a need for help. That didn’t necessarily mean she was avoiding him. From watching his mother and Les manage the tourist traffic, she’d learned they bought more if there was a smoothly inserted comment about the women who’d made the quilts, some backstory to reinforce their authenticity.
They hadn’t had any one-on-one time. When Rory opened the door this morning, a customer had already been waiting. Mr. Hernandez had needed a replacement part for his tractor, so that he didn’t lose daylight on the field he had to work today. More customers had arrived on his heels, a steady flow until ten-thirty. Then this vanload of church ladies had arrived from Asheville. The store had been a planned stop on their meandering tour to the beach.
In their few interactions since she’d arrived a few minutes behind him, Daralyn had been friendly, pleasant, acting as if nothing had happened. But she avoided eye contact, more than usual, and stayed in a flurry of activity. Which was as big an alarm flag to him as the giant Stars and Stripes that flew over the car dealership in town.
Up until today, she’d developed a pleasant habit of incidental contact, brushing against his shoulder or knees as she came behind the counter to get things. Laying her hand on his shoulder to steady herself as she reached up to retrieve something from a shelf.
Today she was giving him a wide berth, as if touching him might turn her into a frog.
He’d considered several ways of dealing with it, and had settled on the one that made the most sense to him. To break the brittle wall of self-consciousness around her, he picked a couple times to call her over, request her help with a customer. He talked to her in his usual way, teasing her a little. Touched her arm or hand like he might normally do while making a point, before moving on smoothly, as if all was good. Normal, the way it should be.
She began to relax, act more like herself. By early afternoon, they were pretty much where they’d been before yesterday. The only time he put a hitch in her stride was when she was taking off. She worked until two today, part of the modified schedule he and his mother had imposed upon her, so she didn’t burn the candle at both ends on her schoolwork.
“Remember, I’m taking you to dinner tonight,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at six.”
“Oh. Yes. Fine.” She looked as if she might say more, but then she slipped out the door. He pushed his chair to the window to watch her pedal her bicycle to the road. She liked riding it to and from the store on the good weather days.
He’d taught her to ride a bike. Well, it had been a group effort, Thomas explaining the basics, Les demonstrating, but he’d been the one to stick next to her on the bike, since he could run the fastest. He smiled. He’d been her spotter.
He remembered when he’d put his hand on the seat to steady her, his fingers curled near her buttocks, his body leaned in as he held one of the handlebars.
She’d turned her head toward him once or twice, her ponytail swiping him. She’d stumbled through an apology, but he’d just rubbed his jaw where it itched and smiled.
“Focus on your balance,” he said. “I’ll be holding onto the bike until you find it. Don’t worry about anything but that, okay? I’ll take care of the rest.”
He brought himself back to the present. She usually ate her lunch with him, but she’d made an excuse about not being hungry, that she’d eat when she went home.
If they’d moved too fast, he’d slow it down. But after last night’s conversation with Marcus, he was resolved. He wasn’t going to stop unless he had a more compelling reason than his fears. She deserved more courage from him than that. He watched her hair flutter over her shoulders, the straight line of her back as she pedaled, the slight movement of her hips. God, everything about her called to him.
You have every right to be at the front of the line.
Marcus was right. He damn well did.
He was taking her to The Purple Swan in Florence, one of those bistro style places where the portions were small and overpriced. The food was good, though, and the inside was decorated nice.
It had once been a typical diner which did breakfast and lunch, offering cardiac attack,