Page 31 of Waiting for Tuesday

I knew better than to get involved with someone I worked with, but this was worse; he was under my employment.

I wasn’t positive, but I was pretty sure I could be charged with sexual harassment if this continued. The thought amused me. Me, the nerdy soap maker with too much hair, harassing the hot construction worker who could make a living doing photo shoots for calendars. I grinned and set the double boiler to the top of the range, and then began measuring ingredients for lip balm.

By the end of the day, I’d replenished my stock of Cream In My Coffee, Kiss You All Over, and Lemonade Girl. It felt good getting some products on the shelves, and in spite of my sore throat, I wasn’t feeling half bad once I got into it.

When I placed the full boxes of product on the shelves, I noticed for the first time the evidence of my temper. Little nicks in the maple wood from where I’d slammed it on the counter last night. My stomach tightened, as visions of John’s arms wrapped around my waist entered my thoughts. He’d left hours earlier, so why had he come back that night? I looked over my shoulder in the direction of the front room. He’d stayed up all night, drenched on top of the roof—for me. Aside from Becky, I wasn’t sure if anyone had gone to such trouble for me before. Ever.

Chapter FOURTEEN

Tuesday

* * *

The whole nextweek was uneventful. I worked in back, catching up on my orders and replenishing product, while John and his crew made good progress on the store. But when I came to work the following Monday, John was sitting on the tailgate of his truck in the parking lot. Alone.

I’d never seen him just sitting there before, and my eyes immediately scanned the front of the shop, looking for something wrong. But everything looked normal. Better than normal. The shop was starting to take shape. The siding, which had been splintered and broken only weeks before, was now sanded, painted a crisp white, and framing a set of windows where I could see Eddie in the back room prepping the walls for paint. I pulled into my habitual spot by the dumpsters, shifted to park, and looked over at John.

He smiled at me. That adorable grin that was getting harder and harder to resist. He pushed off the side of his truck and walked toward me, setting at least a dozen butterflies loose in my stomach. He was wearing his usual jeans and t-shirt; the jeans cut low, the t-shirt tight enough to show off his broad chest. And his face. His face was clean-shaven and wore a smile as sweet as a child. But he didn’t stop at my window as I’d expected; he walked around the side of my truck, opened the passenger door, and lifted the box of donuts from the seat to climb in beside me.

I didn’t move, just looked at him then back to the shop. “What are you doing? What happened?”

He took a donut from the box and took a bite. “We’re going to pick out flooring.”

I was confused, and it took me a minute to understand. The way he said it seemed so intimate, not like an employee to an employer, but something more. Something closer. “I thought we already did that?”

He shrugged and glanced out the window. “I have an idea, but I thought you’d like to pick it out in person.”

I swallowed. Mostly because I really wanted to lick the bits of sugar from his bottom lip. I couldn’t do that. No matter how tempting it was. I shook my head to clear it and turned to look at the front of the store. “Why aren’t we taking your truck?”

My eyes shifted to his brand new F150—one I was sure had air conditioning that didn’t require rolling down the window.

“Eddie needs to go to the dump later.”

My brows furrowed, but I nodded anyway. This was a bad idea. I could feel it all the way to my toes, but how could I explain the reason? “Put your seatbelt on,” I said, then I shifted to reverse, pretending not to notice him watching me as I pulled out of the parking lot.

* * *

He directedme to the freeway a couple miles away, programed the address into my phone, but after that, we didn’t speak. This was the first I’d been alone with him since the storm, and I wasn’t sure what to say. Every time he’d walked through the back room this week, my heart would constrict uncomfortably. And now, sitting so close, it was doing it again. But worse.

“Are you sure you don’t want one?” he asked, holding a glazed donut under my nose.

It was the third time he’d offered, and I shook my head. “No thanks.” I turned my gaze back to the road.

He braced his back against the upholstery and turned to stare at me. “Now that I think about it, you bring these in every morning, yet I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat one.”

“So?” I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, wondering where he was going with this.

“Why do you do it? Why go to the trouble?” He wasn’t laughing now; he wasn’t smiling either. He was looking at me dead serious. As if this were a mystery he was determined to figure out.

I shifted in my seat, feeling slightly uncomfortable. “Bribery.” I smiled a little. “I figure if I treat you guys well enough, you’ll work harder.”

His brows furrowed. “That’s what you’repayingus for.”

I grabbed one of my pigtails and began twisting it with my figures. He looked offended, and that’s not what I meant to do at all. “I know.”

He looked up at the ceiling then back at me again. “There’s only one thing we can do to make this right.” He paused. “You’re going to have to eat one.”

I shook my head, not understanding his meaning, but then he held it up to my mouth, and I started to laugh. “How does that make any sense?”

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