Page 17 of Truth and Temptation
“I came by to see if you need any help. I was getting some coffee next door and Mila mentioned you were busy getting ready for tomorrow.”
I straighten and slowly pivot on my foot to see Wyatt standing by the door, his hands in the pockets of dark jeans. My traitorous heart starts to speed up, but I am starting to become accustomed to my reaction at his presence. Now that I have identified and acknowledged it as sexual attraction, it no longer confuses me. Does it still overwhelm me? Yes. Do I have any clue how I wish to proceed? No.
“Thank you for the offer, but as you can see, I am almost finished.”
His eyes take in the display and the signing table I have positioned near the back of the store to allow for a lineup.
“You need to move the table to a more central location to increase visibility.”
“I have always held signings near the back to allow more space for the line to form.”
“But if the lineup has to go outside, that will make it seem more enticing to people on the street. More visibility.”
I consider what he has said. If I were to move the table, it would allow for better flow to the checkout counter, which would be preferrable. Decision made, I walk over to the table and begin moving items off of it to facilitate the relocation. Unbidden, Wyatt walks over and joins me, and we work in a companionable silence until the table is positioned centrally in the store. As I set Mr. Morgan’s requested items on the table, Wyatt starts to arrange the books to be signed in perfectly aligned stacks of six.
“You have good instincts about this,” I comment, and out of the corner of my eye, I am certain I see him flinch. An odd reaction to a compliment. But his response quickly dispels any curiosity.
“I’ve taken some courses in marketing.”
“Where did you attend university?”
Wyatt puts down the last stack of books, then leans his hips against the table and I watch out of the corner of my eye, trying not to be obvious in my admiration of the way his arms strain against the fabric of his shirt when he crosses them over his chest.
“Why do you ask so many questions?”
His casual tone is at odds with the sharp words. I will not let him see that I am ruffled. “I have a curious mind.”
“Yeah, I got that, I’m just wondering why. What made Paige Millstone so curious?”
I slowly spin around to face him, adopting a similar posture against the shelf next to me. Wyatt’s voice is open, and free of judgment. He seems to genuinely want to know more about me, making me feel slightly guilty for my initial reaction of self-defence.
“My parents chose to homeschool me, which had the natural consequence of limiting my interactions with my peers. There were many reasons, but the primary one was that when I was young, my asthma was not well controlled. I was missing so many days of school, they chose to pull me and teach me from home. Unfortunately, the lack of social engagement led me to be quite inquisitive about, well, everything. Since I couldn’t go places and learn myself, I asked questions.”
I continue to study his face as openly as he does mine and am filled with relief that there still seems to be no judgment. I suppose a therapist would have their work cut out for them trying to unpack why I am so concerned with this man judging me, when all signs point to him being a temporary fixture in my life.
“I have to admit, I was wrong about you.”
His comment takes me by surprise, and my hands clench at my sides, waiting for him to continue.
“When I met you, I figured you were shy, quiet.” He shrugs, and dare I say, he looks embarrassed. “I was wrong. You’re something else, Paige.”
I am burning with a desire to ask him exactly what he means by that, but as I open my mouth to speak, the door to the store opens again. Both Wyatt and I startle at the intrusion.
“Miss Millstone?”
The nasally voice makes my skin crawl in an unpleasant way as I take in the two men standing in the doorway. One of them has what is undeniably an air of arrogance, examining my store as you would the bottom of your shoe if you were looking for excrement. I recognize Jeffrey Morgan from his book cover, and given the unending list of demands and changes from his agent, I am unsurprised that this is my first impression of him. The other, who I deduce is the man who spoke, must be his agent Michael Lazlo, or Mick, as he told me to call him. He’s the one who approaches, first looking to Wyatt with a very curious expression on his face. It almost seems as if he recognizes him, but Wyatt turns away and my attention is pulled by Mick.
“I see you moved the signing table from where you indicated it would be in our last conversation.”
Criticism drips from his tone, and Wyatt’s shoulders tense.
“I, we, felt it would allow for an improved flow throughout the store as well as generate more interest with a longer line outside. The weather is promising to be mild tomorrow, so there should be no concern about customers waiting outside.”
“Mick, the lighting in here is horrendous. We’ll have to refuse any selfies. Do we have a photographer coming Miss Miller?”
“It’s Millstone,” I correct Jeffrey Morgan, who has finally made his way to where Mick, Wyatt, and I are standing.
“Right. Fine. Photographer?”
