the magazine rack.
“How about
Kitt ’n Kaboodle
?” Libby asked.
“What’s that one about?”
“Kittens and puppies.” She laughed again.
She needed to stop doing that. It was too enticing. Lately, it seemed as if all the sexual energy he’d locked away after Connie died had surged forward, a tsunami of base desires. Dr. Brandt was supposed to throw him a life preserver and pull him free from that, but all she’d done with her absolution and her permission was toss him into the deep, way over his head. She thought pursuing Libby might be therapeutic.
Dr. Brandt was a terrible influence.
He crossed his arms. “Do I seem like a kitten and puppy kind of guy?”
Libby turned and looked him up and down, her gaze finally meeting his. “No, you seem like more of a… rattlesnake kind of guy.”
His laughter surprised him. “A rattlesnake?”
She nodded and held up a hand with two fingers curled out, like snake fangs, wiggling her arm a little. “Yes, you know. Coiled up tight, making all sorts of warning-type noises.”
“Really.” He tried to frown—and failed. “You know, rattlesnakes only make noise when something aggravates them.”
“You are easily aggravated.”
“You are a professional irritant.”
She smiled at that. “Well, there’s one job I’ve never applied for.”
She turned back to the magazine rack, and Tom shook his head at his own foolish thoughts.
Somehow they managed to find a handful of magazines he hoped would be useful. There were a few about remodeling, one about fishing even though he rarely fished anymore, and one about organic gardening. That one he almost left behind. The garden had been Connie’s dream, but he’d plant one with Rachel if ever she asked, and he wanted her to know that.
He and Libby kept the conversation light as they paid the convenience store cashier and left. Once outside, he tipped his head toward the sandwich shop next door.
“Come on. I’ll buy you dinner for helping me out,” he said.
“Ooh, someplace fancy, huh?” The color heightened in her cheeks, and for the first time, her laughter sounded more nervous than sincere.
He opened the door, and she stepped inside the shop, sliding her hands into her pockets. The place was small and smelled of toasted bread and burnt cheese. A few rust-colored booths ran along one wall, and other than the two yellow-smocked sandwich makers behind the red laminate counter, the place was empty.
“This might not be the best choice,” Tom murmured.
“The food is actually pretty good,” Libby whispered back. “It’s just empty because it’s Friday night.”
It was Friday night? He didn’t even realize that. He worked nearly every day, and so the weekends didn’t mean much to him. But Libby should be out doing something social. Like being on a date. Not that it was any of his business. Maybe she was still pining over that jackass who’d up and moved to San Diego.
He frowned at the back of her head. What kind of woman fell for a guy like that anyway?
She turned and smiled at him, her thick gold hair sliding over her shoulder. “They have a chili dog here that is scrumptiously divine.”
Oh. That kind of woman. The kind with sapphire blue eyes and a luscious mouth who used expressions like
scrumptiously divine
—but wasn’t too girly to chow down a chili dog.
Well, it didn’t matter to him what kind of mouth Libby Hamilton had, or how soft her lips might be, or what sort of words she used. As soon as they’d eaten and she’d explained to him how the hell to make a collage, he’d thank her and say good night. He could manage from there well enough. He was not going to sit next to her for hours, sifting through magazines while her hair fell all over his arm.
They ordered their food and sat down near the front window to wait for it. The evening light was fading slow, casting shadow fragments over the table. Country music played from the overhead speakers, some guy singing something about a
“How about
Kitt ’n Kaboodle
?” Libby asked.
“What’s that one about?”
“Kittens and puppies.” She laughed again.
She needed to stop doing that. It was too enticing. Lately, it seemed as if all the sexual energy he’d locked away after Connie died had surged forward, a tsunami of base desires. Dr. Brandt was supposed to throw him a life preserver and pull him free from that, but all she’d done with her absolution and her permission was toss him into the deep, way over his head. She thought pursuing Libby might be therapeutic.
Dr. Brandt was a terrible influence.
He crossed his arms. “Do I seem like a kitten and puppy kind of guy?”
Libby turned and looked him up and down, her gaze finally meeting his. “No, you seem like more of a… rattlesnake kind of guy.”
His laughter surprised him. “A rattlesnake?”
She nodded and held up a hand with two fingers curled out, like snake fangs, wiggling her arm a little. “Yes, you know. Coiled up tight, making all sorts of warning-type noises.”
“Really.” He tried to frown—and failed. “You know, rattlesnakes only make noise when something aggravates them.”
“You are easily aggravated.”
“You are a professional irritant.”
She smiled at that. “Well, there’s one job I’ve never applied for.”
She turned back to the magazine rack, and Tom shook his head at his own foolish thoughts.
Somehow they managed to find a handful of magazines he hoped would be useful. There were a few about remodeling, one about fishing even though he rarely fished anymore, and one about organic gardening. That one he almost left behind. The garden had been Connie’s dream, but he’d plant one with Rachel if ever she asked, and he wanted her to know that.
He and Libby kept the conversation light as they paid the convenience store cashier and left. Once outside, he tipped his head toward the sandwich shop next door.
“Come on. I’ll buy you dinner for helping me out,” he said.
“Ooh, someplace fancy, huh?” The color heightened in her cheeks, and for the first time, her laughter sounded more nervous than sincere.
He opened the door, and she stepped inside the shop, sliding her hands into her pockets. The place was small and smelled of toasted bread and burnt cheese. A few rust-colored booths ran along one wall, and other than the two yellow-smocked sandwich makers behind the red laminate counter, the place was empty.
“This might not be the best choice,” Tom murmured.
“The food is actually pretty good,” Libby whispered back. “It’s just empty because it’s Friday night.”
It was Friday night? He didn’t even realize that. He worked nearly every day, and so the weekends didn’t mean much to him. But Libby should be out doing something social. Like being on a date. Not that it was any of his business. Maybe she was still pining over that jackass who’d up and moved to San Diego.
He frowned at the back of her head. What kind of woman fell for a guy like that anyway?
She turned and smiled at him, her thick gold hair sliding over her shoulder. “They have a chili dog here that is scrumptiously divine.”
Oh. That kind of woman. The kind with sapphire blue eyes and a luscious mouth who used expressions like
scrumptiously divine
—but wasn’t too girly to chow down a chili dog.
Well, it didn’t matter to him what kind of mouth Libby Hamilton had, or how soft her lips might be, or what sort of words she used. As soon as they’d eaten and she’d explained to him how the hell to make a collage, he’d thank her and say good night. He could manage from there well enough. He was not going to sit next to her for hours, sifting through magazines while her hair fell all over his arm.
They ordered their food and sat down near the front window to wait for it. The evening light was fading slow, casting shadow fragments over the table. Country music played from the overhead speakers, some guy singing something about a
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