Chapter 10
Sylvie
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have touched you, that was rude of me.” I back off as quickly as I can, wringing my hands.
“It’s fine. But you should know, I do consider us friends now. Officially.” Some of the disgusted set of his lips fades away as he forces a smile, but there’s still a thread of tension in his forehead.
Relief washes through me all the same because at least he’s not running out the door. “Officially friends sounds good to me,” I tell him. “Friends with business benefits,” I tack on.
Right.
Because I certainly needed to say that.
“Like, I help you with the books and booze event—”
“That’s the perfect name,” he interrupts my stream-of-awkward-consciousness, and I blink up at him owlishly, frowning slightly.
A slow smile spreads across his face as he looks down at me, erasing the memory of the weird way he looked when I hugged him.
“Books and Booze,” he repeats slowly, giving an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “It’s a play on words, you know, booze… boos.”
A soft exhalation puffs out of me and I set my hands on my hips, looking at him in slight disbelief. “I can’t believe I didn’t make that pun on purpose. I’d be mad at myself if it weren’t such a perfect idea.”
“I don’t know,” he says, still grinning. “I think it’s even better that it was unintentional.”
My nose wrinkles. “Is it original enough? It feels a little… cliché.”
“Accidentally cliché,” he says, shaking his head dismissively. “It doesn’t count if it’s accidental.”
“Is that right?” I raise an eyebrow, huffing a laugh. When was the last time someone made me laugh so easily? Made everything feel easy.
Except that hug, I guess.
It’s a good thing, too, because it’s obvious he doesn’t feel any chemistry with me—which means he’s the perfect friend I need here in New Hopewell. Smart, charming, helpful, and not interested in me in the slightest.
If it hurts my feelings that Aiden, as handsome and nice as he is, isn’t attracted to me, then I’ll just have to get over it.
“Of course it is.” He points a finger at me, and the accompanying outlandish wink almost has me laughing again. “Everyone knows that. Okay. You’re all set for the night, right? Do you need anything else?”
“You’ve already done so much. Too much,” I amend, shaking my head.
“That’s not an answer,” he says, his voice so serious that it surprises me a little. Serious, and slightly possessive. Which is weird.
Or maybe he’s just trying to be that good of a friend and neighbor.
I consider it, if there’s anything else I need. “The place is as clean as I can get it, the stuff I need most is unpacked, and you’ve set up a website, helped me decide on a store name, and contacted a graphic designer—”
My phone buzzes, and a glance shows that same graphic designer has emailed again, this time about pricing and color schemes. I hold it up so he can see.
“There is literally nothing else you could possibly do to both help me feel settled here on my first night and help get the wheels in motion to get the whole bookstore ready to open.” I push back my sweaty hair, thinking hard.
“Not to mention you’ve already named our first joint event. This is a banner day.”
“A banner day,” he repeats, chuckling to himself. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say that out loud.”
“A banner day for both of us, then.” I nod sagely.
His smile slowly disappears, though, replaced by a thoughtful expression. “You might be right about that.”
“Of course I am,” I say breezily. “To our combined businesses’ success.”
“Hear hear,” he says, but it’s slightly forced, which just confuses me more.
Whatever. He’s probably as tired as I am.
“Thank you,” I tell him, making a shooing motion with my hands, still clutching the phone tightly in one. “Now go home and get some sleep.”
“Gimme your phone,” he says, and I plop it into his outstretched hand.
A little smile of pleasure burrows into my cheeks, and I can’t quite smush down the effervescent happiness of him giving me his number.
He wants me to have his number.
Because he wants to be a friend. A business associate, too. That’s all it is, I tell myself primly.
Still.
Friends are nice to have.
“There. Now you have my number, and I’ve texted myself from your phone, so I have yours too. Call me if you need anything, okay?” Aiden turns, his broad shoulders bunching as he starts to head down the stairs.
“Like a bedtime story?” I skip to the edge of the stairs.
“What?”
“What?” I repeat, wishing I could scrub the random ask from my verbal history.
He pauses, turning towards me.
He’s still taller than me, even a couple steps down, but we’re closer to eye-to-eye than ever.
“Did you ask for a bedtime story?” There’s an incredulous note in his voice that nearly makes me cringe.
“It was a joke,” I say quickly, wanting to tear my gaze away from his.
He licks his lips, though, and now I’m staring at his mouth instead.
NOT ANY BETTER!
I whip my head away, settle for looking at the boob light hanging in the stairwell.
“They have apps for that. If that’s what you need. A bedtime story, I mean.” He sounds more flustered with every additional word.
“The nipple needs dusting.”
Aiden barks a laugh. “You know, I don’t even want to ask.”
“The boob light. Gotta keep the ole nipples clean.”
Well, at least we’re not talking about bedtime stories now.
“Riiiight,” he drags out the word, then laughs again.
“Well, I meant if something happens to your power and your phone dies mid-bedtime story app, or, uh, you know if something goes bump in the night. Normally I wouldn’t turn down a good nipple dusting session, but I wouldn’t want to impose on your fun. ”
A shiver goes through me—not because of his bump in the night comment, but because it feels like the air conditioning is going into overdrive again.
Frankly, best-case scenario. Gimme all the AC.
I’m going to sleep like a baby.
“This is probably a weird note to leave on, huh?” he says conversationally, and I laugh.
“It’s not your fault. I’m weird. That’s my default state. Alas, it’s probably contagious.” I do a little mock bow, affecting a British accent, topping it off by twirling my hand and clicking my heels together. “Forgive me sir, but you’ve caught the weirds.”
“I knew I felt it coming on,” he says, pressing the back of his hand against his forehead and giving the tiniest cough. “It comes in with the fall, I fear.”
We both laugh, and he waves me off when I try to follow him downstairs. “Don’t let me interrupt you. No need to stand on ceremony and walk me out. Just throw the lock before you go to sleep.”
I’m slightly relieved at that because damn, I was mentally itching to put a few more things away in the bathroom before having to climb two flights of stairs.
“Thanks,” I tell him, and my voice cracks slightly with emotion.
So, obviously, I have no choice but to do that terrible British impersonation again. “Thank you kindly, sir. I do recommend a strong syrup for what ails you.”
His laughter follows him down the stairs, and I’m smiling to myself as I scurry back to the warm light of the bathroom.
I think I might get lucky and settle in just fine here.