Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
The unexpected contact stirred some emotion in Colton’s gut, and he jerked his hand back. Let her think it was her icy touch—which was actually soft and warm—and not an instant shock of electricity.
“How can you have such a breezy approach to a situation when you have a job that requires meticulous attention to detail?” he grumbled. Her crazy storytelling method opened his eyes in thinking outside the standard banker’s box.
Something he hadn’t done in a while.
“I read a lot,” Paisley said.
He tried connecting the points but failed. “That makes no sense.”
“Maybe not to someone who doesn’t read.”
Colton opened his mouth to argue but closed it. How could you argue with someone who used faulty logic, no matter how sexy he found her? He dove into the files for the next event, trying to put a wall between him and his mental awareness of her.
It helped when Brandi walked into the office with Aunt Eulalee and they were no longer alone. Colton caught only bits of their conversation about next year’s production, but it gave him something else to focus on.
By the end of the day, there were only eight missing bottles, but they were out of events to comb through, even with circling back to January. Paisley sat back with a sigh. “It might be time for a more systematic analysis.”
“Not that!” Colton gasped in mock horror. “You’re not going to try gamification or asking AI the most likely places to find missing alcohol?”
Paisley leaned closer, the scent of her fruity shampoo filling his senses. Colton leaned back to give her some room. At least, that’s what he told himself. If he got any closer, he’d probably sniff her shiny hair or something equally creepy.
“I do like games,” she said. “What are you thinking?”
Role playing. She’d be the belle without a ball, and he’d be…he’d be… not any good at this. But he didn’t want her to lose that sparkle. “Maybe more storytelling. But with Brandi or Ms. Eulalee as the narrator. She has more knowledge about what happens around here.”
“Or Wendy.”
Wendy owned the Inn at Fountenoy Hall, hosting many events like anniversary parties and weddings. Colton didn’t see her much beyond when she stopped by to say hi to her cousin. Still, Paisley’s cheeks turned a little pink when she mentioned the owner’s name.
“Is there something wrong with Wendy?” Maybe Paisley had a crush on her or something. Wendy was pretty, but Wendy also had a significant other.
“No.” Paisley put her hands on her cheeks. “It’s her boyfriend.”
Colton was instantly on alert, but Paisley’s blush didn’t stem from anger or distress. “What’s wrong with Rob?”
“You know he’s an author?”
At Colton’s nod, she continued. “I may have fangirled a bit too hard when I first met him. He probably thinks I was drunk with the way I went on and on, but his book The Agent vs. White Lightning was amazing, and I wanted him to know that.”
“Something about bootleggers, right?” Colton’s copy sat unread on his bookshelf. Maybe he should read it so they could discuss it.
“More than that. There’s history and suspense and romance and just everything.” Paisley pressed her cheeks harder, making her lips squish. “I’m doing it again. I read a lot. I mean, a lot. His book is really good.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve been told I don’t know how to read.”
Paisley laughed. “Sorry about that. I’m almost certain now that you know how to read.”
“Maybe when this is over, I can prove it to you.” At her sharp intake of breath, he quickly clarified, “before you leave Belle’s.”
She looked at him through lowered lashes. “Is that really what you meant?” She cleared her throat. “Because when this is over, I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee served in a nice mug and not something generic.”
“I don’t date.” He said it automatically, like he would have with River, but his stomach twisted at the words.
He knew what waited for him if he got involved. A few months of fun and excitement, followed by lies and heartbreak and loneliness and the emptiness of loss.
“I didn’t ask you for a date.” She blinked at his outburst, her perpetual smile dulled like a butter knife. “You know, Colton, sometimes coffee is just coffee.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets, his fingers grazing the Leatherman. “It’s the end of the day. Go home, and we’ll figure the rest out tomorrow.”
She stood up and turned, her skirt making a soft swoosh sound with the movement, grabbed her purse from her desk drawer, and left the small office. She didn’t slam the door, but she came close.
Why did that leave him feeling like he’d killed the sun?
He sifted through some files, even checked the supply closet to see if there were any boxes yet uncovered.
Repeating what he’d already done, because Colton couldn’t concentrate with the image of a frowning Paisley haunting his mind and wanted to give her time to leave.
He’d tried brainstorming other ideas on where the missing documents might be, but he kept circling back to the genius of her storytelling method and ways to apologize.
“Fuck it.” He pushed himself away from the desk and went outside. If she left like he suggested—demanded—then he’d deal with the guilt. It seemed a proper penance.
But, no, there she sat on top of a picnic table, her feet on the bench in front of her. She faced away from the door, and for once, he could study her without her sweet brown eyes gazing back at him.
Paisley turned, brushing the hair out of her face. And froze, phone by her ear, when she caught his gaze.
She didn’t flinch, didn’t shift her eyes, didn’t pretend she hadn’t seen him leave the office. He had to admire that pluck. Didn’t mean he couldn’t try to convince her to go home after he apologized.
And then she stuck her tongue out at him.
Colton barked out a laugh, surprise leaving him unguarded. She raised an eyebrow, then focused on the conversation.
“I did not know that. Thanks, Ms. Eulalee.” She paused for a moment, then laughed. “I’m sure Brandi would have remembered eventually.”
She said goodbye and put her phone back in her purse.
Staying seated, she looked out at the woods surrounding the distillery.
He left the doorway and joined her at the table. “What did you find out?”
“Well, hello, Colton. So nice to see you again. Did you have a lovely time being a crotchety old man while I was gone?”
“Crotchety? I’m not crotchety.” And late thirties wasn’t old. Paisley couldn’t be older than mid-thirties herself.
“You’re a cantankerous curmudgeon.”
“I’m—”
“Get off my lawn!” She made a fist and punched the air several times.
Silence filled the space between them as he tried to come up with an appropriate response as he resembled a fish gasping for oxygen while trying to find the words.
“Better now?” he finally asked.
She gave a solemn nod. “Yes.”
The next move stared him in the face, all enchanting eyes and soft hair and full, kissable lips of it.
He swallowed against his suddenly dry mouth, even though her earlier words practically guaranteed she’d be open to seeing him outside of the office.
Tell that to his pulse, which kicked up in nervous anticipation.
“Would you still like to have coffee sometime?”
The warmth of her smile melted some of the ice around his encased heart. “I’d love to.”
He tamped down the panic that flared at her answer and shifted his focus to work. “What did Ms. Eulalee tell you?”
“There’s an old maintenance building past the clearing that may be where the files are being kept,” Paisley said.
“Apparently they rebuilt the main office at some point. They needed a place to work while remodeling, so everything went in there. And when I say old, I mean before enforcement of things like building permits and plan approvals.”
“If I remember correctly, that happened right before I started working here. The maintenance building is pretty solid, though.” He leaned to the side and bumped her with his shoulder. “Thanks for not listening to me.”
“Real apology accepted.” She grinned at him. “We can get this done tomorrow. That is, if you can stand to be with me.”
A breeze blew a lock of her hair into her eyes, and he resisted the urge to brush it back and revel in its softness against his rough fingers. He’d never been with someone so open and genuine and friendly. Well, in real life, anyway.
“I can definitely stand to be with you.”
* * *
Staying at Belle’s and exploring whatever the hell happened with Colton would have been a better choice that evening. Instead, Paisley drove an hour to a movie theater for her date with Grace’s audition of the month for the role of mushpuppy.
It did not go well.
Paisley entered her dark apartment and dropped her keys in the bowl on the small wooden table.
Her soft jammies were waiting for her, and she stripped out of her date wear and put them on.
Her parents always gave her a pair for Christmas, making sure they were in the pattern of her namesake.
Better than when as a kid, every shirt she owned sported that recognizable teardrop design.
She snagged her headphones and settled into her chair in her den.
Definitely not thinking about the man who could infuriate her with a look as much as he could make her melt with a rare peek into his sense of humor.
Sometimes she would turn, and Colton would be staring at her, as if she’d dripped her lunch down her shirt or accidentally hit reply-all to an email announcement.
But no, he’d glance away, leaving her wondering what it would take to have his gaze linger.
But she wasn’t going to think about him or the way he used his defenses like a second skin to protect against her. Not everyone enjoyed her cheerful outlook. She crisscrossed her legs, shifting so her knees were clear of the arms of her chair.
An online Trotter made her evening a whole lot brighter. These types of relationships were easy. You didn’t have to worry about talking with spinach in your teeth or accidentally smothering someone with sticky notes.
But you also missed out on the physicality. The hugs, the caresses, the tingles in a single touch.
“Aw, damn,” he said. “I had high hopes for your date.”
“He wasn’t the pizza to my pineapple,” she said. “That’s okay. I get to hang out with you instead. And you were so right.”
“I certainly was,” Trotter said. “About what?”
“See the movie first. Dude answered with one word every time I asked him something. I had to chat with the wait staff just to have someone to talk to.”
And to keep her mind off things.
Things, of course, being a magnetic, complex, and guarded almost six feet of annoyance and charm. The pretzels twisting inside her stomach were strong evidence that she failed miserably.
“You ready to Build a Better Bagel?” she asked. They entered Schlimazel Showdown where they ended their last game.
A loaded everything bagel rolled by. Its toppings danced off the surface, leaving a naked bagel behind.
“Let’s do it,” Trotter said.
Onions gathered together to form a monster that could make their avatars faint with its massive halitosis. Paisley ran through the middle to keep them from connecting.
“So when’s your next date?” he asked.
“With this guy? Never.”
“No second chance?”
“He was more interested in his phone than in me. It’s fine,” she said before Trotter could recite his perfunctory statement about it being the man and not her. “Honestly, playing with you is much more fun than half my dates these days.”
They teamed up to add a shmear before the bagel rolled away.
She was so so so tempted to ask him where he lived, if he’d like to meet.
But their relationship worked because of the anonymity.
Working together to conquer kugel monsters, revealing embarrassing anecdotes, sharing her gradual acceptance that a woman in her thirties looked out for herself instead of looking out for The One, even though she was still looking for The One.
He’d been loving and encouraging to put herself first and not care what society threatened for her future: a lifetime alone with cats as her only companion.
Honestly, with some of the men she dated, that image held more appeal than the threat intended.
A tomato appeared on the screen. Paisley lassoed it while Trotter sliced it up.
Talking about her love life would have been the perfect time for Trotter to suggest meeting IRL, but he remained silent. So she did, too. Even if they met as friends, she’d probably scare him off, since he enjoyed being a hermit.
And she could be a lot.
How often did she spent her evenings at home waiting for adventures to happen? The worst he could do was turn her down.
And then ghost her.
She swallowed against the lump in her throat. Maybe she should ask Brandi for advice. She’d had an active social life before settling down with Sebastien.
But Paisley knew what Brandi would say. To go for it. Live without regrets.
She took a deep breath, prepared to casually suggest they meet sometime, when her cell phone played the tune reserved for Grace.
Saved by the bell. Maybe it was a sign.