Page 14 of Sweet and Salty
Einstein barks twice, and I follow the path of his gaze to the window, where Lucretia Borgia stands, eyes narrowed in her perma-scowl. “What’s wrong, pretty lady?” I ask. She, being a donkey, does not reply.
This does not assuage Einstein, who, in a rare display of frenetic energy, jumps up and down on the kitchen floor, trying to reach Cree from behind the door.
“Einstein, get down.” I cross toward him, but at the moment I lunge for his collar, he breaks left, and his massive tail sends my tripod and ring light careening to the ground with a nausea-inducing crash.
Seriously. Does fate have it in for me?
I stare at the wreckage for a beat before instinct kicks in. “Einstein, get out. You can’t cut your feet.”
He stares at me balefully, as though he isn’t sure what he’s done wrong. He doesn’t know, of course. He’s just a dog and stuff got in his way.
I lead him outside and pick up the broom from the supply closet before turning back to the remains of my ring light. I can order a new one, but while we do supposedly have overnight shipping out here, it’s entirely dependent on whether Sam Jones has the desire to drive down to the warehouse to pick up the item.
To heck with it. I’ll try Moe’s first anyway. Shop local, shop smart.
I clean up the broken pieces of ring light with the broom, following it with the vacuum so no animals will get invisible shards of plastic lightbulb in their delicate feet.
I lift the receiver and dial Moe’s number from heart. There are things a lady needs to know, living alone out in the country. Like how to fix a fence, defrost locks in the winter, knee people in the groin, and the direct number for the local hardware store.
“Tools and Trinkets,” a gruff voice says on the other end of the line.
My mouth goes completely dry. Not that Moe doesn’t have a lovely voice, but it isn’t full of gravel and sin. Also, when was the last time I heard someone call the store Tools and Trinkets?It might hang on the sign, but everyone knows that’s a façade. “Um, hello. Is Moe there?”
“Sorry, no. Can I help you with something?”
Help me off with my sweater. No, no, I’m not thinking that. Sure, Chris was a more clothes-on type person, but…I’m getting derailed.
I straighten my back, trying not to picture what Jesse looks like as he answers my call on the ancient maroon wall phone behind Moe’s counter. “Yes, hi. This is Laura. Laura Marshall?”
“Hi, Laura.”
His voice drops into this deep register, filled with pleasure, and the way he says my name makes me momentarily forget it.
“Right.” I’m a strong, independent woman who does not go literally weak at the knees just because some hot grump says my name like he wants to see me. Based on our last interaction, he most definitely does not want to see me. “I know Moe keeps some podcasting and video supplies in the store.”
Jesse laughs, and if I thought his voice is sexy, that laugh is a lance of liquid heat, running straight down my spine and lodging deep in my core. “Yeah, he says it’s for all the folks trying to hitch their wagon to fast money. He says he’ll take their cash one way or the other.”
I blush, which is completely fracking ridiculous. My mouth floods with the memory of tart and sweet cherry lollipops. “Oh, that Moe.”
“Yeah.” I picture him running a hand through that thick sheaf of dark brown hair, shot through with gray at his temples, which I remember far too vividly. No. I should not picture that if I don’t want to also ask if he has spare vibrator batteries. “He said he was going fishing and I should lock up. That was eight days ago.”
“When Moe’s in the groove, he loses track of time. At least you’re there to open the shop. Before you, we’d have to waitfor Moe to remember to come back.” Wait, are we having a conversation? An actual conversation and not just him refusing to answer any of my questions? Fine. Two can play this game. “I heard Rory invited you to Sunday dinner at my mom’s house.”
“Yeah. I mean, I wasn’t planning on going.”
“Oh, you should!” Why am I trying to convince him? I don’t want him around. Honestly. At the door, Einstein scratches and whines. “Not that you have to, if you have plans. But if you don’t, I usually bring dessert.”
“I always do like something sweet.”
Whew heck, why am I swooning at that? I remind myself that there are only three things I need to do: resume blogging, learn to live alone like a real adult, and not get distracted by shiny object syndrome. Or Seriously Hot New Grump syndrome.
“So what was it you needed?” he asks, his voice cutting through my resolve.
“Well, haha, turns out I’m one of those fad chasers.” Gross, I’m one hair twirl away from flirting. I stand and let Einstein in. He immediately curls around my legs, like he knows I need a little contact. “My ring light broke. You don’t happen to have one there, do you?”
“Give me a second.” Good. The hold music will give me space to tame down my raging libido. He clicks back on a moment too soon. “Not in the aisle. I’m checking the computer inventory now.”
“Moe has a computer?” Not to be ageist, but Moe refused even to buy a cell phone. He only caved after he got stranded ice fishing last year and Rory bought him one to leave in his truck for emergencies.