reaches into her purse, shifting the contents around before retrieving a business card and handing it to me.
“Londyn Living?” I read.
“I up-cycle furniture,” she explains. “I find pieces that are in really bad shape but still have good bones and give them a second chance at life.”
That would explain the callouses.
“I’m familiar with the process,” I tell her, taking in the website and email, both of which have Londyn’s name displayed prominently on it. “I’m assuming this is not the job you got fired from earlier.”
“No.” She pushes out a nervous laugh. “It’s kind of hard to fire me from my own company.”
“I imagine so.”
We share another look as her lips curve up into a small smile. It’s not forced or fake, as is the case with so many other women I’m surrounded by. It’s natural…breathtaking.
She opens her mouth, as if wanting to say something. I step closer, anticipation filling me that she’s reconsidering my offer to walk her to her car, giving me a few more minutes with her.
Instead, she takes a step back, becoming overtly professional, spine stiff, shoulders straight.
“Thanks again, Weston.” She turns, about to walk out of the shop when I stop her.
“Londyn?”
Her eyes lock with mine. “Yes?”
“I hope tomorrow is better than today.”
She blinks, fully facing me. I erase the space between us, her aroma of lavender and baby powder filtering into my senses.
“Although, I must confess…” I lean closer, brushing back a few wayward curls. She inhales sharply, but doesn’t move away, making me think she’s just as drawn to me as I am to her. “In my book, it will be really difficult for tomorrow to be better than today,” I whisper.
“Why’s that?” she squeaks out.
“Because I met a beautiful woman.” I smirk, hoping I don’t come off as overly cocky or arrogant. “If you ask me, it’s going to be next to impossible to top that.”
She doesn’t move for several moments. Then, as seems to be the case with her, she flips a switch and whirls around. Without looking back at me, she hurries out the door and down the sidewalk, ducking into the garage.
Blowing out a breath as I berate myself for being too forward, I make my way back to the counter, everyone in the shop pretending to return to their business. I’m about to hand the barista the bill Londyn gave me, then stop myself, pulling out my wallet and using my own money to cover the tea. Heading back to my table, I grab the coffee and danish I’d picked up earlier for Omar.
I dash out of the shop, fighting against the wind and rain until I reach the corner where Omar sits huddled under an awning, keeping himself as dry as possible.
“Here you go, buddy.”
With a smile, I hand him the coffee and danish, almost able to hear my mother’s admonition that I’m only encouraging him to keep mooching off hardworking people by giving him food, coffee, and the occasional self-care items. It’s laughable, considering my mother wouldn’t know what a hard day’s work looked like if it smacked her in the face. For a woman who claims to devote all her free time to charity, she doesn’t have a charitable bone in her body, unless the media is covering it. But I’ve learned that the most fulfilling acts of charity are the ones you do out of the goodness of your heart. Not for accolades or commendation. Which is why I don’t mind helping Omar.
“And a little something extra in case you get hungry later.” I reach into my pocket, about to give him the bill Londyn left, but hand him a twenty instead.
“The world needs more people like you,” he responds in a gruff voice.
“Just doing the best I can.”
He nods as he sips the coffee, appreciation covering his expression. “I suppose that’s all we can do, isn’t it?”
At the sound of a car pulling out of the garage, I look up, my lips curving when I see a dark SUV, Londyn behind the wheel. My gaze follows it as she turns onto the street. When she comes to a red light, she glances over, her expression widening in surprise when she notices me talking to Omar.
He lifts his coffee, waving at Londyn as the light turns green and she follows the flow of traffic down the street.
“I suppose it is,” I murmur, watching until her car disappears from view.
Chapter Three
Weston
Hazy sunlight streams through the sheer curtains into my home office the following morning. I’ve