Chapter 4 #2
“Give me a second chance. I know that conversation you overheard was a shitty way for me to come into your life, and I know you think I’m trying to mess things up for you, but I’m not.”
“I don’t trust you.” She shook her head. “The only usable storage space in the basement is the seed-starting room. I live in the apartment. I’ve already been using the second bedroom for the extra inventory my aunt accumulated. I don’t … I don’t have the money to rent a storage unit.”
His face fell. “I don’t suppose you’d let me—”
“No.”
Something about Nic oozed money. It was part of what made his recent career transition baffling. His mouth tightened. “You know those classes are—”
“Are what?”
“Um … they’re empty. I bet a lot of those folks only stuck around because they liked your aunt. You hate teaching kids. It shows.”
“Don’t act like you know what I hate.”
“I know you hate me. That’s pretty clear, since you’ve been literally ducking away every time I come into your shop and hiding behind the bushes when I walk by the garden. I’m assuming it’s not because you want the best angle to check out my ass.”
“You and your ass can shove it. I have not…” She brushed hair out of her face to give herself an extra second.
It was probably futile to deny she’d been ogling him.
Alternative strategy—deflection. “Look. I hated hearing you call my aunt stubborn and that her business was sloppy when you didn’t know her.
I’d give anything for her to be back. I’ve never done this before.
I had to focus on the inside stuff first and the back garden over the summer before I could—”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I heard you.”
“No, I said that the people she hired were sloppy, and she should’ve sued them for the drainage work.
Marshall said she spent thousands of dollars on it, and it didn’t work.
And she was stubborn for not letting anyone help her when it seemed like everyone around here would have handed over their last dollar for her. ”
Felicity smiled. “You’re right about that.”
Nic’s eyes brightened.
Felicity scowled. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re being veeery convincing.”
Nic blushed so red Felicity had the sudden urge to yell Gotcha, but for once, her mouth listened to her brain. “You heard that part too?”
“I have excellent hearing.”
“No wonder you think I’m an enormous jackass.
” He rubbed his chin. “But you didn’t have to hide from me.
I don’t bite.” His almost wolfishly handsome smile might have belied the point.
“Come to the meeting tomorrow night and we can discuss this with Dr. Pratt too. And a few of the long-term tenants.” He paused for a beat before continuing.
“Also, Samantha mentioned she hasn’t seen you much either. ”
“You talked to Samantha about me?” An unexpected stinging pain pricked at the inside corners of her eyes. She blinked furiously against the sudden blur obscuring Nic’s face.
“Are you—”
“I’m fine.” Quickly, she turned to face her bags of neither disconcertingly attractive nor patronizingly judgmental potting soil.
Shit. She could not do this right now. She would not be this person.
Nic wasn’t the only person she had been hiding from.
Embarrassingly, the months had passed without her noticing.
She’d moved back here with fifteen boxes and two suitcases packed into her old Subaru.
Felicity had thought all her problems would be solved.
She had a goal. She had a distraction and a purpose.
He was right. She’d barely spent any time with Sam either.
Sam had invited her over for dinner every week.
She’d told her to come by the bookstore.
She left new books on Felicity’s doorstep.
The only occasion Felicity had spent time with anyone was a five-minute coffee break when Sam came by after Felicity had overheard the conversation between Nic and Marshall.
Felicity had drowned herself in invoices and bank statements and vendor calls rather than take a chance at anyone here noticing how messed up she was. She didn’t want everyone here to start treating her the way her family had been treating her for the past few years.
After a reflexive touch on the previously broken spot on her nose, she tossed the last bag onto the pile.
She swallowed the groan of pain that tried to crawl up her throat.
Her back had apparently taken the few minutes standing still talking to Nic as an invitation to seize up completely.
She didn’t want to give Nic any further evidence that she was a physical disaster in addition to being an emotional one, so she walked over to the doorway of the shop and out of his sight line so she could rub the sorest spot of her shoulder.
Nic cleared his throat. “You need to stop walking away when we’re talking. It’s rude.” After a pause, he continued. “You ever heard of saying a polite Goodbye or See you later or maybe So sorry, I got to go when you end a conversation?”
Felicity growled to hide a guilty sigh.
As someone who had dealt with undiagnosed ADHD for half of her adult life, this struck a particular private nerve.
Felicity did have a habit—especially as a child—of accidentally getting distracted and leaving a conversation without realizing what she was doing.
However, today, Nic’s role in sabotaging her business seemed a reasonable excuse for incivility.
With a cautious turn, she narrowed her eyes at the tall man leaning on her fence.
She kept her voice decidedly steady and suitably biting, flinging a debutante-worthy “oh my stars” hand against her chest. “Please excuse my rudeness. I’m sure internationally recognized gourmet chef Nicolas Holm-Bozic is used to bowing and genuflecting farewells—”
“Can’t lie. I’m delighted you’ve read my press clippings.” His chest puffed out.
She tilted her head to the side and stared intently at his forehead. “Gosh, that’s amazing, isn’t it?”
“What is?” His fingers probed his hairline following her gaze.
“Oh, I was just thinking about the newspaper clipping with the photo of you that someone tacked up outside the restaurant. It’s truly amazing they make chef’s hats big enough to accommodate such oversized egos.
Must have been a special order. Anyway…” She dipped into a low, venomous curtsy.
“I must beg your pardon and bid you a very fond farewell as I return to my humble botanical emporium. We Podunk Kansas girls are but simple country bumpkins, always so honored to speak to someone of your…” She glanced at his head again.
“… immense stature.” She turned to reach for her doorknob.
His chuckle was mirthless. “You grew up on the East Coast, Felicity. But yes, feel free to continue to speak to me in such reverent language if it’s the only way you know how to have basic manners.”
“Douchebag.” Felicity hadn’t exactly meant for the word to be audible.
“Ginger harpy.”
Glowering, she flung open the store door. The aggression of the gesture was dampened by the delicate, tinkling welcome bell. Hearing that characteristic snort behind her, she slammed the door closed for good measure.
She muttered a string of obscenities about Nic’s goddamn stupid face and his fucking asshole douchebag mouth as she stalked through the store.
“By all means talk more about Nic’s asshole. And his mouth? Oooh … kinky stuff.”
Felicity spun around, ignoring the pain shooting up her spine. “No, I meant—”