From Boss to Bridegroom by Karen Kirst

The image of shattered china shoved to the forefront of his mind. Gently, he slid his fingers beneath her chin and lifted her face. “He caused you to drop the dishes, didn’t he?”
    Swallowing hard, she moved her head a fraction of an inch.
    â€œI’m an idiot.” Releasing her before he did something rash, like kissing that dainty mouth of hers, he helped her to her feet. “I’m sorry, Duchess. I should’ve suspected.”
    â€œYou couldn’t have known.”
    â€œYou’re not clumsy or careless. I know that.”
    She touched his sleeve. “Thank you.”
    â€œFor what?”
    â€œSticking up for me.”
    â€œEven though you didn’t require my help?”
    She smiled at him, a genuine smile that transformed her face into something so beautiful and hopeful he didn’t dare blink for fear he’d miss it. “I’ll let it pass this time.”
    He knew then that, no matter how loudly and frequently she protested, he’d always rush to lend her aid.

Chapter Eight
    N icole withheld a sigh as Mr. Craig perused the newest selection of hair tonics beneath the glass. He wasn’t one to rush the decision. While he hadn’t yet found a cure for his baldness, he continued to test the latest concoctions.
    Her gaze strayed once more to her boss, whose sinewy, suit-clad body was propped against the counter, arms folded across his chest as he conversed with Reverend Monroe. Late-afternoon light glinted off his dark hair, slicked away from his face in a dashing style. How he managed to appear neat and unruffled no matter how many customers came in or how stuffy the place got she couldn’t fathom.
    Snatches of their conversation drifted over. When the reverend asked how Quinn was settling in, she was surprised to hear him admit he wasn’t having much luck with the locals and that he felt like an outsider. Considering his status in Boston, his troubles here must be particularly difficult to cope with.
    â€œGive it some time,” the reverend urged, craggy features sympathetic. “They miss Emmett. He was their confidant, advisor and friend.”
    Quinn nodded. His attention slipped to her and, embarrassed to be caught staring, she ripped her gaze from his worried one.
    â€œI believe I’ve made up my mind.” Mr. Craig smiled, revealing stained teeth. “I’ll take the Imperial Hair Tonic.” He pointed to the tall bottle in the middle.
    â€œI’ll wrap it up for you.”
    Ripping off a square of brown paper, she unlocked the case and lifted out the bottle. Quinn strolled up as she was handing the parcel across the counter.
    â€œAppreciate your business, Mr. Craig.” Quinn’s smile was forced.
    Closing the case, she said, “What was the notice Reverend Monroe dropped off?”
    He pinched the bridge of his nose, leading her to wonder if he had a headache. “A reminder about the Independence Day picnic.”
    The calendar displayed on the wall showed the July Fourth holiday fell on a Tuesday. “Are you going?”
    The foursome playing cards in the corner burst out laughing at some private joke. Quinn glanced over his shoulder at them, shaking his head as if he couldn’t figure out why he was allowing them to waste space in his store. He wasn’t thrilled to have them back, but Nicole thought he’d done the right thing. Pushing off from the counter, he came around and, passing her, retrieved a horehound candy from a jar.
    She couldn’t stop thinking about how his hands had warmed hers.
    â€œI suppose I will.”
    At his marked lack of enthusiasm, she tried to see things from his perspective. He’d left his home and family, with whom he’d apparently shared a close bond, and he was completely alone in an unfamiliar place where not everyone was happy he’d come. She recalled how, without the slightest hesitation, he’d defended her against Kenneth last