Page 10 of Once Upon A Small Town Secret
Paige looks at me like she’s considering the situation and whether she can trust me before committing to an answer.
I make sure my voice comes out steady when I say, “The original lease works for me. I’ll have the electrician out first thing in the morning, so we can draft the addendum as soon as possible. No sense holding up this end of it over details we don’t have yet.”
There, that should assure her. Right?
Paige nods once. “I agree. Let’s keep it moving.”
Kelly slides the lease agreement across the table, flipping it to the flagged pages. “Alright, then. Sign here, here, and initial here,” she says, tapping the spots with the tip of her pen.
I scrawl my name in the owner’s fields while Paige watches, then turn the document toward her. I pick up the pen, holding it out. As she reaches for it, my fingers brush hers—just the faintest contact, warm and quick—but it’s enough to make my chest tighten in a way I’m not prepared for.
She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away, but her eyes flick up to mine for a split second before she drops them back to the paper.
She leans forward to sign, her handwriting neat and precise. I catch myself watching the curve of her wrist, the way she steadies the paper with her other hand, and I force my attentionback to the table’s scratched surface. This is business, I remind myself, not whatever the hell my brain seems intent on making it.
When she’s done, she caps the pen and slides it back toward Kelly. Our eyes meet again, and there’s something unreadable in hers, something that tugs at me.
Kelly claps her hands together once, the sound sharp enough to pull both of us out of whatever unspoken thing just passed between our eyes. She beams, her smile bright and genuine. “Well,” she says, her voice practically bubbling with excitement, “it’s official. Paige, you’ve just leased your very own space for your business. How does it feel?”
Paige exhales, and her shoulders drop just a fraction, and a slow smile spreads across her face. “Feels good,” she admits, then laughs. “That might change in a couple of weeks, but right now, it feels good.”
Kelly nods like she’s personally proud of the accomplishment. “You’ve worked for it. Now you get to make it yours.” She gathers the papers, tucks them neatly into her folder, and snaps it shut with a satisfied flick.
I push back from the table, rising to my feet. “I’ll go grab the extra set of keys,” I say, my tone brisk. I make my way through the pub, weaving between tables that are steadily filling with customers.
Conversation in the pub has turned into a lively buzz, glasses clinking at the bar, the sizzle and hiss of the kitchen bleeding through the swinging door as I pass.
I slip into the quieter back hallway, the sounds of the restaurant dimming as I step into my office. The small space smells faintly of paper, wood polish, and the hops from the brewing area down the hall.
I open the drawer in my desk, sift through a small ring of labeled keys, and pluck the one marked for her unit. Turning it over in my palm, I feel the cool weight of it, aware of the significance it’s about to carry.
By the time I get back to the table, Kelly’s chair is empty, her folder and pen gone. It’s just Paige now, sitting with her hands resting lightly on the table, looking both relaxed and slightly at a loss for what to do with herself.
“Kelly had to run?” I ask.
“She had another showing,” Paige says, offering a small shrug. “Didn’t want to keep her client waiting.” There’s a pause, just long enough for the quiet between us to feel noticeable.
To me, anyway. I have no idea what’s going through her mind.
I clear my throat and hold out the key between us. “Here you go. Your new bakery space.”
Her fingers brush mine again when she takes it, and for a beat, neither of us says anything.
Then she smiles, small and polite, before tucking the key into her bag. “Thanks.”
I nod toward her bag. “Heading over there now?”
She glances at me, one corner of her mouth lifting. “Yeah. Figure I should take a look now that it’s officially mine.”
I should leave it at that. Tell her good luck, go back to the kitchen, get back to work. That’s what the sensible version of me would do. But for some reason, that version’s voice is quieter than usual.
It’s not a big deal, I tell myself. Just being neighborly. Making sure the new tenant knows her way around. It’s practical. Completely professional.
The other half of me knows that’s crap. Knows I’m already too aware of her in a way that has nothing to do with leases or building maintenance.
Still, before I can stop myself, I hear the words come out. “Why don’t I walk over with you? Give you the official tour.”
Her brows lift just a little, like she’s surprised by the offer, but she doesn’t say no. And I can’t decide if I’m relieved or if I’ve just made a huge mistake.
