Lacey? She was supposed to protect it from other customers. He rushed inside, throwing the door open so hard a bell fell on his head. He sucked in a breath and slapped his hands on his scalp, ducking in case more rained down.
“Austin, are you okay?” Lacey’s voice came from right next to him, but his head smarted so bad his vision was blurry.
“Yeah. Fine.” He gave his head a rub and blinked away the pain. Then blinked some more.
Holy shit. “Lacey?”
“Nope. I’m the ghost of Lacey’s past.”
He couldn’t take in the changes. He wasn’t even sure what had changed—same jacket, same jeans. But…something… “What did you do?”
Okay, so maybe his tone had been a little incredulous. She stiffened. “I got a haircut. You got a problem?”
“No.” Yes. Yes, he did have a problem—a growing problem—and it was in his pants. It wasn’t that she was pretty, though she was. It wasn’t that she looked younger and softer, though she did.
It was the way she stood, all loose-limbed, relaxed confidence. The way he remembered her being in the seconds before he’d arrested her.
She looked happy.
And that made him hard.
“You sure you’re okay?”
He cleared his throat and thanked God his coat covered incriminating evidence. “Yeah. Great. Let me just get this sweater—”
Another woman stepped forward, the one he’d seen Lacey talking with through the window. “I was just explaining to your wife…”
He opened his mouth, but Lacey laid her hand on his forearm. She didn’t leave it there long, just a glancing touch that did more damage to his equilibrium than that bloodthirsty bell had.
“I was telling Pauline here that we really need this sweater.”
“And I was telling your wife that it’s not for sale, I’m afraid. You see, it’s brought more customers in than anything we’ve ever done. But we do sell the pattern, if you’d like to make it.”
His heart dropped. Make a sweater? He had a better chance of rebuilding the train. “I’d be willing to pay just about anything.”
Pauline gave him an apologetic look. “The shop’s so busy this time of year that I don’t have time to make another one. I’m really sorry. If you’d like to come back after Christmas…”
No, no, no. The most perfectly horrible gift for Wyatt was slipping away.
“Do you know anyone crafty?” Pauline asked, kindly.
Molly was, but he would never ask her to do something like this. She was too nice to say no, even though this was a busy time of year for her.
Lacey cleared her throat.
On top of organizing her school’s Christmas pageant, Molly was putting together all the details for Santa’s Wonderland, a massive task.
Lacey cleared her throat again.
He finally looked at her. “Need a cough drop?”
Her eyes rolled, and she held up the pattern, reading from the back. “Pauline, it looks like we’ll need a half yard of white felt, a yard of fusible web, an orange felt square and some big bell balls. Can you point me in the right direction?”
Austin’s breath seized in his lungs. “You’re going to make it?”
“Nope. You are. I’ll supervise. If I can read freight train blueprints, this should be a breeze, right? And for everything else there’s the internet.” She slapped the pattern against his chest. A rush of gratitude overwhelmed his good sense. He tugged her close and wrapped his arms around her in what he’d only intended to be a friendly hug.
But the second her chest touched his and his cheek brushed hers, one of them turned—her, him, both…it happened so quickly and so naturally that he would never know—and their lips met in a soft, breathless sigh of a kiss.
So he did the only thing he could do. He gave it his all.
Chapter Ten
‡
L acey’s heart thudded painfully at the shock of being touched. So long. It had been so long since anyone had cupped her cheek, held her head tilted at that perfect kissing angle, pressed his fingertips gently against her scalp,
“Austin, are you okay?” Lacey’s voice came from right next to him, but his head smarted so bad his vision was blurry.
“Yeah. Fine.” He gave his head a rub and blinked away the pain. Then blinked some more.
Holy shit. “Lacey?”
“Nope. I’m the ghost of Lacey’s past.”
He couldn’t take in the changes. He wasn’t even sure what had changed—same jacket, same jeans. But…something… “What did you do?”
Okay, so maybe his tone had been a little incredulous. She stiffened. “I got a haircut. You got a problem?”
“No.” Yes. Yes, he did have a problem—a growing problem—and it was in his pants. It wasn’t that she was pretty, though she was. It wasn’t that she looked younger and softer, though she did.
It was the way she stood, all loose-limbed, relaxed confidence. The way he remembered her being in the seconds before he’d arrested her.
She looked happy.
And that made him hard.
“You sure you’re okay?”
He cleared his throat and thanked God his coat covered incriminating evidence. “Yeah. Great. Let me just get this sweater—”
Another woman stepped forward, the one he’d seen Lacey talking with through the window. “I was just explaining to your wife…”
He opened his mouth, but Lacey laid her hand on his forearm. She didn’t leave it there long, just a glancing touch that did more damage to his equilibrium than that bloodthirsty bell had.
“I was telling Pauline here that we really need this sweater.”
“And I was telling your wife that it’s not for sale, I’m afraid. You see, it’s brought more customers in than anything we’ve ever done. But we do sell the pattern, if you’d like to make it.”
His heart dropped. Make a sweater? He had a better chance of rebuilding the train. “I’d be willing to pay just about anything.”
Pauline gave him an apologetic look. “The shop’s so busy this time of year that I don’t have time to make another one. I’m really sorry. If you’d like to come back after Christmas…”
No, no, no. The most perfectly horrible gift for Wyatt was slipping away.
“Do you know anyone crafty?” Pauline asked, kindly.
Molly was, but he would never ask her to do something like this. She was too nice to say no, even though this was a busy time of year for her.
Lacey cleared her throat.
On top of organizing her school’s Christmas pageant, Molly was putting together all the details for Santa’s Wonderland, a massive task.
Lacey cleared her throat again.
He finally looked at her. “Need a cough drop?”
Her eyes rolled, and she held up the pattern, reading from the back. “Pauline, it looks like we’ll need a half yard of white felt, a yard of fusible web, an orange felt square and some big bell balls. Can you point me in the right direction?”
Austin’s breath seized in his lungs. “You’re going to make it?”
“Nope. You are. I’ll supervise. If I can read freight train blueprints, this should be a breeze, right? And for everything else there’s the internet.” She slapped the pattern against his chest. A rush of gratitude overwhelmed his good sense. He tugged her close and wrapped his arms around her in what he’d only intended to be a friendly hug.
But the second her chest touched his and his cheek brushed hers, one of them turned—her, him, both…it happened so quickly and so naturally that he would never know—and their lips met in a soft, breathless sigh of a kiss.
So he did the only thing he could do. He gave it his all.
Chapter Ten
‡
L acey’s heart thudded painfully at the shock of being touched. So long. It had been so long since anyone had cupped her cheek, held her head tilted at that perfect kissing angle, pressed his fingertips gently against her scalp,
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