vow never to eat at The Bamboo Hut again, and I am a man who honors solemn vows.”
She nodded. “Particularly when your vow is directly, painfully related to gastric distress,” she said.
He made a gesture almost like a bow. “Mine or someone else’s,” he conceded.
Wow, she had missed this. Sharing memories, simple flirting, not trying to make any impressions. And he was being so…nice to her. When he wasn’t insulting her life’s work.
He had always been nice to her, she reminded herself, but lately the men she met were far too concerned with, well, other things to spend any time being nice.
She pointed to Griddles. “I recall that you enjoy a burger on occasion.”
“Yeah, that’s true. And I’ve gotten something delivered to the station from nearly every burger place in town in the last two weeks, but I haven’t eaten here.”
They stepped inside and were greeted by the hostess who asked if they’d like a table or a booth.
“Booth,” they answered together.
Hadley had sudden and strong memories of squeezing into the same side of a booth close enough that several more people could have sat beside them. When they were dating, they couldn’t ever seem to be close enough together.
The hostess grabbed two huge laminated menus and directed them with her head. They followed, Hadley trying to forget what it felt like to sit with Fletcher’s entire leg pressed into the side of hers.
“This okay?” the hostess asked. Hadley nodded and slid into one side of the booth while Fletcher slid into the other. Was he also thinking of all the times they’d squeezed in together?
He looked at her with his entirely-too-sexy half smile, and she was afraid that if he mentioned sharing a booth, she’d leap over the table and into his lap. But instead, he asked, “How are their fries?”
Safety.
There was always safety in deep-fried potato products. Absolutely nothing sexy about fries.
“I mean, can they be anything other than good?” she asked.
Fletcher shrugged, and said, “You know me.” He shook his head. “Correction, you knew me, and you may remember that I never met a potato I didn’t like.”
“I do seem to recall that about you.” Hadley felt her body language (fist under chin, gazing across the table, eyes glazed, practically drooling) might be sending the wrong message, so she sat up straight and read her menu. All the sandwiches had clever names, which she appreciated as much for the inherent comedy of eating a sandwich with a name as for the necessity of giving the menu all her attention.
“Hi,” a voice sang. “I’m Jace, and I’ll be helping y’all out today.” Hadley looked up to see a young guy with such a strong Jonathan Van Ness vibe that she grinned all over her face. For half a second, she worried how Fletcher would respond, but he smiled, too.
Placing his hands on either side of his giant menu, Fletcher said, “Hi, Jace. I have a question. If you were choosing between California Dreaming and the Never as Neutral as Switzerland, where would you lean?”
After watching his reaction for a few seconds, Hadley decided that given any choice about anything at all, Jace would lean directly into Fletcher, but he maintained neutral posture and said, “I’m not a big bacon fan, so Switzerland gets my vote. The truffle oil we cook the mushrooms in is like liquid heaven.” He gestured in front of himself like he was having a spiritual experience. “But I will tell you that a lot of people love the spicy guacamole on the California.”
Hadley cut in. “Yeah, he’s out.” She pointed an accusatory finger across the booth. “Not a guacamole lover, this one.”
Fletcher shook his head, ignoring Hadley and nodding at Jace. “You had me at liquid heaven,” he said. “I’d like the Switzerland and,” he said, making a gesture roughly the size and shape of a basketball, “a little order of fries.”
Jace laughed. He imitated the gesture. “Just a little order?”
Fletcher beckoned Jace a little closer and said in an undertone, “Just bring me all the fries, man. Help a brother out.”
“Gotcha,” Jace said with a wink that didn’t faze Fletcher at all.
Hadley couldn’t help it. She was impressed. Not because Fletcher could eat like a teenager and still look like he looked, but because he was being so cool with the waiter. Back in high school, Fletcher’s group of friends had not exactly been famous for opening their arms to guys like Jace.
He’d grown up. He’d changed. Something to think about.
“All right, gorgeous,” Jace said to Hadley. “What am I bringing you?”
She did not read anything into his use of “gorgeous” other than he was working for his tip. “You sold me on the guacamole. Bring me a California Dreaming, please.”
“And to drink?”
Hadley and Fletcher both answered, “Water, please.”
Jace collected their menus and said, “I’ll get those started right away for you.”
Hadley found herself staring across the table again and picked up a napkin-wrapped set of silverware, so she’d have something other than Fletcher’s face to look at.
“So, the bookstore,” Fletcher prompted.
Immediately Hadley felt defensive. Was he going to continue his list of reasons her shop was a deathtrap? Because she had all the ammunition she would ever need to throw back at him. Nothing bad had happened yet. People loved paper. Books made us happy. Upcycling was good for the planet. Retro was having a moment.
But she was tired of fighting that battle. Instead of launching into an angry tirade against him, she sighed and asked, “What about it?”
Jace brought them tall glasses of water and stepped away without saying anything.
“What’s your plan for making it safe?”
She shook her head. “This is not lunch with an old friend. This is an inquisition.”
He held out a hand to stop her. “Not at all. I just don’t want to see your dreams go up in smoke.”
“Fireman humor?” She took a drink from her glass. “I guess I should have expected that.”
“Think of it as a professional courtesy.”
“I’ll let you know if I require your professional help.” Why did everyone assume she couldn’t do this? Why couldn’t someone be on her side? “Can we talk about something else?” Tears pricked at her eyes, and she forced herself to look at the funky lamp hanging over the table until she regained control.
Luckily, at that moment, Jace sashayed over and set a gigantic basket of fries between them.
Fletcher put the basket directly in the center of the table.
“Burgers will be ready in a minute, but I didn’t want anyone perishing from hunger,” Jace said. He placed a tray with three bowls of dipping sauce next to the fries. “Garlic aioli,” he said, pointing to each one in turn, “spicy ketchup, and lemon-dill. See how that grabs you.”
Fletcher picked up two fries at once, and Hadley suddenly remembered that was how he’d always done it. Like one was just not going to suffice. He dragged the fries through one of the dips and shoved them into his mouth, his expression blooming into utter delight.
She could watch this all day.
When he’d chewed and swallowed, he picked up another pair of fries and dipped. This time he leaned across the table and said, “Should we talk about fries? You have to try this.”
He held the fries in front of her mouth, and when she didn’t immediately open and snatch them, he used his other hand to gently touch the space between her lower lip and her chin. Her mouth opened, whether in reflex or shock, and put the hot, delicious fries in her mouth.
Hadley reminded herself to reconsider that “nothing sexy about fries” thought she’d had earlier.
She closed her eyes and breathed it all in. Yes, the food was delicious. Very. But so was his touch.
When she spoke, her voice came out more air than volume. “That
was amazing,” she said, then pointed to the fries just in case he’d misunderstood. Or understood too well.
He kept eating. “Help yourself,” he said between bites. But, somehow, she preferred to keep the memory of the food intimately attached to the memory of his touch.
She knew that was a therapy-worthy thought, and she questioned herself while she watched him devour the fries. Why had that small touch of a single finger below her mouth sent shivers up and down her entire body? Why did she feel seventeen again?
I mean, she thought, it’s not like nobody ever touches me. People touched her. They did. She had dates. She went out.
She was justifying her dating life to herself, and she didn’t have to. She shook it off and returned to the conversation they’d been having about her shop before…the fries came.
“If I wanted to tell you some things about the shop but I didn’t want you to tell me why it’s dumb or dangerous or a bad investment, could you act like a normal friend and just listen to me?” she asked.
Fletcher said, “A normal friend that wouldn’t tell you things you need to hear?”
She sighed. “Or a normal friend who assumes that I could have heard them before?”
He shrugged and shoved a few more fries into his mouth.
“When I decided to open the bookshop, I knew I wanted it to feel like somebody’s grandma’s attic: full of history and memories and mysteries.”
He nodded and watched her without stopping the continuous and frankly fascinating movement of hand from basket to mouth.
Hadley cleared her throat in an effort to clear her head. “So, I scouted out garage sales and flea markets and Craigslist for decorations and furniture and shelves.”
He smiled around a bite, and she forgot what she was talking about. All she could see was his smile, his attention all on her.
Oh. Bookstore. Right.
“Fun fact: Did you know that you can buy books by the pound?” she asked. “They come delivered on pallets.”
Always You: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (ABCs of Love Collection Books 5-8) Page 23
