Smitten Book Club (35 page)

Molly sipped her lukewarm coffee. “We’ve gotten calls off the ad already. I booked two tours so far, and it’s only been on the stands two days.”

“That’s wonderful,” Lia said. “Just what you needed.”

“So now on to the important stuff.” One of Abby’s brows lifted. “Has he finally asked you out?”

Molly’s stomach dropped, but she covered with a smile, her gaze bouncing off Heather. “Nope. I don’t think he sees me that way.”

Heather gave a wry laugh.

“He’s sure coming around an awful lot,” Lia said. “And you know what Pearl Chambers says . . . when a gentleman comes calling, a young lady can be certain his heart is engaged.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “He’s just being thoughtful.” But she couldn’t help but remember the moments she’d caught him regarding her with a wistful expression. She could smack herself for faking that stupid phone call. He’d never ask her out now.

And it was too bad. Because lately she’d been thinking she just might say yes.

There are no words as persuasive as a suitor’s arms.

P
EARL
C
HAMBERS
,
The Gentlewoman’s Guide to Love and Courtship

CHAPTER TEN

M
olly’s fingers moved over the ivory keys. It had been years since she’d played Tchaikovsky’s “Doumka.” She’d been afraid her rusty fingers couldn’t pull off the challenging piece. But she’d been playing regularly after tucking Noah into bed at night. He seemed to like falling asleep to her music.

She’d even dug her old clarinet from the closet and taught him a couple of easy pieces. The kid seemed to have a natural knack. She felt bad for not discovering it sooner.

She smiled as she reached the
brilliante
. Her fingers embraced the notes as if they were dear old friends. As she finished the piece, her smile widened.

The last chord still rang through the air as a knock sounded at the door. Molly checked her watch. Almost nine thirty. Lowering the piano’s lid, she went to answer it.

A quick check through the peephole made her heart stutter. She drew a quick, steadying breath, wondering how he
knew where she lived. She rolled her eyes. Everyone knew where she lived. Half the town had been by with casseroles and help in the months following Curtis’s death.

Her hands were shaking as she unlocked the door and turned the knob. The porch light made his dark hair shimmer, casting a golden glow across his handsome features. He wore work clothes, khakis and a blue polo that matched his eyes to perfection.

“I hope it’s not too late,” Gage said. “I planned to stop by the store, but I got hung up at work.”

“No, not at all. Come in.” She stepped aside, and he brushed by her. She shivered at the contact. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything? Soda, coffee?”

“No thanks. I was just wanting to see how business has been the last couple days since the ad came out. It turned out really nice.”

“It did. I’ve gotten a lot of compliments on it. I’ve also gotten at least two bookings, and the phones have been a lot busier.”

“Good, good.”

She was about to ask the dreaded cost question when he spoke.

“How was your book group tonight?” He settled in the corner of her plaid sofa.

She took the armchair across from him, a good safe distance away. “Great. Good discussion.” She gave a cocky smile. “I read the whole thing.”

One side of his mouth tipped up adorably. “Ah, but have you read the book I loaned you?” He hadn’t shaved recently, giving him a rugged look.

She itched to feel the scruff against her palms. She knotted her hand into a fist.
What’s gotten into you, Molly?

She tipped her chin up. “Actually, I did.” She dug it out from under the newspaper and slid it over to him. “You can have it back now.”

He quirked a brow skeptically. “Really?”

Molly made a face. “Well. The highlighted parts.”

He chuckled. “Good enough.” His eyes drifted around the room.

She wondered what he was thinking. He’d built a log home—more lodge than cabin—on Sugarcreek Road last year. By comparison, the farmhouse was small and old. But it was cozy. Homey. Theirs—at least for the moment.

“Was that you I heard on the piano before I knocked?”

She wondered how long he’d stood listening. Or if he’d only been waiting for a pause. “It was. Tchaikovsky.”

His brows ticked up. “Sounded complicated.”

She shrugged. “Well, it’s not scaling mountains, but it passes the time.”

“So modest. I only play one song, and believe me, you don’t want to hear it.”

She smiled. “Well, now you have to play it for me.”

“Just imagine the worst rendition of ‘Chopsticks’ you’ve ever heard, and you’ll be close.”

“I taught elementary kids through college. Believe me, I’ve heard bad.”

“Oh no, I take bad to a whole new level.”

She laughed. “Well, we all have our gifts.”

She curled her legs in the chair, tucking her stockinged feet under her. This was nice, the company. Adult company.
Her favorite times with Curtis had been after tucking Noah into bed. They’d sat and talked about their days. Well, mainly she’d talked. But it had still been nice.

Gage entertained her with a story of a hiking trip, making Molly laugh harder than she had in ages. He asked about her family and told her about his own, a close-knit clan on the other side of Smitten. His dad had worked at the log mill before it had gone under, and his mom had taught at the elementary school. An only child, he’d been born when his parents were in their thirties. They were both retired now.

They shuffled easily from one topic to the next, not even touching on work again. He regarded her steadily throughout, smiling at the right times, holding her gaze for long seconds at others. It was as if an invisible wire ran between them. Maybe it was the intimacy of the quiet house. Maybe it was the dim lighting or pleasant conversation. But sometimes, when his blue eyes met hers, a flash of electricity zinged through the wire, stirring the pterodactyls in her stomach.

When she checked her watch, she was surprised to see it was after eleven.

“I’m sorry . . . I’m keeping you up.” He scooted to the edge of the couch.

She was suddenly loath to see him go. “No, this was . . . nice.” She felt her face heating as she stood with him, biting her lip. Had she said too much, read too much into his visit? Why had he said he’d stopped by? She couldn’t remember.

“Don’t forget your book.” She scooped it off the table and handed it to him as he turned at the door.

His eyes locked on hers, the book suspended between them. She couldn’t seem to breathe. Breathing didn’t seem
to matter anyway. All that mattered were those mesmerizing blue eyes. Eyes that were saying something her heart longed to hear. Have mercy. He was looking at her like he wanted to kiss her.

“Please . . . ,” he whispered. “Tell me you don’t have an urgent call coming in.”

She shook her head. For the life of her, she couldn’t make herself speak. Couldn’t even look away. How could she when he was looking at her like that? When her lips tingled with wanting?

Time stilled as he leaned into her. His lips brushed hers. Too soft to make her heart flutter. Too gentle to make her heart squeeze. And yet they did. She’d wondered what those lips would feel like. Wonder no more. They possessed the power to shrink the world down to the two of them.

He returned for seconds, his fingertips brushing her face, making every cell jump to life. He pulled away too soon, his warm breath on her lips a parting gift.

Her gaze collided with his. She’d never seen blue smolder. His eyes dipped down to her lips and back. He was still close. She could feel the heat of his body skimming hers. Smell his manly scent, a delicious blend of musk and pine.

“I should probably apologize,” he said.

Her eyes fastened on his lips, watching the words form with fascination.

“I would, except . . . I’m not sorry.”

Her eyes went back to his as something warm and pleasant welled in her. She wasn’t sorry either. Confused, maybe. Intrigued, definitely. But not sorry.

An image of Curtis flashed in her mind, bringing a cloud
of guilt. She pushed it away, not wanting to taint the moment. She’d deal with that later.

Fighting Gage’s pull, she stepped back where she could breathe. Where she could think without wanting to lean in for round two.

“This is all out of order,” he said. “I was going to ask you out.”

She bit the inside of her mouth. “Is that why you’re here?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“What your answer would’ve been.”

He wanted to go out with her.
Her
. Molly Moore. It hadn’t been her imagination. Maybe she hadn’t lost all her instincts. Maybe there were still good things in store for her. A year ago she wouldn’t have believed it. A year ago she’d thought her life was over. At least her love life. Now, looking at Gage—

“You could put a guy out of his misery.”

She’d always thought him so confident. But now there was a vulnerability in his eyes that made her want him even more.

“Yes,” she said.

His brows disappeared under his messy bangs. “Yes?”

“My answer . . . it would’ve been yes.”

A smile curled his lips. She didn’t think he could look more handsome, but she was wrong. His smile lit his eyes, made a little dent in his cheeks that she suddenly wanted to kiss.

“Really?”

She quirked a brow and gave him a playful look. “It still will be . . . if you ever get around to asking.”

He chuckled, low and soft. The sound made her heart squeeze.

“Go out with me tomorrow night?”

“Where to?” As if it mattered. She mentally made babysitting arrangements.

“Dinner at my place? Music on the square afterward?”

He was full of surprises. “You cook?”

“I’m a man of many talents.” Ah, there it was, that confidence.

She teased him with her eyes. “That remains to be seen.”

“I look forward to proving myself. I’ll pick you up, six o’clock?”

“Sounds like a plan.” A very good plan. She had a feeling she’d be counting the minutes.

He opened the door, turning on the threshold with a half smile. “Night, Molly.”

“Night.”

She closed the door behind him, leaning against it to support her quivering legs. Oh yeah. This week was looking up for sure.

A young lady should always comport herself with grace and dignity. There is nothing quite so disagreeable to a young man as a temper tantrum.

P
EARL
C
HAMBERS
,
The Gentlewoman’s Guide to Love and Courtship

CHAPTER ELEVEN

R
ain pelted the store’s rooftop and pattered against the windows. Molly was wet and tired from the rafting trip. She still had to do the bills and order inventory. But she couldn’t wipe the smile from her face.

Tonight she had a date with Gage.

She changed into dry clothes in the store’s bathroom and settled behind her desk, determined to get through the financials on her own. Heather had gone over it with her numerous times. It wasn’t rocket science, but numbers weren’t her thing. Still. She was capable. Gage had said so.

Her lips turned up at the thought. It had taken forever to fall asleep last night. Her fingers kept going to her lips. They’d tingled for hours as if still sensing his touch. Would he kiss her again tonight?

Mercy, she hoped so. Her smile widened even as heat
flooded her face. For someone who hadn’t known if she was ready to date, she’d sure jumped into that boat awfully quickly. Could she help it if Gage was so tempting?

All right, Molly, time to get down to business
. She gathered the bills as she heard April greeting a customer. The store had been busier today—a result of the ad, no doubt.

Speaking of the ad . . .

Molly lifted the phone and dialed the magazine. The bill wouldn’t be due yet, but she needed to know what to expect.

A receptionist greeted her and forwarded her to the sales department. Someone finally picked up on the sixth ring, and Molly explained what she needed.

“The sales staff doesn’t work Saturdays. This is Kylie, I’m just an intern . . . but let me see what I can do.” Her perky voice was like a ray of sunshine.

Molly gathered the stamps and envelopes. Where was a pen? Why were her pens always disappearing?

A few minutes later the intern was back. “Okay, I’ve got it. It looks like you had the back cover of the July issue? The total was forty-five ninety-eight.” A phone rang on Kylie’s end. “Oh, listen, I have to go. I’ll shoot you an e-mail with the invoice.” She double-checked Molly’s e-mail address and hung up.

Forty-five ninety-eight? That didn’t make sense. Gage had said he’d work out a great deal, but that couldn’t be right. She could barely get a place mat ad at the Country Cupboard for that.

A few minutes later she opened her laptop and checked her e-mail. The intern was quick, she’d give her that. Molly
opened the attachment and scanned the invoice. When she reached the bottom line, the smile slid from her face.

Her heart skipped a beat, then went into double time. Her lungs caught her breath and held it captive. A small squeak escaped her throat.

Not forty-five dollars and ninety-eight cents. But four thousand, five hundred and ninety-eight dollars.

Four. Thousand. Five hundred. Ninety-eight. Dollars.

Her breath released, and her lungs filled again. Quickly. Coming and going so fast she felt as if she were hyperventilating. It had to be a mistake. That was no great deal. That was her entire flipping advertising budget for a whole year.

A. Whole. Year.

It’s a mistake, Molly. A typo or a miscommunication
. She called the magazine, asked for Kylie, and waited.

Her voice quivered as she spoke. “Hi, uh, Kylie. This is Molly from Smitten Expeditions.”