Page 36 of Booked for the Holidays
“Oh no.”
Liam leans just enough to peek around me, his hand still warm on my waist. “Looks like your book boyfriend’s popularity is contagious.”
“I hate you.” The dull ache between my legs says otherwise.
“You don’t.”
I shove at his chest, wriggling free of his lap in the least graceful escape imaginable. My knee bumps his thigh, he grins, quietly smug, and I shoot him a withering glare before I all but sprint for the register. The three customers in line are already starting to glance at their watches. I plaster on a customer-service smile like it’s been stapled to my face and hop behind the counter, pointedly ignoring the heat still buzzing under my skin.
“Sorry about the wait! I—uh—was handling a plot twist.” I reach for the book of the first customer. “You know how those go.”
She smiles and nods. “Totally.”
“I thought it was a mirror in chapter thirteen,” Liam says casually as he strolls up beside me, like he belongs there. Like this is his store.
Just like my apartment this morning. He’s got some nerve.
“You are not on the clock,” I hiss under my breath as I scan the book.
“Then I’ll consider this a volunteer position. Civic duty. Holiday spirit.”
“Liam.”
But he’s already turning to the customer. “Wasn’t that just the cutest cover? I’m reading that one now—highly recommend. Dual POV, forced proximity, emotionally constipated hero. You’ll love it.”
The customer beams. “That’s exactly what I was hoping for!”
Traitor.
Liam slips behind the counter next to me, and before I can stop him, he’s ringing up a tote bag and chatting with the next person in line like he’s done this his whole life. His sleeves are still pushed up, his forearm tattoos winking at me. And the stack of romance bookmarks he’s handing out might as well be little green flags waving,I read romance novels, give piggy-back rides, and I’ll rub your feet.
The piggy-back ride was nice, but there’s no way I’m letting him near my feet. Liam’s thumbs digging into my arches while I suppress a guttural moan? I’d never recover.
I glance at him sideways, begrudgingly impressed.
“Where did you even learn how to do this?”
He shrugs. “I pay attention.”
“You’re a menace.”
“I’m a multitasker.”
Liam ends up helping me through the entire customer rush, somehow managing to charm every person while also upsellingtote bags like it's his personal mission. I don’t know if I’m impressed or horrified.
“You know, most people panic in retail chaos,” I mutter as I bag up an entire stack of holiday romances.
“I thrive under pressure,” he says, sliding a credit card back to a customer with a wink. “And I’ve got fast hands.”
I’ve fantasized far too many times about the capabilities of Liam’s hands, and it has gotten me nowhere.
“Stop talking.”
A moment later, the bell above the door jingles again as the last customer leaves, and I finally exhale.
Liam glances around like he’s soaking in every corner of my store before his eyes land back on me. “Looks like you figured it all out.”
I think he’s referring to my meltdown about the budget and marketing plan last Christmas, the one he was patiently helping me untangle before I decided to ruin everything by kissing him like a desperate idiot.
