Page 16 of Truth and Temptation
“Right. It would be great to chat sometime, Summer. I’m ah, interested in possibly starting an outdoor venture tour company in the area,” I say, hating how easily the lie rolls off my tongue.
Summer opens her mouth to respond, but Ethan beats her to it. “As the town mayor, you’ll have to also meet with me for permitting enquiries.”
Summer elbows him before giving me a warm smile. “Easy there, lumberjack.” That makes me snort, given how I thought of him when I first saw the guy. “Wyatt, I would love to chat about your plan. We could use someone experienced and knowledgeable to guide visitors in the area. I get plenty of questions about hiking trails, kayaking, rock climbing — all kinds of stuff I just can’t answer.”
Well, shit. That actually surprises the crap out of me. Even though it’s always been my true dream, what I’ve actually wanted to do with my life, the idea that it could actually be a real possibility never occurred to me. But as quick as that flash of hopeful excitement hits me, it’s dashed by a wave of guilt. I can’t leave my parents and Crawford Books. I can’t disappoint them like that, they need me.
“Yeah, that would be great,” I reply to Summer, the words sounding hollow to my ears. Summer settles back in her chair, seemingly satisfied with my response.
Paige leads us to two empty chairs at the end of the table and we sit down. She’s quickly drawn into conversation with Ashley, who’s on her other side, so I take a minute to just look around and take in everything.
Aside from Jacob, I don’t exactly have a lot of close friends. You could say I’m too busy with work, but the truth is, people look at me differently when they realize I’m Wyatt Crawford, of that Crawford family. Our net worth is well-known, and even though I’ve always tried to avoid the spotlight and shied away from media attention, I’m not exactly unknown. That’s why it’s been such a welcome surprise that no one here seems to know, or at least, if they do know, they don’t care about who I am. Do I feel bad giving Paige a slightly inaccurate name? Yeah, I do. But it’s not a lie. My name really is Wyatt James, I just left off my last name.
Eventually, I’m pulled into conversation with Finn, who turns out to be interested in rock climbing. He admits he’s more of an indoor gym guy, but we make plans to go over to Westport where there’s a place we can check out. The rest of the evening passes, and before I know it, we’ve all had too many beers to drive home. Dean assures all of us we can leave our cars in the parking lot, so as a group we head out.
Plans are made for who’s walking and who’s getting a ride. When I hear Paige protesting that she’s fine to walk, I seize the chance. “I’ll walk you home,” I say, leaving no room for argument. Mila, who was apparently trying to get Paige to call a cab, gives me an enigmatic smile.
“Perfect. Thank you, Wyatt.” She turns to Paige. “Text me when you get home, and I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast.”
The women embrace, and I stand back as the group scatters in different directions. Finally, it’s just Paige and me. “I do not require an escort, Wyatt, you’re welcome to make your own way home regardless of how Mila may have made it sound.” Paige is looking at the ground, her hands twisting nervously in front of her.
Impulsively, I reach out and take her hand in mine. “Maybe I need an escort, did you ever think of that? I’m not from here, Paige, I might get lost.” I give her a smile to reinforce my teasing, and it does the trick.
“I highly doubt that. You seem quite familiar with our town.”
We start off walking, heading toward the residential neighborhood where my family’s house is. “Are you this way?” I ask, wanting to make sure she isn’t taking me seriously. Make no mistake, I have every intention of walking her safely home. She nods and we make our way down the quiet sidewalk. “I used to come here with my family. My parents still own the house, that’s where I’m staying.” I try to not give away too much that would indicate my family’s wealth.
She’s still holding my hand, but loosely, so I experiment with tightening my hold. After a brief moment, she surprises the hell out of me by taking the lead and threading our fingers together. Her eyes dart up to me, seeking reassurance, and I squeeze gently. We walk in an easy silence. This feels so natural, so comfortable. Which, I have to admit, is not what I expected. I figured Paige would put up way more walls and defenses. Not that she’s letting me in, but I’ll take this small victory. Every moment spent with her only makes me want more. She’s so different from any woman — hell, any person — I’ve ever known. So free of pretense, content in herself. There’s a vulnerability to her, but also strength. It makes me want to just enjoy whatever time and attention she’ll give me.
“This is my place.” We come to a stop outside a small, cute-looking house. I gently tug on her hand until Paige is facing me.
“I had fun tonight. Your friends are great.”
Her lower lip is tugged between her teeth, and fuck, do I want to pull it free.
“Yes. They are exceptional individuals.”
I smile at her description. Only Paige would call her friends exceptional individuals. Deciding on impulse to take a risk, I lean forward, taking in the widening of her eyes. I lightly press my lips to her forehead, and I’m close enough to hear the tiny gasp she makes when we connect.
“Good night, Paige.”
Chapter eight
Paige
The amount of time I have spent dissecting and analyzing the implications behind Wyatt’s lips touching my forehead is astronomical, and entirely illogical. Yet, I cannot seem to stop. In twenty-four hours, I have relived that moment no less than thirty-three times. Possibly more, seeing as I only started counting after the third or fourth occurrence.
Without a doubt, this is a terrible time to be as distracted as I am. I nearly spilled a glass of water all over some books this morning, and not just any books. Jeffrey Morgan’s books. His signing event is tomorrow. He is not the first author I have hosted at Pages, but he is one of the most successful and well-known. He is also proving to be the most challenging.
His agent had sent a list of requirements earlier in the week. Distilled water, room temperature, in a glass cup — not plastic. Five black gel ink pens, to be lined up to the right of the books he will be signing. No more than six books in a stack at any given time. Visits with readers to be limited to two minutes, maximum.
Nothing entirely unreasonable, per se, just a lot to manage on my own, and rather persnickety. Not for the first time, I find myself wishing I had the financial resources to hire a staff member on a regular part-time basis. Someday. But not today.
Today I am quite simply flustered from rushing with final preparations. Jeffrey and his agent are coming by this evening to ensure I have everything set up according to their specifications, so I decided to close the store early so I could clean and organize the shelves adequately, and triple-check my display of Jeffrey’s books.
Just as I’m shifting a stack of books from a lower shelf up to an end cap, the bell over my door jingles.
“We’re closed, my apologies, I should have placed a sign up,” I call out. A sensation I can truly only describe as a vibration of awareness runs up my spine seconds before I hear his voice.
