8. Elsie
Eight
Elsie
I finish ringing up my customer and hand her a bag with the newest cozy witch mystery novel tucked safely inside.
“Happy reading.”
“Oh, it definitely will be,” she says with a wink. “Don't work too hard, dear.”
“I'll do my best.”
The little bell over the door jingles as she leaves, and I glance at the clock.
Perfect.
The morning rush won't hit for another hour or so and I need to use the ladies’ room.
My new employee, Willa, is happily humming while she preps the espresso machine, lining up mugs and syrups with the kind of efficiency that makes me wonder how I ever managed this place alone.
“Willa, I’m gonna take five,” I tell her.
“I've got the front,” she says without looking up.
“You sure?”
She grins.
“Go.”
“I adore you.”
“I know.”
Laughing, I head toward the hallway.
Maybe I'll even have time to wrap the stack of online orders that came in before sunrise.
Because for once, I'm actually ahead.
The chimes above the front door ring again.
I automatically pivot toward the entrance with the same welcoming smile I give every customer.
“Hi! Welcome to Moon & Mug.”
The words leave my mouth.
Then my brain completely forgets how to function.
Holy...
Hot Boy Hell.
The man standing in my bookstore is, without question, the most handsome man I have ever seen.
He's tall.
Broad enough to block half the morning sunlight pouring through the windows.
His fiery red hair looks like he's been dragging his fingers through it all morning, refusing to let it behave.
A neatly kept beard accentuates his handsome face—well, neatly-ish.
Honestly, it could use a little trim.
Instead...
It somehow makes him even more attractive.
Rugged.
Comfortably imperfect.
Real.
My gaze drifts upward.
And then I make the mistake of looking into his eyes.
Forest green.
Not just green.
The exact deep shade of pine trees after a summer rain.
Warm.
Steady.
Familiar.
A strange little shiver races down my spine.
Wait...
Why do those eyes feel familiar?
My heart skips.
No.
That's ridiculous.
I've never seen this man before in my life.
Have I?
The thought disappears as quickly as it came.
Because the second those green eyes settle on me...
Everything inside me goes strangely still.
Like he isn't just looking at me.
He's seeing me.
I mean, he is really looking at me.
Like I'm the only person in the room.
My pulse stumbles.
My body heats.
Oh no.
Not again.
Not with the weird sudden case of the let’s get down and dirties—aka nymphomania, or whatever the heck this is—that started this morning.
Maybe it’s early perimenopause.
That can happen, right?
Like your hormones go nuts and you get all horny at inappropriate times or whatever. Right?
Wait. What the hell am I thinking?
Oh crap.
The warmth low in my stomach returns with a vengeance.
My cheeks immediately heat.
Seriously?
Not now.
Please, not now.
Of all the customers to have a hormonal meltdown over, I choose the man who looks like rockstar meets Viking warrior who just wandered into my bookstore.
Get it together, Elsie.
I plaster on what I hope is a perfectly normal smile.
“Are you okay?” Viking asks.
“Um, yeah. Yes. Of course, I am. How can I help you?” I ask and I mean it.
I really mean it.
Sure, it’s the kind of thing I say to potential customers all the time. But now?
The words come out just a tiny bit breathier than usual.
He smiles.
It's small.
Almost hesitant.
Like smiling doesn't come easily to him.
“Thank you.”
Oh.
Wow.
His voice.
It's deep.
Low.
A little rough around the edges.
Like gravel wrapped in warm honey.
The sound slides straight through me, sending another wave of awareness dancing beneath my skin.
Good grief.
I force myself to breathe.
In.
Out.
You are a grown woman.
Act like one.
“So, um, can I actually help you find something?”
His gaze flickers briefly around the shop before returning to mine.
“Oh... um...”
He almost sounds nervous.
“I thought I'd browse... if that's okay.”
Okay?
“Of course, it is. You don't have to ask permission.”
I laugh softly.
“Books like to be browsed.”
The corner of his mouth lifts a little higher.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I reply. “Um, I'll be right back.”
The words escape before I can stop them.
“Take your time, Honey. I’ll be right here.”
Honey?
The second I hear him call me that, moisture floods my panties—I’m talking Niagara freaking Falls here.
OMG. What the hell?
His gaze lands on mine and I swear his nostrils flare just a little. I bite my lip and turn around. Then I practically speed-walk toward the restroom.
The second the door clicks shut behind me, I grip the sink and stare at my reflection.
“What...”
I whisper.
“... is wrong with you?”
My face is pink.
My pupils look enormous.
I splash cold water across my cheeks.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
So much for my attempt to use make-up.
Still, the cold water helps.
A little.
Not enough.
Not nearly enough.
I seriously need to install a shower back here.
Because if there was ever a moment for a freezing cold one?
It's right now.
I lean closer to the mirror.
“He is just a man.”
A ridiculously handsome man.
“So what?”
I've met handsome men before.
I've dated handsome men before.
I’ve even slept with one or two.
But none of them made my heart race because they walked through a door.
None of them made my entire body seem suddenly aware of itself.
This is ridiculous.
Maybe the adrenaline from last night is finally catching up with me.
Maybe I'm overtired.
Maybe...
Maybe I just need more coffee.
“Get it together, Elsie. Do your job. Run your store.”
I point at myself in the mirror.
“You own this place. You are a professional. You are absolutely not going to embarrass yourself.”
Satisfied with my pep talk—well, satisfied enough—I smooth my dress, tuck a loose strand of blonde hair behind my ear, and head back into the shop.
The moment I open the restroom door, there he is.
Standing a little closer than where I'd left him.
Except he isn't browsing.
He's looking toward the hallway.
Toward me.
Concern softens those incredible green eyes.
“Are you okay?”
The question catches me completely off guard.
Not because of what he asks.
Because of how he asks it.
Like he genuinely wants to know.
Like my answer matters.
Something inside my chest squeezes unexpectedly.
How long has it been since someone asked how I felt?
How long since someone looked at me like that?
Really looked.
“I'm...”
I swallow.
“... yeah. I’m okay.”
I nod.
“I'm fine.”
Except I'm absolutely not.
My hands are trembling.
My pulse won't slow down.
And for reasons I cannot begin to explain...
Every instinct I possess is suddenly urging me to close the distance between us.
To touch him.
Just...
Touch him.
His arm.
His hand.
Anything.
The urge is so strong I actually curl my fingers into my palms to stop myself.
What is happening to me?
I don't just grab strange men in my bookstore.
Even incredibly handsome ones.
Especially incredibly handsome ones.
I clear my throat.
Another nervous laugh.
“So were you looking for something in particular?”
He shifts his weight, almost looking as uncertain as I feel.
“Actually, I was wondering if we could talk.”
His smile is a little crooked.
“Uh, sure. But I don’t even know what to call you,” I whisper.
“I'm Graham. Graham MacKenzie.”
The name sounds familiar. It suits him.
Strong.
Simple.
Comforting.
“And you're Elsie... right?”
Shit.
Way to go Elsie.
You just failed How to Make Introductions: 101.
“Yeah. Elsie Stevens.”
I blink. A tiny frown wrinkles my forehead.
“How did you know that?”
For one terrifying second my imagination runs wild.
Have I met him before?
Did we go to school together?
Before I can spiral any further...
He grins and reaches across the small space between us.
The movement is slow enough that I never feel threatened.
His fingertips brush lightly against the name tag pinned to my cardigan.
The contact lasts barely a second.
A whisper.
The gentlest touch imaginable.
Still...
Warmth shoots all the way up my arm.
Our eyes meet.
Neither of us moves.
Neither of us seems particularly interested in breaking whatever this strange little moment is.
“My detective skills aren't as impressive as they seem,” he says with a soft chuckle.
I look down.
My name tag.
Right.
“Oh.”
Heat floods my cheeks all over again.
“Well...”
I sigh dramatically.
“... duh, Elsie.”
He laughs.
It's warm.
Rich.
The sound settles somewhere inside me in a place that has felt empty for far too long.
“I was hoping...” he says, his voice quieter now, “... that maybe you'd have lunch with me.”
Those green eyes never leave mine.
“I mean, would you like to have lunch with me, Elsie?”
For just a heartbeat...
Everything else disappears.
The customers.
The coffee.
Willa.
The books.
The world outside my store.
There's only him.
Waiting.
Watching.
And somehow looking just as hopeful as I feel.