Irresistible Stranger by Jennifer Greene

every damn time he had a chance to dig in.
    This time, when he turned around there was Mrs. Georgia Maryweather, four-foot-eleven in heels and a ribboned hat, holding a peach-pecan pie. “Griff, I felt certain you’d need a little pick-me-up, bless your heart. The mister and I, we were so sorry to hear about the fire. It sure is a mess.”
    â€œWhat a kind thing to do. Thank you, Mrs. Maryweather.”
    Griff gave himself credit. He didn’t blow his temper, because of course he’d never bellow at a sweet old woman. Or a crotchety old woman. Or any woman. As anyone in town knew, he didn’t have a temper. He was low-key, never moved fast, never expressed anger.
    Damned if he would behave like his dad. Ever. No matter what the provocation.
    Mrs. Maryweather, of course, wanted a complete, chatty version of what had happened, who did it, what the damage would cost, what she and Mr. Maryweather could do to help, when he’d have the store back in business, the problem with young people today, the terror of crime and the story of her sister’s daughter’s cousin’s break-in last year.
    Griff could feel the start of a tic in his right eye. His stomach had shrunk to the size of a small, tight knot. Early-afternoon heat had come in like a prize-fighter, fast and sharp, a hot blow that could fell anybody.
    â€œNow, Griff, sugar, you just tell me if you…”
    â€œGriff…?”
    For four hours now, he hadn’t accomplished anything substantial. Couldn’t finish a conversation. Couldn’t end a sentence. Either the cell phone was buzzing or a fresh batch of people showed up. It wasn’t as if this was the fire of the century. It was just a mess.
    â€œNow, Mr. Maryweather and I, we’d—”
    A sudden movement caught his attention—the shine of glossy brown hair braiding through the crowd. Lily. Ignoring everyone, including a few accusing staresdirected her way, she seemed solely focused on him, his face, his expression. Herman Conner, who’d been unshakable all morning, hitched up his trousers and aimed to block her path.
    But nothing was stopping Lily. She barged past elbows and looks and conversation, the frown on her brow deepening as she finally reached him. “I’m really sorry. I assumed I could get here a lot earlier. I got caught up.”
    â€œNothing to be sorry about,” he assured her. “In fact, I should have called your cell, told you to forget it. There’s nothing anyone can do to help me right now.”
    She searched his face, barely whispered, “Yeah, right.” And then, in a sudden loud soprano, “Griff, I’m feeling sick with the heat. Could you just help me sit down for a minute? I’m afraid I’m going to faint.”
    She wasn’t going to faint. He couldn’t imagine why she’d pull such a drama, grabbing his arm, lifting her other hand to her forehead like a swooning Scarlett O’Hara. It was the hokiest acting job he’d ever seen…but he couldn’t be 100% positive of that. Lily did have trouble with heat, and it wasn’t as if he could ignore a woman asking for his help.
    Much less Lily.
    He’d have brought her into the nearest air-conditioning—which was the shop next door—but somehow Ms. Drama Queen, even as she moaned and groaned, elbowed him around the side of the store, down the alley, to a patch of shade. Faster than a snake, she wiggled through her purse and emerged with two waterbottles. The first one she opened and poured over his head before he could even think about sputtering.
    The second, she handed him for a drink. “Sit,” she said.
    â€œWhat the hell are you doing?” He pushed a hand through his dripping hair, refusing to enjoy the sudden burst of cool. Although Lily couldn’t possibly know it, there were certain things Griff never did. Obey orders was one of them. Allow himself to be “handled” was