Michael (Connelly Cousins #3) Page 18

  Yeah, pathetic.

  “I mean, if you actually did want to, I wouldn’t say no,” she added, avoiding his eyes. “I’m just saying, you don’t have to. Go to the movies, I mean. With me.”

  If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she was nervous. And he still didn’t know if she was interested in seeing a movie or simply too kind to deny him outright.

  Though at this point, even a pity date was looking good.

  Before he could respond, she bolted out from behind the counter to refill the older guy’s coffee cup and slip a scone to the Lab. Then she scurried over to the cash register and rang up a book purchase. It gave him a few minutes to process things. If nothing else, the last few weeks had taught him that he wasn’t nearly as good at figuring out what a woman was thinking as he thought he was.

  Perhaps it was time for the direct approach.

  “Amy,” he said when she came back and picked up his now-empty plate, “I’m going to ask you a simple question and I’d like a simple, honest answer. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she said carefully.

  “Would you like to see a movie with me tonight?”

  “I would,” she admitted. “But only if you want to.”

  “I want to.”

  “All right then,” she nodded. “Since we’re being honest, I’ve been dying to see that new sci-fi flick that everyone’s been talking about.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Sci-fi? I figured you for a romantic comedy, chick-flick type.”

  “Pffft,” she scoffed. “That stuff is great in books, where I can form my own mental images.” That lovely pink tint rose in her cheeks again, and he wondered exactly what kind of books she read. “But high-action, special-effect blockbusters are best experienced in 3D movie theaters with surround sound, in my opinion.”

  “True,” he laughed, secretly glad he wouldn’t have to spend a couple of hours sitting through some sappy, tender storyline after just having his heart ripped out and handed back to him. “Should we hit an early show?”

  Her smile faded. “I’d love to, but I can’t. I’m here by myself today.”

  That explained her constant bustling. “What time do you close?”

  “Eight.”

  He pulled out his phone and checked the show times. “There’s a show at eight thirty and one at eleven.”

  Her smile was back. “Eight thirty sounds perfect.”

  That was still a couple of hours away. What was he supposed to do between now and then? If he went back to his place, the angst would assume control once again and he’d lose his nerve. Hanging around the bright, cheery café in the pleasant company of a kind woman with such pretty, gold-flecked hazel eyes was infinitely preferable to being alone and miserable at home.

  “Is there anything I can help with?”

  She blinked. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  She looked away and bit her lip, as if afraid to say what was on her mind. “Well, I’ve got a whole shipment of new books that need to be inventoried.”

  Inventory. He could handle that. He nodded. “All right.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, sure. Just show me what to do.”

  Looking rather stunned but pleased, Amy led him into a back room where several dozen boxes sat, still sealed with their shipment labels. She showed him how to use the handheld scanner, then gave him a quick overview of her inventory software. After several more assurances that he was fine, she left him alone to return to the front.

  Jamie appreciated the quiet space and the task was exactly what he needed. Solitude and privacy to process everything he’d learned in the last couple of hours, with the comforting smell of new books and the knowledge that a friendly face was only a few feet away. The work kept his hands busy and his mind relatively focused. Amy’s system was easy to understand and extremely organized, so he caught on quickly.

  She came in to check on him several times, each time bringing a fresh cup of coffee or another tasty treat. It had been a long time since he had felt so appreciated.

  The time passed quickly. He was just finishing the last box when she came in and told him she was closing up.

  “Already?” he asked.

  She laughed. “You sound like you actually enjoyed yourself.”

  “I did,” he said truthfully.

  “Need a part time job?” she teased. “I dread delivery days. Sometimes I’m here till midnight.”

  He thought about her in here all alone late at night, lifting and categorizing boxes. Maybe that’s why her arms were so toned. “Why don’t you hire someone?”

  “I have a couple of part-timers that help me out,” she said, tugging on the hem of her dark navy top. “But I’m not very easy to work with.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Seriously. More than one person has told me I tend to be rather fussy. I can’t help it. I like things a certain way, you know?”

  Yeah, he knew. He was the same way. Anal-retentive, some had even said, but he preferred ‘consistent’. It was just the way he was wired.

  Was that part of his problem, he wondered absently? Is that what sent Celina running into the arms of his less-uptight brother?

  “Anyway, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m better off just doing things myself. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do,” she said, then blushed again, as if she’d said too much. Clearing her throat self-consciously, she added, “Although I have to say, it looks like you did a great job. My inner control freak is impressed.”

  “Thanks,” he said, pleased by her approval. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Are you ready to go?”

  “Just about. I’m going to change first. I live just above the shop, on the second floor. You’re welcome to come upstairs and wait, if you’d like.”

  He hesitated, hating this new self-doubt. Was that a veiled invitation? Or was he reading way, way too much into it? She didn’t seem like the kind of woman to move that quickly, but what the hell did he know? The only thing he was certain of was that Amy seemed to actually want to spend time with him and he wasn’t willing to ruin that by misreading signals.

  “Actually, I’d like to check out the shop, if you don’t mind. I didn’t get a chance last time.”

  “Sure,” she smiled. She didn’t look disappointed; he was glad he’d gone with his instincts. “Feel free to wander around, I’ll just be a minute.”

  Amy sprinted up the steps, leaving him to do just that. He moved from room to room, admiring the warm, cozy feel of the place. She’d done a great job of maintaining the old-fashioned charm of the Colonial, while subtly incorporating digital age convenience. Stepping out in the manicured gardens, he paused to read the brass plaque proclaiming the building a Birch Falls Historical Landmark.

  “It was built by Callum Stewart,” Amy said, coming up behind him. “One of the original founding fathers of Birch Falls.”

  “The lumber baron?” Jamie turned around to find her wearing dark-washed denim jeans and a soft, cream-colored knit top that complimented her petite curves, more visible now that she wasn’t wearing a front-covering apron.

  “That’s the one.”

  The glow of the lamplights caught the green and golden flecks in her eyes, making them sparkle. He realized he was staring – they were rather hypnotic – and forced his gaze back to the building. A single electric candle sat in each window, cozy and welcoming between the glossy, old-fashioned shutters.

  “It’s a prime piece of property,” Jamie said. He wondered how such a young woman could afford such a place. “It couldn’t have been cheap,” the practical businessman in him mused out loud before he could stop himself.

  Thankfully, she didn’t seem offended. “It wasn’t,” she grinned. “It was free.”

  “Free?”

  “Well, for all intents and purposes. I inherited it. This house has been in my family for nearly twelve generations.”

  “You’re a descendent of Callum Stewart?�
��

  “The last one, yeah.” She locked the French doors, then began walking down the winding path. “Come on. I’ve already locked the front doors, we can head out this way.”

  The movie turned out to be every bit as good as it was hyped up to be. Plenty of action, awesome special effects, and a surprisingly good storyline. It helped that the place was only about half-full, and no annoying teens or misbehaving kids distracted from the experience.

  Amy chuckled when he said so, agreeing whole-heartedly. Afterwards, they went to the local ice cream parlor.

  “I can’t believe you’ve never had a fresh-baked waffle cone before,” she told him as they walked back towards her place. One of the nice things about this section of town was that everything was in walking distance.

  He blinked away the surprisingly arousing image of her little pink tongue licking at the butter pecan melting along the side in the sultry summer evening. “Me neither. This is amazing.”

  “It’s legendary,” she corrected. “Like hot dogs at Abe’s or ultimate nachos from Jimmy’s.”

  At his blank look, her eyes widened in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had those, either?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “You’ve led a sheltered life, haven’t you?”

  Jamie laughed. “I guess so. Fast food has never been my thing. I try to be careful about what I eat.”

  Her smile faded somewhat. “Well, I guess that explains why you didn’t want to share my popcorn.”

  He shook his head. “Do you have any idea what’s in that stuff?”

  “No, and I don’t want to, either,” she said firmly. “I like it. And it’s not like I eat it every day, so don’t ruin it for me.”

  It was the first time he’d seen her eyes flash with something other than humor, and he realized he’d hit a nerve. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “I know,” she sighed. “It’s not your fault. It’s a sensitive subject for me.”

  He waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. They walked another block or two before his curiosity got the best of him. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why is popcorn a sensitive subject for you?”

  “It’s not the popcorn. It’s junk food in general. Or more specifically, my weakness for it. I’ve always had an issue with my weight. Believe me, you’re not the first person to point out that I could do without the quick and easy food fixes.”

  Jamie was taken aback. “I never said anything like that.”

  “No,” she agreed, “but you might as well have. And it’s okay. I get it. I’ll never be skinny. But you know what? Life’s too short to never treat yourself. And if I have to do a couple workout DVD’s this week to enjoy the popcorn and this waffle cone, it’s worth it.”

  Way to go, asshole, Jamie thought as they neared her house. You’ve managed to offend the one person who actually wanted to spend time with you today.

  “I’m sorry, Amy.”

  Amy gave him a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She extracted her house key and unlocked the door. “I had a good time tonight, Jamie. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. I did too.”

  “Goodnight, Jamie.”

  She slipped in the door and closed it behind her. There was no way of misinterpreting that.

  He sighed heavily and started walking toward his car. “Goodnight, Amy.”

  The look on Amy’s face that night stayed with him for several days afterward. Though he wouldn’t have thought it possible, he felt worse each passing day. It bothered him that she thought he was putting her down; he wasn’t.

  Yeah, so maybe he was a bit strict when it came to his diet. He ate plenty of organic fruits and vegetables, along with healthy whole grains and proteins. Much of it stemmed from the habits he’d acquired as an athlete – first in high school, then in college. Since he’d gone to the state university on a full football scholarship, he’d been serious about not screwing it up.

  That ice cream had been good, though. As had the Danish he’d had at her place.

  An image of how she’d looked in that sweater and jeans rose in his mind. If ice cream and hot dogs were what gave her that figure, then he was all for it.

  Jamie stilled, stunned by that thought. It had barely been a week since he’d found out Celina married his brother. Barely two weeks since he’d proposed to her himself. How could he be thinking of another woman like that?

  Even more shocking, he realized, he’d been so preoccupied with thoughts of Amy that he hadn’t thought about Celina in hours. He braced himself, waiting for the familiar ache to start working its way through his chest, but when it came, it didn’t seem quite as bad as he’d expected. Maybe he was getting used to it.

  Or maybe the cut wasn’t as deep as you originally thought, a little voice chimed in.

  But that was ridiculous. He’d been dating Celina exclusively for months before popping the question. They were compatible on so many levels. Celina was beautiful and smart and funny. Everything he was looking for in a wife. The two of them, they made sense.

  Isn’t that what he’d said to her that day at her grandfather’s diner? And she’d agreed ... right before she told him she cared for him deeply, but wasn’t in love with him.

  What was the difference? Wasn’t that what love was – caring deeply for someone? Putting in the time. Building a solid relationship based on shared interests and goals. Learning about each other.

  Though apparently he’d failed in epic fashion when it came to the learning part. Kyle learned more about Celina in a week than he had in six months.

  Jamie pondered that as he tidied his desk and prepared to leave for the day, then pondered some more as he drove to the gym and ran through his workout (cardio, since it was Thursday). How did Kyle know so much? Was it because he’d asked the right questions?

  Not likely. Kyle wasn’t a big conversationalist, never had been. But he was a good listener. Which meant that Celina had probably shared those parts of her life with him on her own. Again the question arose – why open up to Kyle and not to him?

  There had been plenty of opportunity. They’d discussed other things, like books. Movies. Politics. But not a lot of personal stuff. In fact, he probably knew more about Amy than he had about Celina, at least before Kyle came along.

  He was still thinking about it that night while he prepared an organic, free-range, boneless chicken breast and herbed, fresh vegetables. As meals went, it was both tasty and healthy. But it didn’t give him a fraction of the pleasure he’d seen in Amy’s eyes when she’d eaten that ice cream cone.

  It didn’t give him a fraction of the pleasure he’d felt watching her savor every creamy bite.

  Huh.

  He looked at the clock as he dried the last of his dishes and put them away. Five after eight. Too early to go to bed, but he wasn’t all that tired anyway. He picked up a few sales reports he needed to review, but couldn’t focus. Turned on the television and flipped through the channels, but nothing snagged his interest. Feeling restless, he wandered through his condo, looking for something to do to occupy his mind.

  And found nothing.

  There wasn’t anything to put away. Nothing to organize. He was a tidy guy by nature, and the woman who came by twice a week kept everything clean.

  Now what? What did single people in their late twenties do?

  They hit the internet.

  Jamie fixed himself a drink and sank down onto his imported leather couch, tablet in hand. Avoiding social media (he really didn’t want to see any pictures or posts of the happy couple), he pulled up his search engine and typed in Amy’s Book Shoppe instead.

  Clicking on her website, he read through a brief history of the place and scrolled through various images, remembering the warm, welcome atmosphere. It held so much more character and feel than his clean, tidy, immaculate condo. But it was more than just the building itself. It was Amy’s warm, welcoming presence and friendly demeanor that made
it stand out.

  He couldn’t help but wonder what she did after hours. She was single, about his age. After closing the shop, would she go upstairs and fix herself something to eat? Would she make herself a healthy meal, or pop something into the microwave? Would she take a bath or a shower, maybe settle down with a book before she went to bed?

  Or did she sit alone, surfing the net, wishing there was something more?

  On an impulse, Jamie picked up his phone and thumbed through his contacts until he found her. The phone rang as he tossed the stress ball in the air, giving it a squeeze each time it landed in his palm with a muted thump. With each ring, his self-doubt increased. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she didn’t want to hear from him. Maybe she regretted programming her private number into his phone that night, telling him to call if he ever wanted to talk.

  “Hi, this is Amy. Leave a message.”

  Jamie swallowed his disappointment when the beep sounded at the end of her succinct recorded greeting. “Hi Amy. This is Jamie. I just... well, I just wondered how you were doing, and, uh, if maybe you were up for seeing another movie this weekend. That’s all. Goodnight.”

  He disconnected the call and groaned. Real slick, McCullough. Could he have sounded any more like an adolescent?

  When he slid into his cool, high-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets that night, she still hadn’t returned his call. And despite repeated checks to make sure his phone was on and working properly, it remained silent and message free.

  By Monday, it had become a source of great agitation. Why hadn’t she called him back or texted, even if it was to say ‘Thanks, but no thanks’? Had she even gotten the message? Or had she heard and deleted it, wanting no more to do with him after his insensitive comments?

  The hell with it, he thought as he made an impulse decision, turning right instead of left on his way to the office. He cruised around the block several times before he actually pulled into the lot.

  It wasn’t Amy pouring out coffee, serving pastries, and ringing up sales, but a plump older woman whose fiery red hair was streaked with gray. The place was packed with local business people dressed in suits, as well as a couple of blue-collar types, grabbing their morning caffeine and sugar fix before heading off to work.