22. Paige
22
Paige
T he book section at Upstairs Closet looks like a mad scientist’s office.
There are stacks on the floor, hardbacks shoved back onto the shelf upside down, and paperbacks put in backward. Not to mention the picture books in the kid’s section are strewn all over the floor like stepping stones. I’m pretty sure this is how they were being used since there are some shoe prints on them.
I also found a board book in the kitchen utensils bin, sandwiched between a whisk and ladle, plus another slim paperback folded to fit in a slow cooker.
Thanks, kids .
I love that we give one free book, once a day, to each child who visits, but the pick-up is proving to be a lot more work. So I pop in one earbud and turn on my audiobook while I set to organizing this chaos. I start in the adult section, alphabetizing as I move across the shelves, which forces me to use a step stool and pull any books that are out of order.
With a stack of paperbacks in my hand, I’m so focused on categorizing them properly that I startle big time when someone taps me on the shoulder.
Maybe startle is the wrong word.
More like freak out to the point of jumping so high, I toss the stack of paperbacks in my arms and lose my balance. My arms are flailing, my feet are trying to hold purchase on the stool, but I still wind up falling backward.
Down, down, down…until I’m caught up in someone’s arms.
His chest is firm and there’s no bounce whatsoever when mine lands against it with a thud. “You okay?” the man says.
I peer up to realize it’s… “Rhodes?” His heavy breathing pattern is distinguishable since he’s so close. I can smell him, too. Like a welcome home candle that’s heavy on the cinnamon.
But my brain quickly switches to naked Rhodes from my dream, and my eyes bug out of my head. And is it just me, or is his hand up the back of my shirt again?
His voice is husky when he asks, “Are you alright?”
My arms are looped around his neck, and I’m blinking rapidly to see if his clothes disappear again.
Damn it.
They’re still on.
I swallow and answer, “I think so?”
Except for the fact I’ve kissed him, seen him naked, and touched him in ways that would terrify him to know about. All in my dream, but still.
Now that I’m this close, I notice the flecks of green in his normally hazel eyes. Twin cliffs with moss green tufts that feel like a whisper of velvet on your skin, soft to the point of unbearable. But I stay rooted in his arms, staring up at him for as long as I possibly can before things get weird. What am I thinking? They already are.
“Did you get hurt?” He sets me on my feet and drops his gaze to search the rest of my body, and I miss those eyes on mine. A startling realization that has me hiding the thought in the back corner closet in my mind where the cobwebs live, never to be thought of again.
I quickly shake my head and don’t stop for a full two minutes. “No, I’m not hurt.” More air enters my lungs. “Where did you come from?”
He studies my face again once, determining my body is fine. “I brought you lunch.”
His eyes track to the floor, and I follow his gaze. A brown paper bag like the kind my mom used to pack my lunch in when I was in elementary school is tipped sideways on the concrete floor with its contents spilling out. An orange, sandwich, cookie, and sparkling water I probably shouldn’t open now lies at his feet.
My brain is starting to put everything together. “You brought me lunch, then I fell, and you caught me?”
He shifts on his feet. “Yeah, I guess that’s about right.”
I rub my head at how dizzy I feel at the thoughts happening in my head. Did I hit it on his athletic shoulder on the way down? Probably. Likely. I’m just glad he can’t hear my thoughts while I think them. The word naked is barely out of my mind.
“I can hear your thoughts…when you say them out loud,” he says with a smirk that looks really good from here.
My eyes bulge. “Forget I said that.” I look up at him because that is my life around someone so tall, but he’s already gathering the spilled items. I sink to my knees to help him and find something I’ve never seen before. “What’s this?”
Raising the small slim phone to eye level that must be a first generation, I study it like it’s a natural artifact. “I guess someone dropped this. I’ll put it back in electronics.”
“No! Don’t. I mean…oops. That’s mine. It must have fallen when I caught you. ”
I sit back on my heels. “But this isn’t what your phone looks like.”
His eyes are dodgy. “Yes, it is. This one is for work. Didn’t want anyone calling or getting a hold of my personal line.”
I should let this go. He just made sure I didn’t fall on my ass. But I can’t. “Who calls you?”
He shrugs, righting the paper bag. “People.”
“Like people who want to collab with you?”
He stands and offers me his hand. I take it, but only because my legs are still a wobbly mess. “Yeah, those people, and fans who want to talk. It’s really not a big deal. Everyone in my industry has one.” I search his face to see if he’s lying, but he looks resolved. “Here’s lunch. Sorry it’s a little banged up.”
I grab the bag from him and straighten my glasses. “That’s alright. It’s better than the nonexistent lunch I brought for myself.”
“I had a feeling you would need it.”
He says this so casually like bringing me lunch is no big deal, but I don’t know…today it feels like one. After his hands were all over my body—kind of—it means more.
“And why is that?” I ask.
“Because you were up later, and I knew you’d hit snooze on your alarm until the last possible second, making it impossible for you to make a lunch.”
I cross my arms. “I could have gone out and bought lunch.”
“Now you don’t have to.”
I narrow my eyes at him, trying to figure out when making me lunch, holding me against his chest like he did, and noticing these small things about me started feeling this good . It’s a weird feeling inside my chest.
I hand him his phone from the early 2000s. “Thank you. For all of it. Catching me, and lunch. ”
He smiles. “You’re welcome.”
His teeth are straight and nearly perfect except for the small chip he has in his front left tooth from the baseball he had thrown at his face during a high school game. He could have gotten it fixed, but chose not to, citing it added character . I can see what he means. I’ll always be able to ID him by that chipped tooth. I wonder what it feels like when he runs his tongue along it. Would it scrape or cut? Or is it dull?
I’m spending way too much time staring at his mouth, so I bounce my eyes to a passing customer side-stepping my book castle I’ve created on the floor.
“Can I help you?” Rhodes asks, gesturing at the mess.
“You don’t have to.” He’s already done enough. More than I have words for, really.
“I’d like to.” He’s squatting down again to grab the M stack of books and balances them against his chest before sliding each book back onto the shelf, one at a time. His hair is mussed and hanging over his forehead, making him look disheveled and—
“So, how’s Roger?”
I put my hands on my hips and shove the thoughts aside. “He’s good. We’ve been texting all morning but nothing about…you know.”
“I know,” he says.
I step beside him and grab a stack of books to hand him. A step ladder is completely unnecessary when Rhodes is around.
I’m realizing now I think I like tall men. It makes sense since there are few things I can reach myself, but it also feels safe. A level of protection I didn’t know I wanted or needed.
“Are you buying all the books?” Don asks, walking past us toward the front of the store. “It’s fine if you do. That romance section is getting out of control. ”
“I’m not buying them. Rhodes?”
He looks like a bomb just went off. “I’m more of an action or thriller guy.”
I pluck a book I’ve already read off the shelf but was on the bestseller list two years ago. “Try this one.”
Settling the rest of his stack on the shelves, he snatches it playfully from my hand and starts reading the back. “A brooding bookish editor? Really?”
“It was a fantastic book, okay,” I defend. “Why don’t you just read it yourself and find out? Men should read more romance anyway. Venture out of your murder comfort zone.”
“You know how that sounds right?”
I jut out a hip.
He sighs and tucks the book under his arm. “Fine. I’ll be waiting outside for you.”
“Done shopping so soon?”
“I better be before you convince me I need scuba diving gear and a matching dinnerware set with pine trees on it.” He’s walking backward, but I don’t miss that the book is still under his arm.
Delia materializes from the shoe section, wearing snow boots on each of her hands again. She points at Rhodes with the sole of one. “It’s a great book, Rhodes. Plenty of good tips, too.”
Is that a blush climbing his neck? He's practically running to the register before I can get a good look. But that doesn’t stop me from looking elsewhere.
The way his shirt is taut over his broad shoulders, the slim taper of his waist where his dark, worn denim hugs perfectly. They’re his second favorite pair, and he typically wears them on wash days when his black jeans are dirty .
Not to mention the way his thighs fill them out…
Delia clears her throat, and I straighten. “Sorry.”
An apology feels warranted since I’m checking out my best friend, and I like it.