Page 18 of For The Weekend
The tip of his tongue pokes out of his parted lips, resting for a second on his left incisor, and a wild idea about him biting me floats into my lust-fogged brain. Then he very slowly shakes his head, his mouth breaking into a semblance of a smile. “You’re trouble.”
“I don’t know what you mean. I’m always on my best behavior.”
He clucks his tongue, gaze raking over me again, and thistime, I know it’s him turning the temperature of my skin up a few degrees and not the sun.
Mazie pulls on my apron. “Do you like pink?”
I prop my hands on my hips. “What do you think?”
She giggles. Clearly, I am a lady who likes pink. Between my store, my pink-and-white polka dot apron, and my pink Converse, it’s not a question. “It’s my favorite color.”
“Me too!”
We high-five, and I bend down so we’re eye to eye and talk about her dress. Meanwhile, Roman peers down at us, tree trunks folded across his chest, his mouth set in a semi-slanted line like he doesn’t want to acknowledge he finds this funny.
After she tells me about her friend Tegan who has a Barbie backpack and how she beat this boy named Boden in a race so he cried—to which Roman murmured “Good”—I ask her, “Who did your hair?”
“Daddy.”
That popping sound? Only my eggs spontaneously being fertilized.
“That’s pretty impressive that Daddy does your hair so well.”
She nods. “He didn’t useta. He was real bad at it, always said the hair bands are too fucking small.”
“Mazie,” he snaps, but she doesn’t appear sheepish at all, and I have to slap my palm over my mouth to keep from laughing.
When I pull it together, I say, “Hair bands can be hard to use if they’re too small.”
Roman huffs. “They always break with one little tug.”
I stand to my full height, noticing I could perfectly rest my chin on his shoulder. I mean, Iwon’t.
But Icould.
And because all my brain cells exited my body about thetime he told me he could throw me over those shoulders, I squeeze his biceps. “I would guess one tug from you could easily rip an elastic band. Not exactly dainty.”
His eyes dip to my mouth and then lower to where I’m touching him. “No, I’m not.”
“Well!” I cackle, high-pitched and frenzied. “I should finish up here.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, taking Mazie’s hand. “We’ll let you.”
“Wait, I want to stay!”
I smile at the little girl. “We can hang out together later, okay? You come see me in a bit.” I wink and put my hand at the corner of my mouth, stage-whispering, “I’ll sneak you another cinnamon roll.”
She jumps up and down, satisfied, and I finish up with my booth, laying out business cards and coupons for 10% off their next purchase then sneak off to Cuppa Jo’s for a coffee before the festival starts.
On my way back, I stop to say hello to Nicole at Chapter and Verse, where she’s having a huge sale and activities inside, along with a table out front that has sign-ups for book clubs, author groups, and coloring pages of different classic books. Ian, in all his silver-fox glory, flirts with her, obviously trying to waylay her efforts in setting up. She bats his hand away, keeping it from wandering around her hips, disrupting her answer when I ask if she wants me to drop off any treats.
“We’ll take whatever you got, Eloise,” Ian answers in her stead, and she rolls her eyes.
“They’re for her customers,” Nicole says with a shake of her head at him.
He shrugs. “And I’m her best customer.” He turns to me. “Am I not?”
I grin. “The absolute best.”
