I Thought of You

Chapter 3

Scottie

I don’t havePrice’s phone number, just like I don’t have Herb’s grandson’s number. If Herb comes in tomorrow morning, I’ll ask him to cancel my date with his grandson. When I said yes, I never imagined Price Milloy sliding back into my life. I never imagined he’d ask me to dinner and say things that made my heart skip a few beats.

He’s just as handsome as I remember. Men age well, not that thirty-four is old. However, most people put on a little weight as they age, but Price’s cheeks are a little more hollow, and his pants hang looser than I remember. He’s always had wavy brown hair, but it’s a little longer, and his velvet brown eyes don’t hold as much glimmer. His aura makes me uneasy.

“Let me know if I can help you with anything,” I say to the gentleman entering the store in a red baseball hat and a black zip-up hoodie. My gaze follows the clinking sound of the dog with jingly tags behind him—an adorable white Fox Terrier with a black patch on its back, a tan mask, and button ears.

The man scratches his scruffy jaw and nods, offering me the quickest of glances before heading toward the back of the store with the dog right behind him.

Every time the door has chimed today, I’ve secretly hoped for Price. I glance at my watch. The store closes in ten minutes. The guy didn’t grab a cart or basket, so he shouldn’t be here long. While I wipe down the counter and finish sweeping the floor in front of the bulk bins, the man in the red hat strolls down each aisle with his hands in his jacket pockets, occasionally stealing a glance in my direction with his blue eyes that are almost too blue to trust and full lips pressed into a hard line.

Why does he keep looking at me?

And why does it look like there’s something in his pocket? A gun. It has to be a gun, but it’s not in a holster.

My spine stiffens, and my heart beats so fast it pulses in my ears. This makes no sense. Someone doesn’t rob a store with their dog. Do they?

There are cameras, but no one is monitoring them; no one would save me.

“Um …” I clear my throat. “We’re closing soon. Are you sure there’s nothing I can help you find?” My voice trembles as I make my way behind the counter again—the broom clanks when my shaky hand leans it against the door to the back room.

Keeping his head bowed, he steps up to the counter, grabs random items within arm’s length of the register, and tosses them in front of me.

“Are you paying with a credit card? We only accept credit cards. There is no cash in the store.”

Nothing for you to rob.

He slowly lifts his head, giving me my first good look at him. Beneath the dark blond scruff on his face, he has a strong jaw, high cheekbones, full lips, and distrusting cobalt eyes. A half-inch scar slants toward his temple just above his left eyebrow. It’s flat and a shade lighter than the rest of his skin, like it’s been there for years.

I mentally note it, along with his curled, dirty blond hair peeking out in all directions from his hat. If I live to talk to the cops, I’ll tell them he’s over six foot, maybe six-two or six-three. Athletic build with broad shoulders. Robust hands with thick knuckles. He’d easily be able to strangle me with just one of them.

“You take cash,” he says matter-of-factly.

Chills claim my skin like a pond’s surface, surrendering to winter. And I feel just as frozen in place. Still, who brings their dog to a robbery? Or is this a homicide in the making?

He’s calling my bluff. He and his dog have sniffed out my lie. I want to scream, but I’m too terrified to scream. I’ve had this nightmare, the one where the fear is so great that it has me in a choke hold, so when I open my mouth to cry for help, nothing comes out.

“Please don’t hurt me,” I whisper before pressing my trembling lips together.

I would give anything for someone to walk through the door. There have been so many nights when someone has rushed into the store, grateful they caught me before I locked the door because they needed something.

Not tonight.

He narrows his eyes briefly before his pinched brows release and spring up his forehead. He holds up his hands as if I’m the one who might harm him. “Scottie, I’m not going to hurt you.”

I yank open the drawer below the register and pull out a pair of scissors before taking several steps backward. “How do you know my name?”

“I’m Koen.”

I shake my head. I didn’t ask his name.

“Herb Sikes’s grandson.”

I hear him, but it still takes a few seconds for everything to register. “W-what are you doing here?” I lower the scissors but keep a firm grip on them.

Killers have families and grandfathers who probably adore them because they don’t know they’re killers. Herb said Koen’s the silent type.

Just like a killer.

Most killers have above-average IQs. And cute dogs. Unsuspecting little accomplices.

“I was just checking you out.” He cringes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “God, that sounded all wrong. I meant I wanted to see if you were …” He shakes his head. “I don’t know how to say this.” Koen pulls off his hat and scratches his head, ruffling his thick, mussed hair.

“You were afraid he fixed you up with a dog,” I say, letting the tension fall off my shoulders while I return the scissors to the drawer and blow out a slow breath.

“I like dogs,” he nods to his dog, “so that would have been an acceptable arrangement.” A shy grin steals his lips. “Sorry, bad joke.” He glances around the store.

He’s nervous. I can’t believe I feared for my life just seconds earlier.

Do I tell him I was hoping to cancel our date?

“My grandfather is a kind man. He once tried to fix me up with a woman who was six months pregnant and going through a divorce.” He wrinkles his nose.

It’s kind of cute.

“I’m not pregnant, and I’ve never been married.”

But my first love is back in my life, and that has me confused. I should tell him and cancel our date. I’m not good at seeing more than one guy at a time, not that I’ve tried.

“I’ll come back another day when I have cash.” He smirks with a James Marsden smile, the kind that involves his eyes, forcing them to squint a fraction.

And just like that, I no longer wish to cancel our date.

“How did you know I was lying?”

“My grandfather doesn’t have credit cards anymore.”

I frown. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually a liar.”

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

“You didn’t?—”

He lifts one eyebrow.

I blush and shake my head. “You nearly scared the crap out of me. I saw my life flash before my eyes.”

“God! I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t have come.” He returns his hat to his head. “If you don’t want to go out next weekend, I won’t blame you.”

“I hate first dates,” I say.

He glances up at me, and his anguish multiplies.

“I have to find the right outfit. My hair never cooperates. The restaurant is usually overpriced, and I hardly taste the food because I’m too focused on making sure it doesn’t stick between my teeth.” I shrug. “There are many reasons why I’m thirty-one and still single, but hating first dates is at the top of that list. So …” I turn and retrieve two soda glasses. “Do you have a curfew?” I glance over my shoulder.

His expression softens. “No.”

“Great.” I snag my keys and hold one out to him. “Lock the door, flip the switch on the Open sign, and sit on a bar stool.”

He hesitates for a few seconds before taking the key. I turn toward the fountain machine and mix up a cherry-lime Rickey and a brown cow.

“Chips, pretzels, or popcorn?” I ask with a grin, sliding the drinks in front of him.

Koen gives me that winning smile again. “We’re really doing this?” He unzips his jacket.

“I think we should.”

“Then popcorn, of course.”

I laugh. “Of course.” Stealing a bag, I peel it open and set it on the counter between the two sodas before hopping onto the sparkly red swivel stool beside him.

“You haven’t introduced me to your sidekick.” I nod to his dog.

He follows my gaze. “This is Scrot.”

“Scrot?”

“Yes. Rhymes with boat.”

“Nice to meet you, Scrot.”

He slides into a down position below Koen.

When I glance up, Koen chooses the brown cow, sipping from the stainless steel straw. “Is this a first date?” he asks.

I toss a few popcorn kernels into my mouth and grin while chewing. “Heck no. This is a chance encounter, not a first date.”

He grabs a handful of popcorn. “So, how long have you worked here?”

“Nope.” I sip my soda. “That’s a first-date question.”

He chuckles. “Okay. Uh … my boss is sleeping with his daughter’s best friend.”

I cup a hand over my mouth and giggle. “You’re so good at chance encounters. How old is his daughter’s friend? Please say she’s of legal age.”

“She’s twenty-three. He’s fifty.”

“Yikes. Does his daughter know?” I stir my drink with the straw until it fizzes.

“No.”

“Could you date someone twenty-seven years younger than you?”

Koen smirks. “That would make her six. So I have to say no.”

“You know what I mean.” I laugh.

He eyes me while sipping his drink. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine having much in common with someone that young.”

I narrow an eye at him. “Do you think your boss is sleeping with her because they have a lot in common?”

“Fair point.”

The momentum dies, and the popcorn bag”s rustling and the refrigerators” hum are the only sounds in this space.

“Sorry. This is stupid,” I mumble with a sigh. “I thought we could skip the first-date awkwardness, but this is even more awkward.” I fiddle with my hair. “We’re strangers.”

Koen draws in a long breath, gaze surveying the store. Now that I’m not afraid of him, I sense his gentleness and patience in how he seems to give my words thought before responding. Herb does that, too, but I’ve always assumed it’s his age, a man in no hurry to do or say anything.

“We could kiss.” When his eyes shift, gaze landing squarely on my face, he grins, quickly rubbing the pads of his fingers over his lips to hide it.

I take a second to respond, a slight delay to ensure I heard him correctly. “Strangers kissing?”

He offers a one-shoulder shrug. “I would never suggest it if this were a first date.”

“You think chance encounters involve kissing?” My cheeks ignite.

“There’s a chance. Wouldn’t you say?” Shy, my ass. He’s bleeding with confidence.

My nose wrinkles. “I don’t think I kiss strangers. It’s too intimate.”

Koen eyes me like he’s giving it some thought, perhaps formulating a counterclaim. Then he leans toward a display on the counter and nabs a deck of Drummond’s playing cards next to a Drummond’s fountain drink jigsaw puzzle. He retrieves a five-dollar bill from his pocket. “For the cards.” He pulls the tab, opening the new box of cards and shuffling the deck. “Golf?”

By this point, my grin is not only unavoidable, it’s so obnoxious my face hurts.

“Golf.”

He deals the cards, and we each flip two over. I quickly win the first game, but he wins the following three.

“Do you live nearby?” he asks, shuffling the cards.

My gaze shifts from his capable hands (he’s obviously shuffled many cards) to his pleasant grin. “Pretty darn close.”

“In this neighborhood?” He deals six cards each.

“Closer.” I smirk, lining up my cards into rows of three.

Koen lifts an eyebrow. “Do you live in the store?”

“Not quite.” I jerk my head toward the back door while sliding off the stool.

He follows me.

“Voila,” I say, opening the door to the chilly night under a clear sky.

“That’s your Airstream?”

“Yes. Sort of.” I don’t elaborate on the semantics.

“And we’re playing cards in the store?”

I laugh. “Less than an hour ago, I thought you were going to rob me.”

Koen inspects me with a curious gaze for a few seconds. “Listen, I should go, but I’ve enjoyed our chance encounter.” He saunters back toward the counter and slips on his jacket.

I gather the cards, take the glasses to the back room, and load them into the dishwasher. When I return, Koen’s waiting by the door with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and Scrot at his side.

“I’d still like to take you to dinner next weekend if you’re interested.”

I slide my phone from my pocket. It’s been twelve years since I’ve felt this kind of instant chemistry. Twelve years of dormant butterflies in my tummy waiting to be resurrected. “I’d like that too.”

We exchange numbers, and I unlock the door.

He bites his lips together as if he’s fighting a grin.

“What?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I’m just thinking.”

“Do I want to know what you’re thinking?”

“I’m thinking, ‘Well done, Grandpa. Well done.’”

I blush. Oh yeah, those butterflies are very much alive. “Thanks for not robbing me tonight.”

Koen adjusts his hat and zips his hoodie to the top before shooting me a mischievous grin. “You’re welcome.”

He’s sexy and playful. I don’t want him to leave, but he’s opening the door. I try to be cool. We just met. I should say goodnight.

“Goodnight,” he says for the both of us since I’m too busy thinking of doing something impulsive, even for me.

Five seconds later, I step outside. “Hey?”

He turns, already halfway to his truck.

“I’ve thought about it and … maybe we could kiss.” I can barely breathe. Bravery is exhausting.

“You’re right, it’s too soon. But if it makes you feel better, I’ve already kissed you a dozen different ways in my mind.”

Dead.

A woman with more dignity would turn around, go inside, and wait for the next date. Regroup and play hard to get.

I’m not that woman.

Instead, I gawk at his sexy ass in those jeans. I smile when he helps Scrot into the truck. And I watch him pull out of the parking lot.

Then,I play it cool.

Kidding.

I lock the front door and squeal while jumping up and down.

Then,I play it cool.