Tori Carrington - Where You Least Expect It

Penelope nodded. “Received a shipment from the guy in brown late yesterday.”

“Thank God.”

Elva released the pole and started toward the counter. “How much?”

Penelope named a price as she unlocked the register and put the prepared order on the glass countertop.

Elva’s eyebrows rose to meet the poorly dyed black of her hair. “That much?”

“Same price every time you buy it, Mrs. Mollenkopf.”

“I think you’re wrong. Could you check, please?”

Penelope smiled at her. “Sure.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Maximus get to his feet, his tail wagging with mischievous intent as he rounded the counter. Elva gasped as he pressed his cold snout into her crotch. The calculated nature of his actions made Penelope catch her breath.

“Max!” Penelope grabbed hold of his leash and tried to pull him back, a completely inappropriate laugh erupting from her mouth. She quickly cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Mollenkopf. You know how dogs are.”

“I loathe dogs and have never spent time around them, so no, Miss Moon, I would not know how dogs are.”

She should have caught a clue in the two years she’d been coming into the shop—but Penelope wasn’t about to sass her.

“If you’d waited until I opened the store, Max would have been tied up out back.” Terrorizing her business neighbors when they tried to throw something out in the Dumpster rather than burrowing his nose in other people’s business.

Elva pulled the skirt of her dress out and stared at it in horror, as if she believed it permanently stained. “I’ll have you know that I’m going to file a complaint with the sheriff’s office.”

So what else is new?

“Pardon me?”

Penelope blinked at the older woman as she finally managed to gain control of the dog and pull him back. She hadn’t said the words, had she?

Maybe this morning was not like every other morning, after all.

“What if I give you a special ten-percent discount, Mrs. Mollenkopf?” she said. “You know, by way of apology for Max’s behavior?”

“Fifteen.”

“Done.”

Max sat, and she ignored his expression—which seemed to say “sucker”—as she rounded the counter to complete the transaction.

“Strange, that man.”

Penelope squinted at where Elva was staring through the front window at a figure walking down the street. The man’s hands were in the pockets of his khaki pants; his crisp, white short-sleeved shirt emphasized his long, lean arms and the deep copper tone of his skin.

“I don’t think Mr. Kendall’s strange.”

Elva glared at her. “Neither does the rest of the town. But I’m telling you, he’s strange. Blows in here from out of nowhere a year ago, no family, no mention of a family, and becomes so much a part of the community, you can’t tell him from the next guy.”

“He’s from Oregon. He doesn’t have any family. And he’s a middle-school teacher at St. Joe’s. What more do you want to know?”

Elva looked at her a little too closely, then took her change and counted it again. “I’d like to get a peek at what skeletons he’s hiding in that closet of his over at Mrs. O’Malley’s bed-and-breakfast.” She lifted a finger after putting her money in a black-sequined change purse. “And that’s another thing. Who lives in a bed-and-breakfast? A bed-and-breakfast is where one spends a weekend, not a year.”

Penelope said, “I’m sure there are no skeletons in Mr. Kendall’s closet, Mrs. Mollenkopf.”

“Shows how much you know.”

Penelope handed the woman the bag of cream just as the door bells rang, heralding another customer. She hadn’t even opened for business. She wondered why it couldn’t be this busy during the regular workday.

“Good morning, Miss Moon.” Aidan Kendall, the topic of their conversation, came inside, seeming to bring the sun with him. “Mrs. Mollenkopf.”

“Harrumph,” Elva said, sticking her nose in the air and stalking toward the door.

Aidan opened it for her, and she sailed through without so much as a “thank you” or an “excuse me.”

“Careful, Mrs. Mollenkopf, or I might get the impression that you don’t like me very much,” Aidan said in good humor.

She made another sound of disapproval, looked both ways down the street, then hurried away, probably praying she hadn’t been seen coming out of the shop. At least until the town cat, Spot, crossed her path, nearly tripping her. The fearless female feline ducked into the shop before the door could close. Max tilted his head to the side and made an inquisitive noise as if unable to believe a cat had just offered itself up for a morning snack. He leaned forward from where he sat in the storage room. Penelope easily closed the door, shutting him in, then moved to continue picking up the jars of fallen cream.

“Was it something I said?” Aidan asked, aiming a thumb at Elva’s quickly retreating back.

Penelope wondered why her skin suddenly seemed to burn all the hotter. “I wouldn’t take her behavior, um, personally. She doesn’t appear to like anybody much.”

Aidan bent to pat Spot as she made a perfect figure eight around his ankles, even as he gazed at Penelope. “Yeah.”

Her skin grew hotter still. Much hotter than she was comfortable with.

Darn summer and its heat.

She put the next load of jars down on the counter, then moved to the thermostat to switch on the air-conditioning. “Looks like it’s going to be another scorcher.”

“I like it hot.”

Penelope suddenly had a hard time swallowing.

Aidan Kendall liked hot weather.

She slowly turned to find him picking up the jars.

“No!” she fairly shouted.

His puzzled expression made her wince.

“I mean, you don’t have to do that. Really, you don’t.” She hurried over to take the jars out of his hands. “I have plenty of time to take care of it before I open up.”

Aidan stood still, allowing her to take the jars from him. Only, his arms could hold much more than hers. She juggled hers as he held up the last one, his grin making her toes curl inside her sandals.

“Just trying to help,” he said.

She looked at him and found herself leisurely staring into his deep brown eyes, noticing the slight crinkles at the corners, taking in the broad, manly curve of his jaw, the sensual definition of his lips. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she felt restless when he was around. All it took was one glance from him. He threw off an energy that messed with her own calm, making her not only want to peel off her clothes, but climb out of her own skin.

Which would be all right, if only she didn’t itch to try on his skin instead.

Penelope unloaded the jars. “Is there, um, something you wanted, Aidan?”

He shrugged and slipped his hands back into his pockets. “Isn’t it enough to want to stop and say hello to a friend?”

A friend.

Penelope fingered the smooth lid of a jar she held and considered the word. Such a simple word, really. But not one she had come across often in her lifetime in Old Orchard.

She’d never really had any friends. Her peers and the rest of the townsfolk had always seemed more like wary strangers.

Except for Aidan.

Every now and again he would pop up into her shop, giving her those curious toe-curling looks and trying to strike up conversation.

She smiled at him. “It’s more than enough.”

“Good, because it’s not the reason why I stopped by.”

She gave a tiny giggle.

A giggle? She didn’t giggle. The sound was so unfamiliar to her that she caught herself looking around to make sure someone else hadn’t entered the shop.

She cleared her throat, thinking that she really needed to get a grip.

Aidan felt all the tension seep from his muscles. He enjoyed Penelope Moon’s laugh. There was something genuine about the musical sound. Something that reached out and grabbed him unaware, reminding him of what was light and happy rather than dark and sad.

There was also an innocence about her that made him feel good. When he was around her, he forgot the reason he’d first come to this small town in the middle of nowhere and allowed himself to be, well, basically himself. She didn’t ask questions of him. Didn’t pressure him for details he was loath to give. She merely accepted him for the man that stood in front of her.

She was also a sight for jaded eyes.

Oh, he knew what the rest of the townspeople said about her. The nicest thing they said was that she was a bit odd. The worst, that she was a practicing witch—one you didn’t want to cross lest she cast a spell on you. The latter had come from Mrs. Mollenkopf herself the other day. He’d overheard her in the post office when he’d gone to buy a book of stamps.

He supposed Penelope Moon did look the part, what with her long, silky black hair and big black eyes and pale skin. But rather than see her as odd, he preferred to think of her as real. As real as anyone he’d met since his late wife.

“Leo.”

Aidan blinked, realizing Penelope had said something. “Pardon me?”

“Your sun sign. You’re a Leo, right?”

He cracked a grin. He should have known what she’d meant straight off. She’d been asking him to give her his birth date since the first day they met. When he’d refused, she’d taken to trying to guess his sign.

Just as he always did, he shook his head. “Not a Leo.”

Her soft mouth turned down into a frown that merely enhanced her natural beauty. She didn’t have on even a touch of lipstick, but her lips were still the deep, ripe color of strawberries in season. He’d bet she didn’t wear mascara, either, even though her lashes were thick and sweeping, and vividly outlined her dark, dark eyes.

She cocked her head as she looked at him looking at her. “If I got your sun sign right, would you admit it?”

He slowly shook his head. “No.”

“Taurus.”

He chuckled. “No.”

He didn’t want to think about the truth behind his hesitancy. The fact was, he couldn’t give her his real birth date for fear of what might happen in the future. And he didn’t want to lie to her either.

Better to keep things light between them.

He watched her touch a leather band holding a charm—one he couldn’t make out—around her slim wrist.

“So, you said there was a reason you came in here?” she said quietly. Too quietly.

Aidan blinked and looked up into her fathomless eyes. “Um, yes. I wondered why I didn’t see you at the Fourth of July planning committee meeting last night.”

She broke the connection of their gazes as she looked down. “Hmm…I don’t know. Maybe because I’m not a member of the planning committee?”

She moved toward the mess of jars all over the floor and bent to continue picking them up.

She was slender. Almost too slender. Easily as tall as he was at five foot eleven, her limbs were long and willowy, almost model-like. Or they would be if she wore more flattering clothes. Instead she leaned toward muted earth-tone dresses that he guessed to be a size or two too big. It was at moments like these, however, when she was bent, forcing the fabric to mold to her body, that he noticed how very curvy she was.

And was reminded of how long it had been since he was with a woman.

“I see,” he said, crouching to help her. “So the meeting conflicted with another committee meeting, maybe?”

She looked at him shyly. “No.”

“Ah. So the reason has to be a man, then.”

Her flush was so complete, so unexpected, that his stomach knotted.

“Um, the answer to that would have to be no, as well.”