The Hot Mess and the Heartthrob(12)

At least Portia and Zoe, anyway. And probably Hudson if he sees anyone else having fun without him.

“I do, but I don’t. I mean, this is my life. I manage it as well as I can. It’s what you do, you know? People probably think you have your hands full too. I can’t imagine how busy it must be to be, well, you.” And now I’m rambling. And pretending I have half a clue about how amazing and busy his life is. Great.

“So, what do you recommend?”

“For managing a life?”

“For gifts for a five-year-old boy and a three-year-old girl who are both spoiled absolutely rotten, because I take my uncle duties very seriously.”

“A trash bag?”

His face contorts, and I clap my hand over my mouth.

“For…?” he prompts.

“The donation pile,” I mutter between my fingers.

He did ask.

My kids have too many toys and I’m constantly sneaking some away to put in the donation pile to try to manage both the chaos and their sense of entitlement.

But I don’t think that’s the kind of idea he was looking for.

Still, he tips his head back and laughs. “Tripp would like you. I thought you meant for them to use their imagination.”

“Then I’d recommend a paper bag. Not a plastic trash bag. Kids should definitely not play with plastic trash bags. And a coupon for your time so that you get the joy of seeing how many different things they can turn a paper bag into.”

I tuck my hair behind my ear and unexpectedly find something dry and chunky tangled in it.

Levi Wilson is waving around his star factor, and I’m wearing Goldfish in my hair.

“If you’d rather traditional toys, I have a small section back here. Books are better though, but I’d guess they already have a ton?”

“What’s your favorite?”

“The Paperbag Princess.”

“I’m sensing a theme.”

“Have you read it?”

He shakes his head, which doesn’t surprise me. I don’t know if he’s actually looking for gifts for his niece and nephew, or if he’s trying to support a local business, or if he’s checking out the store for some other reason, but my gut tells me he’s not actually here to shop like a regular person would shop.

And he’s not alone. His bodyguard is leaning against the window outside the shop. What was her name?

Giselle.

Right.

Even his bodyguard has an awesome sexy name, whereas I have a name that means my mother was drugged up when my father insisted I could be the next Ingrid Bergman.

Nothing like never, ever living up to your namesake.

“Here.” I turn into an aisle of children’s books and quickly locate a copy. “You should read it. It might inspire a song.” I wink.

Oh my god.

I just told Levi Wilson to write a song about a badass princess who can take care of herself, and then I winked.

His fingers brush mine as he takes the book from me. “That’s great. I love inspiration.”

He’s looking at me again.

It’s the same look as last week, in the storage room, and I don’t know what it means, but he is definitely not here to shop for his family.

My brain offers up a sly maybe he’s here for you, which is ridiculous enough that I almost snort out loud. I cover it by turning back to the rows of books and pretend I’m cough-sneezing, which is even worse.

Now he probably thinks I have germs.

“If you like that one, you’ll have to try the Phoebe Moon books too. They’re a little old for your niece and nephew, but definitely worth growing into.”

“Are you kidding? I love Phoebe Moon.”

I jerk my head back up. “You do?”

His eyes are dancing.

Dancing. It’s like I just offered him a plate of all of his favorite desserts at once, then told him they were magic, and it’s utterly adorable. “I’m playing Zack Diggory in the next movie.”

“No.”

He nods. “Voicing him, that is. Apparently I can’t pass for sixteen anymore. Time’s rude, isn’t it?”

I rambled about being a teenager. Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god. “At least it hasn’t taken your voice.”

He grins again like that’s not also the dorkiest thing I’ve ever said. “Yet.”

What am I doing with my hands, and why can’t I seem to hold them still? Am I signing I love you? No. No, I’m good. “We are definitely seeing that one in the theater. Oh my gosh. Did you meet the author?”

“Ah, I see who the real superstars are around here.” He laughs again, and warmth spreads through my chest.

How long has it been since I’ve enjoyed a man’s laugh? I love listening to Griff, Portia’s husband, laugh, but it’s not the same as this tingly glow lighting me up from the inside.

But that could also be the Levi Wilson effect.

“I do crush on a lot of authors,” I confirm. “Hazard of the job. We have them in as often as possible, and I go star-struck every time.”

“You own this place?”

“It was my Grandma Penny’s.”

“Ah, Penny for Your Thoughts. I get it.”

It would be impossible to not smile at the memory of my grandma. When my parents split when I was seven, Mom stayed here in Copper Valley so Grandma and Grandpa could help watch me, and Dad took off for—you know what? I don’t even know where. But Mom wasn’t around long either. After a year or two, she decided she needed to go back to college, in residence, in California.