Chapter 12 #2
“I guess,” I grumble as we head for the storage room.
The baseboard samples came in and Mary London wants to see them up against the flooring she already picked out. I set up several demonstrations on the floor back here, already knowing which one I’d choose, but that doesn’t matter. It’s up to Mary London.
She takes her time, stepping on the flooring like she’s imagining she’s on the dance floor, glancing down to admire the baseboards.
“Truth be told, most people don’t even notice baseboards,” I say when she starts all over again with the first sample.
The front door opens and I hear Maggie call out a good morning to the boss lady. Mary London responds with a loud good morning and a promise to be up front in just a second. She and I both know this is gonna take longer than a few seconds.
“Well, I’m not most people, Mr. Price,” she says primly, stepping onto the second sample.
“Don’t I know it,” I grumble just loud enough for her to hear me.
Figuring I should settle in, I lean my arm on the rack next to me, grimacing as the fancy beading on the pale pink dress hanging there scratches my arm.
I notice the hefty price tag and shake my head at the absurdity of spending that much on a dress you’ll only wear one time. These boutiques are something else.
“The first one really grabs my attention, but I’m not sure it screams honky-tonk,” Mary London finally says. She points at the third option. “This has me wanting to find my cowboy boots and do a little line dance, you know?”
My lips wobble into what might be the first semblance of a smile today. Mary London sure has a way with words.
“Which one makes you want to spend more money on drinks at the bar?” I ask wryly.
She lifts her head and gifts me a blinding smile. “Number three.”
I nod. “There’s your answer.”
She squeals and shuffles across the flooring of option number three. I shake my head at her antics but I can’t help the grin. The woman makes me happy, I’m discovering.
“Hey, Mary London?” Maggie sticks her head into the storage room.
Mary London stops her little dance and glances up. “Yeah?”
“There’s a lovely lady out here who’d love that viral pink dress. We got any more back here?”
Mary London and I both look at the dress I’m leaning against. I snap to my feet, afraid I might have crushed something just being in proximity.
“No, we’re sold out. Tell her we’re sorry.”
Maggie leaves and I stare from Mary London to the dress, eyebrows puckering. I point at the frilly thing, careful not to touch it. “Is this the viral pink dress?”
Mary London looks away, dismissive in a way I don’t understand. “Yep.”
“So…why don’t you sell it to her?” That price tag is in the high triple digits. Surely she’d make a decent commission off of it.
She squats down to collect the flooring pieces and I jump into action, collecting them myself so she doesn’t get her hands dirty. When I straighten, I give her a look that says I’m not letting the dress topic drop.
She huffs, the smile sliding off her face. Hell, she won’t even meet my gaze. I feel like something awful must have happened with that dress for her not to be able to sell it. Oh Lord. I did ruin it, didn’t I?
“I anonymously donate some dresses every year to the local high school. That one went super viral on social media this year for whatever reason and I just think that the girls that can’t afford homecoming dresses should have the chance to be the belle of the ball too, you know? It’s not a big deal.”
Her voice is downright snippy, but the words hit my gut like melted chocolate, warm and gooey and so damn sweet. That dress is over five hundred dollars and she donates it?
Shit.
I fuckin’ like Mary London.
A lot.
I walk right up to her and put my hand on her chest, right over the gold necklaces that set off her tanned skin.
I push her gently backward until her back hits the wall.
She’s looking up at me, eyes wide. Then her tongue darts out and licks her lips.
I watch it travel with the kind of fascination that’s reserved for the obsessed.
Because I am.
Obsessed, that is.
With Mary London freakin’ Winthrop.
My hand shifts from her chest to her jaw, my thumb tracing over her cheek and then dropping to her plump bottom lip. I feel her inhale on my thumb, the short gasp that sets my skin on fire.
What I wouldn’t give to kiss this woman. To work more gasps out of her. To taste the sweetness that emanates from her. To find out what makes her fall apart.
“I’m sorry for interrupting your workday,” I whisper, gaze locked on my scarred thumb pushing down on her perfect lip. Her lip gloss coats my thumb, somewhere it absolutely shouldn’t be.
Her eyes heat and her breath fans across my skin as she answers, lip moving against my thumb. “Working with you is the best part of my day.”
My head drops, hanging there like this woman has just slayed me with her sweetness. A shriek of laughter from the front of the boutique has us both tensing. I drop my hand and step back.
Mary London stares at me, her chest rising and falling rapidly as I stare back.
What the hell am I going to do about this?