Page 40 of Bidding on a Second Chance
“Who are you taking on your date?”
She dotted a singleion her list three times. “My date?”
He leaned against the edge of the table on her good side, trapping her between him and her scooter. Not that he looked like he was trying to corner her. His expression reflected casual curiosity. Was this his idea of small talk?
“With the auction and Thanksgiving, I’ve been too busy to think about it.”
He nodded slowly, studying her as if he could see right through her.
She ought to confess her feelings.
He’d shoot her down, which would dampen her growing affection for him.
Unfortunately, the awkwardness would likely also ruin their friendship.
Less than three weeks remained until the auction and Christmas, and the prospect of running the store in January without him nearby already sounded like drudgery. What would she do when he wasn’t hanging around, keeping her company all the time?
He straightened and turned toward the table, a move that brought his arm close enough for his body heat to radiate through the sleeve of her sweater. Or was she imagining that? She glanced up, but he was rifling through the supplies on the table, not focusing on her. She could rarely get away with anything in his presence because he always kept an eye on whoever he shared space with. Except now. She relished the opportunity to study him up close.
His long eyelashes hooked upward in a way a lot of women went to trouble to achieve. He’d once complained about his elementary school librarian complimenting his eyelashes, but Piper understood where the woman had come from. On a little boy, it must’ve been cute. On a man, the feature added a touch of softness to the serious set of his eyes, the chiseled planes of his cheeks, and the shadow on his jaw that would darken into stubble if he didn’t shave tomorrow.
It was definitely warm in here.
“Did Ryan go to state?” With this latest unexpected question, the room temperature dropped back to a reasonable sixty-eight degrees. He opened a new package of sandpaper for the electric sander.
“No.” She’d moved a step sideways to allow for more reasonable personal space, but the scooter was too awkward. She fiddled with the pen, too distracted to worry about the list. “Didn’t I tell you he was benched?”
“His senior year.” He tore open the packet and pulled out one of the disks. “Did he go other years?”
“Ryan’s senior year was the first time in something like eight or ten years the team qualified.”
“Huh.” Graham frowned and stuck the new disk on the head of the sander.
“Why do you ask?”
“Bryce is under the impression his dad made seven baskets at state.”
“Where’d he get that idea?”
“Either Ryan lied, or Bryce misunderstood.” Graham set down the sander and turned toward her, hip against the table, arms crossed. “Whatever the case, that’s why Bryce went out for the team.”
“Oh, no. When I tell him the truth …”
“I know.” He touched her elbow. “I was thinking we should wait. If we tell him during the off-season, he’ll have a couple of months to think about it before we convince him to play again next year.”
“We?” They were a team now? Did he see their relationship going beyond the auction?
He lowered his hand but didn’t move back out of her space. “You wanted me to mentor him.”
She averted her gaze from his chest and arms, her mind from memories of how those arms felt around her. Unfortunately, she chose to focus on his eyes, which studied her with a careful concern that sent a giddy wave through her core. The pen tipped from her fingers and landed on the table.
Focus, Piper. Focus.
Chiding herself did little good. Focus was the whole problem; hers didn’t seem to want to pry itself from Graham. She slow-blinked and scratched her neck, formulating a response. “I should talk to Ryan. Find out where all this is coming from.”
He nodded and kept watching her.
Thoughts of Bryce tumbled away from her, and she found herself asking again the question she’d never sent to Lucy—Graham and I don’t work. But why was that again?
