Chapter 6
Sylvie
I’m sweating.
This sort of purchase would have drained my bank account in the past, and the moisture under my armpits is a telling sign of just how stressed out spending this much on cleaning supplies is making me.
Thank the gods of hygiene I put on extra deodorant this morning.
“D.O. for my B.O.,” I sing out, and stick my debit card into the little card reader machine.
“You know you can tap it,” Aiden tells me.
“Nah. This is momentous. My first business purchase. It deserved to be inserted.”
Oh.
I pause. “That didn’t come out right.”
Aiden’s shoulders shake as he laughs silently.
“Stop laughing,” I tell him, but I’m laughing too, in an outraged sort of way. “I didn’t mean to be inappropriate.”
That just makes him laugh harder, and I glare at him before turning my attention back to the tiny screen. The receipt printer spits out the paper receipt, which I tuck into a special pocket in my jean shorts for my business receipts.
It’s a regular pocket, but patting it means it’s official now.
“I should probably get something to keep receipts in, huh?” I crinkle my nose and glance at where Aiden’s finally composed himself after my unfortunate insertion comment.
“Do you have an accountant?” he asks. “Or a finance person? I can hook you up with someone—”
“No insertion necessary,” I quip.
He’s silent at my joke, though, and I frown, pushing the cart towards where his car awaits in the gourd-infested parking lot.
“I do. When I signed the paperwork for the will and everything, they set me up with a whole bunch of people associated with the trust. I am under strict instructions to forward all business expenses to the finance-trust-person and they’ll take care of taxes and all that.
” I wave one hand dismissively, though I feel far from it.
I’m freaking out. I just spent five hundred dollars on cleaning supplies for the store (and my new apartment) and paint for the store (and my apartment) and a few odds and ends to organize backstock and hang things on the walls of the bookstore and— “It’s more money than I’ve ever spent in one place,” I blurt.
“Except maybe that one time at the ER,” I tack on.
The back hatch of Aiden’s SUV opens, and suddenly he’s at the front of the cart, unloading cleaning solution and rags and brooms and mops and gallons of paint and roller brush things to put the paint on the walls.
“Deep breaths,” he tells me. “You have the whole trust behind you on this.”
“I have lists,” I tell him, panicky, clinging to the cart handle like my life depends on it.
“I know. You used your cleaning supply list in there.” He jerks his head towards the store as he unloads more shit into the back of the car. “I was there.”
“I did use it, and I got the things we need.”
“And the feed store is next so we can get your new cat situated before it pees on your bed or something.”
“It’s going to pee on my bed?” I screech.
“Probably not. Are you hungry?”
“Not if it’s going to pee on my bed!”
“It’s not going to pee on your bed. I tell you what. We’ll pick you up cat supplies next, the feed store is on the way back to downtown, and then we’ll get the cat all taken care of. You with me?”
He looks up from the neatly packed trunk and I stare at him, my heart racing.
“I’m not ready for bookstore ownership,” I tell him, my voice wavering. “I’m not ready for this, and I’m not ready to be a cat parent, either.”
“Nah, you totally are. You just need a little help. And probably some food. And sleep, right? We all feel better after food and sleep.”
“What I need to do is clean everything and get open as soon as I can. That was so much money, and I still have to buy books and set up the website and—”
“One thing at a time,” Aiden tells me. He’s pulling my fingers off the cart, the backof the car closed already. “First, we put this back.”
He finally manages to pry the cart from my grip and put it back with its buddies in the little cart pen.
I just stare at him. “I can’t believe this is my life.”
“It’s pretty wild,” he agrees, draping an arm over my shoulder and gently guiding me to the passenger seat.
“Two weeks ago I was just fired from my job, and then I checked the mail and my whole life changed,” I tell him, apparently now unable to shut up.
He laughs gently, then grabs the seatbelt, clicking it over my lap like it’s the most normal thing in the world to buckle me into his car.
“Two weeks isn’t very long to get used to a big change like this,” he says agreeably.
Before I get a chance to retort, he’s closed the door on me.
“I promise I’m not usually this…” I start again as he gets into the driver’s seat. I wave my hand at myself. “Discombobulated.”
“Discombobulated?” he repeats, shaking his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say that out loud.”
“Well, it’s just a banner day for new things then, I guess.”
He laughs, starting the car, and the sound of it sets me at ease, slightly.
“You don’t think I’m crazy, right?”
“What? Why? For starting a business? Moving to a small town to do it? After it fell in your lap and you’d lost your job?”
I nod emphatically and he pulls out carefully, putting one big hand on my seat as he looks out the back window.
His forearms are muscled and tanned, and I should certainly not be looking at his forearms with any interest.
Discombobulated, indeed.
“I mean, yeah, it definitely is a weird set of things to happen all at once, but honestly, I think it would be worse if you hadn’t come here.”
“You do?” I ask, and the relief that floods me is outsized. I shouldn’t care what this man I just met thinks, or any stranger—and I don’t, not really—but it’s nice to hear it all the same.
“Yeah. I mean, the timing was perfect, right? Weirdly perfect. Then you have, you know, the ability to make the business happen—”
“The funds, you mean.”
“Yes, that is exactly what I was politely trying to dance around.” He laughs. “Plus, it’s in your wheelhouse. Books. That’s your wheelhouse, you said so yourself. So now, it’s just learning the business components while you go. And you met me, which is also perfect.”
“You’re perfect for me?” I ask, confused.
He pauses, blinking, and I quickly backtrack. “You mean meeting you was perfect… because you’re going to help me with the business stuff.”
“Something like that,” he agrees, and I squint at him, sure I’m missing some social cue or something important here. I glance him over, trying to pinpoint his body language, but my face turns hot immediately and I pivot to looking outside the window as fast as I can.
I stay quiet the rest of the ride, content to look over the to-do lists in my notes app, and by the time we’ve arrived at the feed store, which is also brimming with pumpkins and corn stalks and hay bales, I’ve mostly recovered my equilibrium.
“Jack bought a raccoon trap here once,” he says as he pulls into the place. “I don’t have pets, so I only come here if I need fishing tackle.”
“Random,” I tell him. “A raccoon trap?” I shake my head. “I’m almost afraid to ask what happened to the raccoon.”
“Oh, it wasn’t the raccoon they needed to worry about,” Aiden replies.
Which clears nothing up at all. “What?”
“Oh, it’s such a good story.”
“Hey, Aiden,” a guy wearing overalls greets him as we walk into the store, and Aiden waves in acknowledgement.
“Is that the owner?” I’m out of my depth. Sure, I visited Ivy and her sisters’ small town a couple times and people knew them, but they grew up there.
“Nope, that’s Colton. You know what? Let me introduce you two.” He’s walking towards the khaki overalls guy before I can tell him no. “Colton, this is Sylvie. She’s the new owner of that old bookstore downtown.”
I wave, swallowing down my introversion and forcing my hand out for a handshake. “Hi, so nice to meet you,” I say.
“Hey, I think one of your trust lawyers called me, actually. Told me to swing by your place for electrical and some other things.” Colton nods at me.
He’s older than I thought at first, maybe early forties, with just a dusting of white in his hair.
“I’m a general contractor. I’ll help you get your place all fixed up this week and next; I’ve already got you on the schedule. ”
“You’re kidding,” I tell him, genuinely pleased. “That knocks off half my to-do list in one go.”
He adjusts the paper bag in his arms and grins at me. “Yeah, I’ll probably swing by after lunch tomorrow and just make my own to-do list of what needs to be done. I’ll be there bright and early to start work in two days.”
“I seriously can’t believe this. I’m so happy,” I gush, tears pricking at my eyes.
“Please don’t cry,” Colton tells me gruffly. “I can’t stand that.”
That makes me bark out a laugh in surprise and I finally drop his hand, which I was still awkwardly shaking. “Fair enough.” I dab my eyes dramatically. “I won’t cry. But I will be very excited, and I can’t guarantee I won’t be playing music you’ll like.”
He gives me a small smile, then nods at Aiden. “See you tomorrow, Sylvie. Welcome to New Hopewell.”
Buoyed by meeting the human solution to a pretty wide swath of my problems, I float around the feed store, springing for the more expensive canned cat food for the little black cat, along with a stainless-steel litter box and scoop set, litter that promises to be odor-free, a few toys, a scratching post, and some cute ceramic bowls for food and water.
“However did that cat live without me before?” I ask Aiden. He laughs, and spending the money comes easier this time. Probably because it doesn’t cost nearly as much as the cleaning supplies.
That, or I’m getting used to this whole spending money thing a lot faster than I thought I would. Not that I’m over it.
No, I’m pretty sure my butt’s just sweating now instead of my armpits.
Good thing Aiden is one hundred percent not interested in any bit of my sweaty ass.
“She needs a name, huh?” I ask as we head back to the car again, which is going to be ridiculously full of shit for me. And my new cat.
“Yeah, absolutely she needs a name. What about Rapunzel?”
“She’s not blonde.”
“Oh, okay, because you’re full of so many good name ideas,” he says, opening the door for me and helping me load all the cat things into his already full trunk.
“I have no name ideas,” I tell him, putting the cat litter in the last available spot. “I didn’t plan on being a parent so soon.”
He laughs at that. “Good thing it’s a cat and not a baby.”
“It’s like you don’t appreciate the problems of a new cat parent.” I sigh and shake my head. “Just wait for the day when you finally have a little one running around, needing things.”
“You sound like my mother.”
I put my hand to my chest and flutter my eyelashes. “Well, I’m honored. You know, they say men marry their mothers.”
I regret the idiotic phrase as soon as it leaves my mouth.
He closes the trunk and turns slowly to me. My cheeks flush, and I fervently wish I’d said literally anything else.
Well, if I weren’t already in it, I would definitely be moving to the friend zone now.
“We could name the cat Freud,” I suggest, wriggling my eyebrows.
That makes him laugh, and then he’s shaking his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you. You know who you would get along with, though? Jack’s Emma.”
“Jack’s Emma?” I repeat, now well and truly lost.
“Yeah, Emma. You two have a similar sense of humor. And by that, I mean you’re weird as hell.”
“Why, thank you,” I tell him. “Being normal sounds so… boring.”
“You are anything but boring.” He says it with a laugh, and it doesn’t sound like a bad thing.
His hand goes to the passenger door handle before I can grab it, and when he opens the door, I wonder if he dates boring girls.
For the first time, I wonder maybe if being boring would be better than whatever it is that I awkwardly am.
Nah. I brush the thought away.
If boring is his type, then we’d never work anyway.
The friend zone isn’t a bad place to be with Aiden, not a bad place to be at all.
“You look really happy,” he observes as he slides into the driver’s seat.
I shrug, but it’s true, I’m beaming at him.
“What?” he asks, laughing a little at whatever he sees in my expression as he starts the car up again.
“I’m just glad that of all the people that could have volunteered to help me out, it was you. You’re a good friend, Aiden.” I pause dramatically. “This would be a lot more of a meaningful statement if I knew your last name. It would have more gravitas.”
“Gravitas,” he repeats, sounding a little stunned.
Well, if he can’t handle my ten-dollar words, then he certainly couldn’t handle me as a girlfriend. Takes two to friendzone!
Or something.
“This is where you tell me your last name, Aiden,” I tell him gravely.
He doesn’t laugh this time. “It’s McAllen. I should have done a better job introducing myself, huh? You screamed at me when you first saw me.”
His hand reaches across the center console for mine, and then he’s bringing it to his face, pressing my knuckles to his lips.
All the breath leaves my lungs.
“It’s wonderful to meet you, Sylvie Barlow. I’m Aiden McAllen.”
I can’t breathe.
No one’s ever kissed my hand before… not like that.
No one’s ever put butterflies in my stomach like that, either.
“How’s that for gravitas?” he asks, cocking his head.
I let my hand drop back in my lap and clear my throat. “Extremely gravitased. Expert-level gravitased. Gravitas approval is given.”
He laughs, and I make myself join him.
It’s time to bust out my vibrator tonight from whichever moving box it’s hiding in, because ain’t no way I need to react like that to a kiss on my knuckles.
Not from Aiden, and not from anyone.
“I think Freud isn’t quite right for a girl cat name. We need to keep trying,” I force out, needing to change the subject.
“Then we’ll keep trying,” he says gamely. “Thai takeout? There’s a new place we can order from and have delivered to your place.”
“That would be perfect.”
We spend the rest of the trip back to my new home trying out names for the little black cat while I fervently avoid looking at Aiden.
It’s a lot harder than it has any right to be.