Page 3 of Secret Sins

Trying not to embarrass myself, I reached out for one. Just as I nabbed the edge of a nearly perfectly round cookie, she gasped. I dropped the damn thing as fast as humanly possible and backed up with Heidi between my legs, trying to figure out what I’d done wrong.

"Your hand."

In a blur, she plucked the snickerdoodle I'd touched off the plate and nearly shoved it into my mouth, tugging my jacket sleeve until I had no choice but to sit in the chair, and looped Heidi's leash through a hook screwed into the desk.

"I have just the thing."

The cinnamon sweetness was nearly my undoing, but the tin of crap she brought in my direction refocused my thoughts.

"I can't pay for that."

"Nobody asked you to pay for it. I sell it for my mother, but this one's mine."

My heart thudded painfully in my ears as she drew closer. Seconds before her skin touched mine, my voice lashed out.

"Don't touch me."

Chapter 2

Bailey

Obviously, I didn't know when I woke up this morning that my path would take me in this direction today. Customers of all kinds floated in and out of our town on a regular basis. Townies, tourists, those who left and found themselves drifting back. I'd seen it all. Nothing much fazed me, but this guy . . . This guy was hella awkward. Nervous, shy, and apparently unwilling to be touched.

"Apologies," I said, backing off and holding out the pot of hand cream. "Knock yourself out, or don't. Either is fine."

Sensing something within him, something I couldn't define, I turned around after leaving the cream on the side table. He wasn't just any man. Mysterious, for sure, and undeniably attractive in a way that made the dust motes dancing in the afternoon sun seem suddenly charged with electricity. His wary gaze swept over the shelves like he was searching for a missing piece of himself, or perhaps an escape route. The secrets in his eyes, however, were impossible to miss. They were deep and turbulent, like a midnight sea hiding shipwrecks and forgotten treasures. He carried a certain kind of dangerous gravity that seemed utterly out of place among my cozy reading nooks.

Since the coffee maker had just finished gurgling out the last drop of water into a fresh pot, I poured some to the brim of my favorite bright orange mug. It was handmade just for me, made of thick walls and an oversized handle, with a chip on the bottom from the time Charlie thought it was dandy to knock it off the counter. The imperfection didn't bother me. It still held liquid, after all, and that was the only thing I asked of it.

"New in town?" My inquiry was casual, non-confrontational. I only knew he remained in the seat because I would have heard him fleeing otherwise. He appeared the type to leave a hurricane in his wake, a tidal wave of suppressed emotion, man, and dog.

The only response I received was some sort of grunt. It was kind of sexy, like him, but he was obviously off limits. That was made clear by the expression in his eyes, the storm brewing in that turbulent shade of ocean water during a rip current. It was in the solid hunch going on with his shoulders, the guarded body posture.

It all screamed back the fuck up.

"Seriously, I didn't mean to invade your space. It's a bad habit of mine as a shopkeeper."

Finally, because I couldn't stand the silence, I turned back around.

Heidi had curled at his feet, her head on her paws, but her brown eyes followed me around the store. Loyal, naturally, to her master, she would stand between me and him if the situation warranted it. Charlie twined between the worn wooden legs of the armchair, his tail high and his back arched. Looking for a rub here and there. Accustomed to dogs, people, anyone, and anything. Unperturbed.

Van, though, had bent over his lap, fooling with the metal tin. Those cracks on his knuckles must hurt like a son of a bitch, and were fairly common in the winter. It was spring, mind you, but that was how I knew he was a newcomer. Wind, salt, and repeated washing were killers on virgin hands. Long, blunt fingers, slightly swollen knuckles, and a firm line to his mouth, he grumbled under his breath as he attempted to pry the lid off the round metal container no bigger than a quarter.

"Coffee and cookies are free, as is tea, if you've a mind for it. I keep them around for the customers—at least ostensibly—but I can't help indulging."

Biting my lip to force myself to shut up, I watched him struggle to open the container. He was pretty clear on his directive not to touch, so I resisted the urge to step in and help. But I couldn't watch him, either, so instead I moved around to tidy up what was already tidy.

Fat, colorfully bound books stacked nicely on the floor. There was just a happy feeling I got when I looked at them, so I didn't bother finding room for those antiques on the shelves. Everything else was put away properly; by genre, then alphabetically by author. It had been a slow morning, so there weren't any books to sort. Sensing a shift in the man called Van, I glanced over a spinning rack full of local postcards to watch him apply a thin layer of the white hand cream over the backs of his knuckles. Riley was my pseudo mother, and she made it from scratch, along with other goods made from the milk of the goats she raised, selling her wares at my store and the local grocer's.

With another grunt-like noise, he rose from the chair and set the cream on the table. Snagging another cookie, he stared carefully at the open doors as Heidi stretched and stood to her full height.

"Thanks for the lotion."

And then he was gone, leaving me wondering.

oOo

The afternoon was busier, and I had too much to do to waste time worrying about a skittish stranger. At closing time, I made sure the back door was locked, then pulled in the chalkboard sign and called to Charlie.