Page 6 of Tempted Away

KALLAN

I’VE NEVERbeen the type of person who believed in love at first sight—the type that when you first lay eyes on someone, everything falls in place, and you just know.

Perfect example—Heath, one of my friends from school. We were at a party when he saw Elena. For days, all he could talk about was that she was going to be the mother of his children. That was before he even said a word to her. Creepy as fuck. A month and one date later, he bumped into Lana at a different party and declared she was his soul mate. A month later it was Jenna, then Alice, and so on. I might be getting their names and the order of them wrong, but there were so many it’s not surprising. A parade of girls who were all some kind of variation of “the one” filled our High School life.

It was lust, not love, and he fell fast and hard, but it fizzled out just as fast. By the time he graduated, he was single and surprisingly STD-free. So no, I’ve never believed in any of that crap. Sure, you meet someone, and there’s attraction, but it’s surface deep. It takes time to get to know someone, to see if their crooked pieces fit your crooked pieces like a puzzle that slots together.

And this is why I’m standing here, like a grade-A idiot, my ability to speak a thing of the past, feeling like someone has punched me in the gut. Surely somewhere out there, Heath is cackling like the idiot I always said he was, telling me payback is a bitch.

“Are you okay?”

I close my eyes, a slight shudder moving through my body. Her voice sounds like an aged whiskey, smooth and full, and all I want is to take another sip.Speak, you idiot!Some tiny part of my brain must still be functional because it’s screaming at me, trying to save me from looking like a complete and utter fool.Apologize for not watching where you’re going and almost plowing her over,it carries on, and I know that’s what I should do. My eyes snap open, meeting her concerned ones, and that’s a mistake. All thoughts of apologies fly out of my head. Green, pale green. If I were fancy, I would use poetic words to describe it, but I’m not, and that makes me frown because eyes like hers deserve better than just green or pale.

I smooth my features quickly when she takes a step back.Don’t scare the lady with the whiskey voice and beautiful eyes!Heath mocks me. Fuck my life. Seems like I’m channeling him.

“All right then,” she says, taking another step back.

I’m at war with myself.Reach out and stop her, so you can hear her speak again,the tiny, sane part of my brain tells me, while the biggest part is yelling,Reach out, grab her, and drag her home where she belongs. Instead, I do nothing but watch her retreating back as she enters the store I was planning to enter a few moments ago. I’m torn as I stand there like an idiot, dragging my hand down my face. Do I go in there and try for a redo? One where I don’t come across as a complete and utter dickhead, or do I retreat and lick my wounds? At this point, I’m not sure how I can salvage my pride, but if I don’t try at least, I might never see her again. And that’s not acceptable. There’s no way I can let the mother of my children just walk away.

What. The. Fuck. When did I allow Heath to take over my body? The door opens, and a customer exits, allowing me a brief glimpse inside, and that’s enough to make up my mind. Whiskey girl is standing behind the counter, and her nervous pale green eyes meet mine. My heart sinks because it’s obvious I’ve freaked her out, but then it perks up because she’s standingbehindthe counter. So, instead of going in there, I’ll retreat to my shop, where I can lick my wounds and devise a plan where I come across as the functioning human being I claim to be.

“That was fast. Didn’t find what you were looking for?” Andrew doesn’t look up from where he’s sitting behind the counter, scribbling away at something. When I don’t answer, he looks up, frowning. “You okay?”

Why the hell do I keep getting asked that? Maybe it’s because I’m standing in the middle of the shop, like a frigging idiot, wondering what the fuck just happened.

“I’m fine,” I mumble and make my way to the back office. Throwing myself in my chair, I lean my head back, closing my eyes. God, I acted like a schoolboy confronted by his first crush. No, worse. At least back then, I managed to squeak something inane. Not even when I met Josie did I feel this way. My heart clenches with a pang of grief or guilt—I’m not entirely sure which—at that thought. An image of long, dark brown hair and pale green eyes fills my mind, and I press my palms against my eyes, trying to erase it or lock it in—once again, not sure which. How the hell can it be that I’ve lived here for two years and never met her? I don’t even know her name, but I sure as hell am going to find out.

“Andrew!” I holler, and I hear his heavy tread before he sticks his head inside the door.

“Yes, boss?”

“Have you been to the store across the road?”

He scoffs as if the idea of going inside a bookstore is ridiculous. With information available at the touch of a few buttons for many, it is. “No.”

“It’s not just a bookstore, dumb ass. It’s a book cafe. So you haven’t met the owner?”

“Can’t say I have. Why? Did something happen to make you storm in here like you had a bunch of Piranhas up your ass?”

I look at him blankly.

“Yeah, you know, those fish that can devour you in like fifteen seconds.” His hand comes up, and his wiggling fingers imitate what exactly I’m not sure, but it’s something. “I saw this documentary on—”

“I know what a damn Piranha is. And no, nothing happened.” Besides totally revoking my masculinity and potentially blowing it with someone I would really, really like to get to know.

The bell jingles, and Andrew straightens with a gleam in his eyes. When I took him under my wing about a year ago, he was heading down a path that would have severely limited his life expectancy. In the beginning, it was tough, and many times I had to clench my jaw against the urge to beat the snot out of him, but as I taught him all the skills I knew, he changed into the type of person I knew he could be.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s back, beaming from ear to ear. “Pay up, old man. You owe me fifty bucks.” He’s practically crowing with delight.

“Not even ten years older than you, and I’m an ‘old man’,” I grumble. “What did you sell?”

“The jewelry box.”

My eyebrows rise. I thought for sure his carved trinket boxes would go first.

“You sure you didn’t stuff mine under the counter?”

“Nope. Didn’t even give yours a second glance.”

---