Stay(20)

“That, too.” I give her a wink.

Lulabell is hopelessly stuck in the year 2000. She still carries a flip phone. “Are you ready for tonight?”

“Yes! I can’t wait. What time do I need to be at the Art Bar?” The bell on the door dings and a perfectly coiffed blonde walks in with an iPad in one hand and an earbud in her ear.

She hands me the slip without even pausing her conversation. It’s weird. Almost like she’s speaking to me, but not. I want to say something, but Lou takes the slip from my hand.

“I’ve got her.” I return to sorting while my boss goes around the rack of beaded, plastic-covered evening gowns. “The show starts at seven, so if you’re there by six, we should have plenty of time.”

She rings up the bougie assistant, and I take the next customer. By noon, most of the pickups are done. Saturdays are different because we don’t have the lunch hour rush. We have a lull in the middle of the day.

“So how was your date with James Bond?” Lulabell leans on the counter. “Give me all the scoop.”

“He doesn’t look like James Bond.” I roll my eyes, doing my best not to flush at the memory of kissing Stephen. “No scoop.”

“If you have no scoop after a night with that man, you’re doing it wrong.”

I say a silent prayer for a customer to walk in. The last thing I want right now is to discuss Stephen with Lou.

Despite my stern pep talk about not having feelings for him, I spent half the night trying to forget how he kissed me. Correction, devoured me. I would close my eyes and see his gaze potent as a touch, undressing me with his eyes. I could feel his hands ghosting across my legs. Finally, I gave up and dug out my vibrator. In less than ten seconds, I collapsed into a leg-shaking orgasm.

Lou studies my pink cheeks. “Something happened.”

“He took me to Hearth…”

“Nice place.”

“Then he walked me home…” My voice trails off, and she scoots closer.

“And?” Her eyebrows waggle.

“That’s it.”

“That’s it!” Her shoulders drop, and her expression is pure dismay. It morphs into contemplation. “It was only a first date, I guess.”

“First and last. I’m not doing that again.”

“Emmy, honey. Wake up.” She laughs, touching my arm. “I’d do that again and again and again…”

“He’s worried my apartment will explode.”

Her teased head tilts to the side. “Isn’t that sweet! He’s worried about your safety!”

“He told me to get renter’s insurance.”

“That’s less romantic… But girl! You don’t have renter’s insurance?” Her eyes are round with horror. “My sister Sarabeth’s apartment burned down because a neighbor left her curling iron plugged in.”

I’m about to protest the theory that Stephen Hastings is always right when wouldn’t you know? The bell rings, and he waltzes into Miss Con-Cleaneality.

“Speak of the devil!” Lou straightens off the counter, and I cringe from my scalp to my toenails.

He aims that panty-melting grin right at me. “Were you speaking of me?”

“Isn’t that funny…” I grab the box and flip to the Hs. “I always suspected you were the devil.”

He leans on the counter so I catch a sniff of his warm, leathery cologne. It’s annoyingly sexy. “You realize, in that context, the devil isn’t actually Lucifer, the prince of darkness.”

I tilt my head to the side and smile up at him. “Yet here you are.”

Lou waves a hand in front of her face. “Lord, I’d better put the caps on the chemicals. You two are going to burn the place down with all that heat.”

My cheeks blaze, and I turn away, going to the rack of evening gowns. “You’re here for your aunt’s dress?”

Lou touches my arm. “I’ve got it, honey. I have a special place for the Jean Claude.”

“Of course you do.” I look down, not wanting to return to the counter.

Fat chance of that.

Lou gives me a little shove. “Get out there now, and ring him up.” She leans into my shoulder. “And stop fighting. Let what’s going to happen, happen.”

My jaw tightens, but I return to the front to do my job.

I go straight to the register and start ringing up his ticket.

He walks down to where I’m standing. “I was thinking about our conversation last night.”

“We don’t have to revisit it.” I reach for his card without making eye contact.

“You should move in with me.”

“What?” I look up to find his blue eyes studying me intently. His card slips through my fingers to the floor. “Shit.”

Leaning down, I dig under the counter for the thin piece of plastic. When I reemerge, his brow is lowered, and he nods, like it’s another case of him always being right.

“Temporarily, of course. I have plenty of room, and I work from home. Elijah can stay and do his studies while you come here during the day.”

“No.” I close my eyes, shaking my head. “Just… no.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too far from here.”