Love and Neckties - Lacey Black Page 0,76

purchase.

“See you soon.”

And then I’m left alone with a room full of lingerie.

I spend the next ten minutes refolding the panties in the bins, displaying them just the way Harper likes. Just when I’m about to move on to another task, the bell over the door chimes. I’m actually super stoked to have a customer, hopefully to help pass the time. However, when I turn around, it isn’t the face of a happy customer. Oh, no. This one looks awkward as fuck, and he’s trying his damnedest not to look at any of the sexy displays.

Samuel.

I’m so shocked to see him at the front door of the one place everyone knows makes him horribly uncomfortable; all I can do is stand there and stare back.

“Hey,” he says, reaching up with one hand and adjusting his necktie. “I, uh, thought you might need lunch.”

“Oh,” I stammer, still completely shocked he’s here.

He glances down at the bag in his hand. “If you’ve already eaten, I can just head back to work,” he starts, but I quickly cut him off.

“No, I haven’t eaten anything. I’d love to have lunch.”

Samuel takes a tentative step forward, his eyes darting to a nice satin negligée on a mannequin. “If you’re sure,” he says, very slowly, clearing his throat.

“Definitely,” I say, finally recovering. “Come on back here. Your sister is next door with Latham, so I should stay up here and man the counter.”

“Okay,” he replies, quickly glancing around at the pretties hanging and displayed near him. I can’t help but smile at the blush he’s trying to conceal by dropping his head.

I move everything off the back counter as he sets down a bag and pulls a few containers from within. Chinese. He opens steaming tubs of vegetables and rice, teriyaki noodles, and sautéed mushrooms. My stomach growls instantly. “This looks yummy,” I tell him, grabbing the two stools and moving them to the table.

“I wasn’t sure what to get, but I remembered you talking about the vegetables and rice.”

“It’s my favorite,” I reassure him.

I could run back to the small kitchen area in back but decide against it. Instead, we use the chopsticks provided, and eat together out of the containers. I thought Samuel would say something about germs and sharing, but surprisingly, he hasn’t. When I dive into the veggies and rice, he helps himself to the teriyaki noodles, and after a few bites, we switch it up.

Who knew sharing Chinese food could be so easy and satisfying.

When my stomach is full of goodness, I pat myself on the belly and push away the food. “Thank you so much. I didn’t realize I was starved until I started eating and couldn’t stop.”

“You’re very welcome,” he says, patting his mouth with a napkin and picking up the empty containers. “You’ve brought food plenty of times to work at the funeral home. It’s the least I could do,” he tells me.

“And doing it without asking first? Look at you and your sudden bout of spontaneity.”

“It’s new to me,” he confesses with a sheepish grin. When he does it, laugh lines appear around his eyes and he suddenly looks younger. Carefree. It’s an appearance I’m not used to seeing on Samuel.

“You’re doing just fine,” I reassure him, patting his hand.

Suddenly, an idea sparks to life, and even though I definitely shouldn’t, I’m definitely gonna.

Glancing around the empty store, the moment he throws all the trash in the bin, I reach for his hand. He seems a little hesitant at first, but follows behind me as I guide him toward the dressing rooms. Even though he’s most certainly a little uncomfortable as I lead him through the masses of panties, he doesn’t say a word.

Not until I open the dressing room curtain and motion for him to step inside.

“Uh, Freedom?” he asks, giving me a look of both concern and horror.

I offer him my sweetest grin with devil horns and pull him completely inside. “Come on, Sammy. Live a little.” Then, I push against his shoulders until he plops down on the small bench.

The surprised look on his face makes me smile even wider. “Wh-what are you doing?”

Before he can process what I’m doing, I drop to my knees between his legs and run my hands up his thighs. “I’m saying thank you for lunch.”

“Thank you?” he asks, and then like the flip of a switch, he must realize what I mean. “What? Freedom! You can’t do that here,” he scolds, his voice low and harsh, yet there’s