Chapter 18
Felicity draped the heart-shaped string lights over their pergola. Then she straightened the sign she’d commissioned from the younger of the two hot women who owned the tattoo shop that occupied the space next to the bookstore.
LITERARY ROMANCE, LOBSTER MAC, AND LOVE FERN NIGHT ON ST. CLARE PLAZA.
They’d decided to rechristen the courtyard the “plaza” in the hopes that it would make the bad drainage and uneven ground a part of the “character” of the space, instead of features that would make turning it into a pocket park more difficult.
At least the sod they’d definitely overpaid for back in November had taken.
She planned to meadow two areas on either side in the spring.
After a few weeks of awkwardness after the conversation she had overheard between Courtney, Thea, and Saj, Felicity had forced herself back into being her normal self with Nic. At least the version of herself she usually was with Nic.
Nevertheless, planning a romantic Valentine’s Day fundraiser event with this man had been a unique kind of torture.
Nic came outside, checked his watch, and breathed onto his hands.
Felicity looked him over. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” He shrugged.
“It’s twenty degrees and you’re soaking wet and standing outside.”
“Keen observation skills.”
“And you’re crabby,” Felicity said in the clinical tone of pronouncing a medical diagnosis.
“I am not crabby.”
“There is a distinctive air of the grouchiest of crustaceans emanating off you.” She raised her eyebrows.
“Are crabs actually the grouchiest crustaceans?”
“I don’t have a lot of experience, to be honest.”
Nic huffed but a twinkle of amusement had returned to his eyes. “Aren’t you from Maryland? The state so obsessed with crabs they even have them on their driver’s licenses?”
“Yes, but I’m allergic to all shellfish.” Felicity frowned. “Come to think of it, I guess all crustaceans are grouchy to me, since they’re essentially lethal poison. But I’m not sure anyone has ever studied the variable levels of bad-temperedness of invertebrates.”
Nic squinted at her. “Wait, if you’re allergic to shellfish, why’d you suggest a Literary Romance, Lobster Mac, and Love Fern Night?”
“I didn’t want to partake in it. I just thought it would be a fun multigenerational draw for the college kids and faculty and something all of us could do together to bring in some business. In any case, I have a thing for alliteration, and lobster was the best of the options I brainstormed.”
“Out of a curiosity I’ll probably regret, what were the other options?” His body seemed to brace in readiness for her response.
“Linguine.” She grimaced. “Always sounds like limp-dick noodles to me. Or lemon curd. But the word curd.” She shuddered and held up her fingers in a counting motion as she went through the other foods she’d considered.
“Ick. No. Loin—as in the pork type—seemed a little too on the genital nose. There was lamb, but the idea of slaughtering cute baby animals in the name of a holiday that already has a pretty significant murdery history gave me the heebie-jeebies.”
“We’re just going to move right past the phrase ‘on the genital nose,’ aren’t we?”
“Yes.”
“What about lasagna?”
“Oh…” She considered this. “But you made me your lasagna a few weeks ago, and given that it wiped out my garlic stores, we probably would’ve had to opt for a stronger after-dinner mint option.
Those chocolate ones won’t be enough for optimal kissing later.
It’d be okay for an established relationship but would likely sabotage a brand-new love connection. ”
Nic’s forehead was less furrowed than it had been before. He looked just as cold though. “This conversation is ludicrous.”
“Another of my favorite L words. And it cannot be more ludicrous than standing out in the frigid cold watching the road while wearing soaking-wet clothes in February.”
“Almost every conversation I’ve ever had with you exceeds that level of ridiculousness. Two nights ago, you picked a fight with me over cheesecake.”
She gave him a pointed look. “Only a psychopath would pollute something as delicious as cheesecake with something as disgusting as cotton candy flavoring.”
“It was for a unique dessert contest. It was on theme. It won. And it was five years ago. You carried on like I tortured a puppy just because it existed in the past and you saw a photo of it.” He rolled his eyes after finishing up his rant.
“I take cheesecake very seriously. You already know that I have strong dessert opinions. Cotton candy cheesecake, barf. But that’s not nearly as bad as—”
“Here we go again.” He groaned.
“If it has pineapple in it, it’s not carrot cake.”
“Can’t we just have these arguments once and be done?”
“Admit I’m right. And I swear to god, if you even bring up the rich texture of raisins, double barf, I won’t speak to you for a week.”
Nic smirked. “Last time you threatened me with the silent treatment you called me fifteen minutes later to kill a spider in your shower.”
“A tarantula.”
“It was a daddy longlegs, darlin’.” He put out a hand to lean on the post in front of her.
Perched as she was on her small ladder, she stood a few inches taller than him.
From this height she had the perfect angle to gaze into his sea glass–green eyes.
When her knees went wobbly, it was much easier to blame it on the wooden ladder being rickety.
His hands went around her waist to steady her, but they were gone just as quickly.
Nic was looking up at her, and she realized that in her sex-starved ogling, she’d completely forgotten to pay attention to the words coming out of his perfect mouth.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I said I thought you liked spiders.”
“In the garden. Outside.”
He narrowed his eyes. “It’s the same spiders.”
“Once they invade my territory, execution is the only option.”
“So bloodthirsty,” he said, almost seeming to relish the thought.
“Haven’t you ever heard that gingers steal souls?”
“Oh, I know that from personal experience.”
“Past girlfriend?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
That was not jealousy she felt. Not jealousy one bit.
Nope. For a second, Felicity weighed the idea of asking Courtney about it before deciding against it.
While Courtney was more talkative than she ever had been during visits in previous years, Felicity knew better than to probe her about Nic’s past relationships.
And Sam didn’t seem to know any more on the subject than Felicity did.
Felicity’s latest source of anxiety was a new pattern in Nic’s schedule. He was always gone on Tuesday nights. While he was pretty open about his plans usually, he consistently avoided ever scheduling anything on Tuesdays—without saying why.
Felicity had even tested it. When they were setting up a time to go over the shop’s books again, Felicity had tried to schedule it on a Tuesday. He had pushed it out to Wednesday without another word on the subject.
Maybe it had to do with this mysterious woman from his past.
She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know.
She sure as shit didn’t want him to ask about her past in return.
He flexed and rubbed his hands together, but his entire shirt was soaked, and he seemed to figure out that putting them inside his wet sleeves was doing more harm than good. He checked his watch again.
“Your hands are going to fall off.” Somehow, she avoided offering to warm them with her all-too-willing, excessively lonely lady parts. Small victories. “What are you waiting for? Expecting a candy gram? Land shark?”
“Singing cupid telegram, actually.”
“Sounds adorable.” She’d finished tying up the last of the balloons when a bright yellow truck sped into the spot out front. Felicity knew that stupid truck. Today, it had a new logo stuck to the side. She climbed down from the ladder and followed Nic to the curb.
Her stepcousin Toby climbed out, wearing that stupid neon-orange hard hat again. He’d added suspenders to his workman ensemble beneath an enormous puffy coat.
Nic groaned. “But I called Aaron’s Plumbing Services.”
Toby adjusted his hat. “I did some research and found it was better for business names to be closer to the front of the alphabet for prime phone book placement.”
“I think the only time I’ve seen a phone book it was in the Smithsonian.” Felicity crossed her arms over her chest.
Nic snorted. “Cute.” After giving Felicity an impish wink that threated to set her previously half-frozen underwear on fire, Nic returned his attention to her cousin, who was undeterred by their skepticism.
“I’ve hired an SEO specialist as well, to ensure that my businesses have the best placement on every available internet search engine.”
“But did you hire someone to teach you how to be a plumber?” Felicity smirked.
“What?” Nic groaned again. “When I called you said you were a plumber.”
“That was my intern, Kevin. And technically, he said I’m a plumbing consultant. All of this was in the waiver you signed to get me to come out here on such short notice on a holiday.”
“Here we go.” Felicity grabbed the bag of SweeTart hearts from her pocket and popped one in her mouth like it was popcorn at a movie theater.
“Plumbing consultant?” The resigned frustration in Nic’s voice seemed as strained as the now-visible tendons in his neck.
“I come out to the residence, assess the problem, and then use my extensive local business connections to ensure you are matched with a compatible plumbing professional that will meet your current needs.”
“Like eharmony but for toilets,” Felicity said in a tone aiming to make the idea sound totally reasonable.
“You’re not helping.” Nic rubbed his temples.
“Oh, I disagree.” She poked him in the ribs.
“You know, Felicity, that is actually quite close to what I’m putting on my pitch to potential investors. Have you ever considered making an entrepreneurial investment? You seem to appreciate my creative approach in establishing a new niche as a service industry liaison. In fact—”
“Can you fix my clogged P-trap or not?”
“I absolutely can—”
“Thank Christ,” Nic breathed.