23. Don’t Call Me Sugar
TWENTY-THREE
Don’t Call Me Sugar
TARA
Tara arrived at Between the Lines long before it was scheduled to open so she could crunch some numbers for her business plan to eventually take over the family business. She hoped that day wouldn’t come for a few more years but she wanted to be ready when it did.
She closed her laptop with a frustrated sigh. “Someday.”
Finances updated and a few more bills for the shop paid, she decided to focus her energies on the window display by the front entrance before she planned to meet Celeste at Baba’s for a late breakfast. Balancing a tall stack of autumn-themed books, she waddled toward the front of the store before kneeling down and letting them topple onto the carpeted floor behind the plate glass windows.
The day was overcast, but the light was still bright, allowing her to work without turning on the lights and giving the impression that she was opening the store early. She removed a few back-to-school items and spread out a cloth covered with an autumn leaf print. Once in place, she set out the latest novels with orange, yellow, and red covers to fit in with her mom’s fall theme.
The display area was narrow, leaving Tara with little choice but to lean over the half wall from behind to set up the display. She attempted to use only one hand to set up the books while the other hand held her shirt against her chest since gravity let it fall open every time she leaned over.
Fortunately, it was still early, so she gave up trying to be modest since no one was out and about. Baba’s had the monopoly on all the Sunday morning foot traffic on the opposite corner of the square.
About five or ten minutes into her work on the display, Tara leaned further over the half wall and stretched to a hard-to-reach spot just behind the glass when a shadow darkened her work area. Precariously perched, with her toes slightly off the floor behind her, she used the half wall as a fulcrum to maintain her balance while placing books around the display; but the sight of someone standing right in front of her window startled her. Two books flew out of her hands, lurching her body forward. Her hands caught her before she fell forward and became part of the display herself.
“Shit,” she said, while assessing her situation. With both hands on the base of the display, her long hair fell over her face and blocked her view. She shook her head to get it out of the way, but it fell right back in her face.
A quick glance down confirmed her shirt was displaying something far more risqué than her books. On reflex, she pulled a hand back to close her sweater against her chest.
Her eyes darted back and forth as she fought an internal battle between righting herself or not putting her full boobs on display, saving a shred of dignity. She raised her gaze to see who stood on the other side of the window. If it were Celeste, she wouldn’t care about the sweater knowing Celeste could act as a temporary shield while she stood. But anyone else, it would be a toss-up.
The pair of large black boots on the other side of the plate glass confirmed it was most definitely not Celeste. She craned her head upward and received a wide grin in return.
“Shit,” she said again, wishing she were anywhere but here.
The hot, tattooed guy was standing right in front of her shop.
She did her best to maintain her balance as he dropped his backpack on the ground and took a knee on the sidewalk and tilted his head to the side to make himself eye level with her. He dropped his smile long enough to take a sip from his Café Mocha coffee cup.
Her eyes dropped, and she released a soft whimper as his tongue licked his kissable lips.
He smiled again while assessing her dicey situation.
Tara arched a brow.
He turned serious and met her gaze. “Are you okay?”
Tara was cursed with an inability to read lips. “WHAT?”
He spoke louder this time. “ARE YOU OKAY?”
She tilted her head and blew at her bangs, but they still fell back in her face. “Does it look like I’m okay?”
He looked left, right, and back to Tara. He held up one finger, indicating she should wait. He set his coffee and backpack on the ground, then jogged toward the recessed entryway into the bookstore.
She’d locked the door behind her this morning, so the sound of the door rattling let her know he was trying to find a way in; she hoped he meant to help her. With his attention elsewhere, she had just enough time to forgot any modesty to push herself upright enough to grab the half wall behind the window display.
“I can’t get in,” he said in a loud voice. “Want me to break a window?”
She flipped her hair off her face and stood up. She put her hands on her hips. “NO! I don’t want you to break a window.” She hurriedly brushed the last tuft of hair off her face.
“Suit yourself, Sugar.” He reached down for his coffee and shrugged his backpack over one shoulder. He held the coffee cup as if making a toast. “See you later!”
“DON’T CALL ME SUGAR!”