Best Laid Plans

Henry and Clare answer with a duet of cat yeses, so I scoop some food for the rescue kitties the local shelter manager asked me to take in. How could I resist? They were homeless after the wine country fires last year, so I gave them four walls and a roof amidst the books, since customers dig bookstore cats. They purr their appreciation—a gratitude that will only last for a few minutes since they are, after all, cats.

When Henry’s done, the big orange beast parks himself in the window for a public bathing, while Clare, the calico, lounges on a shelf in self-help today, watching every customer as if she’s a guard cat, perhaps personally selecting the books for them. That one needs more self-esteem. She’ll knock the right book off the shelf. This one has mommy issues. Clare will bat the ideal title with her paw, even if she’s sprawled across the one slightly loose shelf.

I cruise through a busy morning, leading a story time for four-year-olds then helping some customers find the best coffee-table books to give as gifts.

As the clock ticks to noon, I grab my bag and find Madeline shelving books. I hired her a few months ago, and she’s a go-getter—best employee ever.

“I need to run a quick errand. Can you handle the store?”

Her green eyes twinkle behind her red rhinestone-studded glasses. “Of course. Can I also work on the bestsellers display if no one’s here?”

Boy, do I love go-getters. “Go for it.”

I take off.

The guys usually wash the trucks now—a scheduling tidbit I only happen to know because of the number of times I’ve heard bookstore customers remark about the eye candy value of our local firemen—so this should be a good time to find Gabe. The firehouse is only a few blocks away, and as it comes into view, I spot Shaw and Gabe, who’s dipping a cloth into a bucket and polishing the engine to a bright, gleaming shade of red.

My flats click-clack across the pavement. Gabe looks up and smiles at me, and for a brief moment, my chest flutters. The man is as handsome as a movie star. We’re talking Hemsworth-brother handsome, which is about the best thing any man anywhere can look like. He wears dark pants and a blue T-shirt with the number of the firehouse on it: 212. He makes those clothes look better than a simple tee and slacks should, courtesy of a tall, hard, muscular frame with broad shoulders, strong biceps, and flat abs.

And I believe I’m ogling.

Maybe that’s because there’s just something about a fireman.

But I’m not here to admire him, or anyone, I remind myself. I’m here to be a gracious citizen of the town of Lucky Falls.

Look out, Gabe. The nice girl is coming for you.





4





Arden





I raise my chin, wanting him to see the confident side of me, rather than the snot-slipping-down-my-nose side. “Hey, Gabe. Just wanted to say thank you for helping me the other day. I have a little gift for you.”

He drops the rag into a bucket, wipes his hands on a clean cloth, and strides across the driveway, out of earshot of the other guys. When he reaches me, he takes off his sunglasses, and those blue eyes . . . whoa. They’re dreamier than I remembered. They’re the color of the sky on a cloudless day, when all you want to do is soak up the rays.

“You didn’t need to do anything,” he says, and those baby blues—are they taking a quick stroll up and down my body?

Did he just do that?

There’s no way he gave me a once-over.

I must be seeing things.

“Of course I did. You were amazing, and I appreciate it so much,” I say, keeping my focus on my mission—courtesy—rather than on deciphering the hieroglyphics of men.

He waves a big hand dismissively. “I was happy to do it. Though, to be fair, the robins did seem quite pissed at me for running smack into their lunch plans.”

I laugh. “Were they a little peeved or were they completely annoyed?”

“Oh, we’re talking Angry Birds level,” he says, and I crack up. “I suspect they were hoping to abscond with more of your picnic.” He pats his belly, trim and flat. “Apparently, I’m now public enemy number one among the birds of Silver Phoenix Lake.”

He’s doing it again. Making every moment so damn easy—sweet and carefree, like his deep voice, his confident stride, his casual manner. “Is there a wanted poster up in the woods?”

“I believe there is. Those birds were raring to go—ready to fight me for the rest of those picnic goodies.” He narrows his stare, intently serious. “Now, tell me, have you chucked any more crackers since then?”

I shake my head, smiling. “Nope. Not a single one.”

“Hit any other joggers on the trail?”

“None at all. I’m going clean, I swear.”

He offers a fist for bumping. “That’s what I like to hear. I’m glad you’ve had no need to turn snacks into projectile missiles. But you do know if you ever want to chuck something, you can call on me for target practice.” He taps his chest. “I can handle it.”

“Deal. And I’ll try not to take you up on it.” I dip my hand into my bag, taking out the Tupperware. “I made these for you this morning. Fresh out of the oven.”

He lifts his nose and sniffs. “What have you got there? They smell like heaven.”

“Just a little treat.” As I give him the container, his fingers brush mine, lightly enough to deliver a little spark along my spine, like a low hum of possibility. “Cookie-dough-stuffed pretzels.”

He whistles in appreciation. “Damn.”

“You can share them with the guys. Even Shaw,” I say, mentioning my best friend’s brother, who works at this firehouse.

“I’ll do no such thing. I don’t believe in sharing.” He says it almost flirtily, and I’m surprised at how much I like that tone. As much as I like the accidental brush of our fingers. Translation: more than I should.

But since I’m one week post breakup and still missing the good things about David, I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be liking anyone’s tone or touch.

Note to self: find a pill that makes you immune to handsome men making flirty comments when you’re still licking your wounds.

“Hey!” a familiar voice calls out. “You’re not keeping those to yourself.”

“Speak of the devil,” I say as the dark-haired Shaw walks around the truck.

“I smell something good.”