Anything for Her(5)

A parking spot was vacant right in front of the store. The Open sign hung in the door. He imagined it was still swinging from Allie having flipped it over.

When he stepped inside, the bell on the door rang. Today, she was up front behind an old-fashioned counter with a cash register. She looked up and smiled.

“Oh, good. You came back.”

“Said I would.”

Something crossed her face. A shadow? “People don’t always mean it.”

He nodded, agreeing even though when he said something, he did mean it.

She saw the grocery bag he held clutched in his hand. “You have it with you.”

Nolan only nodded again.

“Why don’t you bring it in back and we can lay it out on top of the quilt I have in the frame?” She came around the end of the counter and started toward the back of the store, Nolan following.

He hadn’t expected that same punch of attraction; after all, now he knew what she looked like. But there it was anyway. He hadn’t said much yet partly because he was having trouble catching his breath.

Damn, she was pretty. She looked... He didn’t know. Russian or Eastern European, with very dark, shiny hair and milk-pale skin. He doubted she could tan if she wanted. Perfectly sculpted cheekbones would make her beautiful even as an old lady. She wasn’t tall—perhaps five foot two or three at most—with the finest bone structure he’d ever seen. She had a long neck, exposed by the way she wore her hair, up in some kind of bun on the crown of her head. Like ballerinas wore theirs, he thought.

Nolan frowned. That’s what she looked like. A dancer. Graceful. Even her walk was a little different. The toes of her feet pointed out in a way that should have been ducklike but wasn’t.

And then there were her eyes, a rich mossy green with glints of gold.

He was looking into those eyes right now, Nolan realized. She’d come to a stop by her quilt frame and was waiting patiently for him to do something besides gawk at her.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, holding out the bag.

Her cheeks were slightly pink when she took it. Unless it was his imagination, she was careful not to brush his hand with hers.

She took the quilt top out then drew a breath of what sounded like delight. She unfolded it, studied the back then gently spread it atop her own quilt.

Nolan looked at her face, not at the quilt. He could tell she felt the way he did when he found an unusual and beautiful slab of granite, one he could do something special with.

“Burgoyne Surrounded,” Allie said softly. “This is a mid-nineteenth-century pattern, supposedly based on a victory by colonial soldiers over British forces led by General Burgoyne during the Revolutionary War.” She glanced up. “All of which is probably apocryphal, since the pattern actually originated so much later. It’s a nice concept, though. Perfect for a boy. And how gorgeously made!” She lifted a corner and invited him to peer closely. “It was hand-pieced, and with incredibly tiny stitches. Whoever made this was an artist.”

“Will you do it?”

She lifted her gaze to him. “Yes. Oh, yes. With pleasure.” She hesitated. “I will have to charge you.”

“I assumed you would. This is how you make your living.”

“That’s right. Well, primarily with the shop, but I also sell my quilts.”

“Do you.” He’d noticed a couple draped in the window and one large one hung on a wall.

When she told him what she typically asked, he nodded. “That’s reasonable.”

“This quilt is sized for a double bed,” she said. “It would be possible to add a border if you want it queen-sized.”

Nolan thought about it. “Seems we should leave it the way it was meant to be.”

Allie smiled with approval. “I agree. Well. I’ll look forward to this. I may start right away at home. I have a frame there, too. Usually I have one quilt going there, one here.”

“Thank you. Sean will be excited.”

The bell rang up front and he realized someone had come in. He felt something like panic. Somehow he’d thought they would have more to discuss.

“I’m in back,” she called to the newcomer.

“No hurry,” the woman said. “I need to pick out my fabric.”

Allie folded and rolled the quilt top. “May I keep the bag?”

“Sure. Of course.” He was desperate to say something attention grabbing, but his tongue felt as if it had swollen in his mouth.