probably heading up there myself. Is Clare around?”
“Down in the annex, putting things back together. Don’t step on the toddlers.”
In the annex, Clare packed art supplies into a chest. She wore black pants today, snug through the butt with a white, lacy blouse that cuffed at her elbows.
He thought he’d like to kiss her there, in that tender crease at her elbow. He thought he’d like to kiss her anywhere. Everywhere.
A couple of women chatted as they considered a display of candles, one rocking a stroller back and forth with the kid inside it sucking its thumb with fierce intensity. The other woman carried an infant sleeping in one of those slings across her chest.
The stroller kid gave Beckett a hard, suspicious stare, as if he might steal the precious thumb. Probably not the optimum time for kissing the inside of Clare’s elbow, Beckett decided.
“Hiya.”
She looked over, colorful strips of felt in her hand. “Hiya back.”
“I heard you had a successful return to Story Time.”
“We did, a sure sign summer’s over. It’s the first one I’ve done without one of my own kids here, and that’s another transition. How are things going?”
“Moving along. You should come over later, see the changes.”
“I’d like to if I can manage it. I’m going to email you the file on the copy once I finish up here. I think we can do better, once we see everything in place. But I tried to make it fun and appealing.”
“Great. I’ll take a look. Here, I’ll get that.” He picked up the case before she could.
“It’s not heavy. I’m just going to put it in the back.” Since he didn’t give it back, she glanced at the customers. “I’ll show you where it goes. Are you finding everything all right?” she asked the women.
“Yeah, thanks. I’m crazy about these handbags.”
“Made from recycled video tape, plastic bags. Clever, pretty, and green. Just let me know if you need any help.”
She led Beckett around to the little alcove outside the back room. “I keep it on the top shelf there since I only use it once a month. I always thought I’d be crafty, like one of those mothers who can make a toy car out of a cereal box and rubber bands.”
“MacGyver Mom.”
“Exactly. But that didn’t work out.”
“I always thought I’d pitch a no-hitter for the O’s. That didn’t work out either.”
“Life’s a series of disappointments.” She smiled when he gave the dangle of her earring a flick. “And surprises.”
“Kids okay?”
“Back to normal and in school. Praise Jesus.”
“Why don’t we have a dry run of Friday night? I’ll buy you lunch.”
She thought of Sam Freemont and his damn country club, and how much she’d have preferred to grab a hot dog at Crawford’s or a slice at Vesta with Beckett.
“That’s a nice offer, and I wish I could. The girls and I are getting delivery and finalizing our holiday orders. Christmas,” she explained.
“Christmas? We just had Labor Day five minutes ago.”
“Which shows you’ve never worked in retail. We need to get the card order in this afternoon.”
“There’s that series of disappointments again, so I’ll have to settle for this.”
He leaned down, found her mouth with his. With the women on the other side of the wall laughing, the phone ringing, the infant squalling awake, he sank in.
Too long, he thought. Too long until Friday when he could, for a few hours at least, have her to himself. Everything about her called to him, her taste, her scent, the shape of her body as he drew her closer.
“Hey, Clare, there’s a—Oops, sorry.”
Laurie cast her eyes, very deliberately, at the ceiling when Clare and Beckett broke apart.
“Is there a problem?” Clare thought she pulled off casual. Or nearly.
“There’s a man on the phone who insists on speaking to the owner. I could tell him you . . . stepped out, take his number.”
“That’s all right. I’ll take it in the back room.”
“All right. Get you anything, Beckett?” Laurie batted her eyelashes. “A cold drink?”
“No, I’m good. I’d better get going.”
“See you soon.” Laurie walked off humming.
“Sorry,” Clare told him. “I’d better take care of this.”
“I’ll head out the back. Come on over if you get a chance.”
“I’ll try.” She watched him go, wished, as he had, for Friday. She laid one hand on her fluttering stomach, the other on the phone. Maybe he was good, but she could use that cold drink.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said into the phone. “This is Clare Brewster.”