"I'll commission a new one," Joe said, still looking unconcerned. "You can make another just like it, right?"
Yes, and normally a commissioned piece would be a thrill. Kylie wasn't all that established yet and could certainly use the work. But instead of being excited, she felt . . . unsettled. Because if she agreed to the job, there'd be ongoing contact. Conversations.
And here was the thing-she didn't trust him. No, that wasn't right. She didn't trust herself with him. I rocked his world? Because he'd sent hers spinning and the truth was, it'd take no effort at all to once again end up glued to him at the lips. "I'm sorry, but maybe you can get Molly . . ." she eyed the list again " . . . puppies."
And speaking of puppies, just then from the back room came a high-pitched bark. Vinnie was up from his nap. Next came the pitter-patter of paws scrambling. At the doorway between the shop and the showroom, he skidded to a stop and lifted a paw, poking at the empty air in front of his face.
Not too long ago, her undersized rescue pup had run face-first into a glass door. So now he went through this pantomime routine at every doorway he came to. And she did mean every doorway. Poor Vinnie had PTSD, and she was his emotional support human.
When Vinnie was thoroughly satisfied that there was no hidden glass to run into, he was off and galloping again, a dark brown blur skidding around the corner of the counter like a cat on linoleum. He was half French bulldog and half Muppet, and no one had ever told him that he was under a foot tall and twelve pounds soaking wet. He actually thought he was the big man on campus, and he smiled the whole way as he ran straight for Kylie, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, drool dribbling in his wake.
Heart melting, Kylie started to bend to reach for him, but he flew right by her.
Joe had squatted low, hands held out for the dog, who never so much glanced over at Kylie as he took a flying leap into Joe's waiting arms. Arms that she knew were warm and strong and gave great hugs, dammit.
Man and pup straightened, rubbing faces together for a moment while Kylie did her best not to melt. Like most French bulldogs', Vinnie's expression often read glum. She called it his RBF-resting bitch face. But he was actually the opposite of glum, and the mischievous, comical, amiable light in his eyes revealed that.
"Hey little man," Joe murmured, flashing that killer smile of his at her pup, who was valiantly attempting to lick his face off. Joe laughed and the sound caused an answering tug from deep inside Kylie, which was maddening.
She had no idea what was up with her hormones lately, but luckily they weren't in charge. Her brain was. And her brain wasn't interested in Joe, excellent kisser or not. See, she had a long history with his kind-fast, wild, fun, and . . . dangerous. Not her own personal history, but her mother's, and she refused to be the apple who fell too close to the tree.
"I'll pay extra," Joe said, still loving up on Vinnie to the dog's utter delight. "To commission a new mirror."
"It doesn't work like that," she said. "I've got jobs in front of you, jobs I have to finish on a schedule. A mirror I haven't yet even started isn't for sale."
"Everything's for sale," Joe said.
And how well she knew it. Shaking her head, she reached beneath the front counter, pulled a miniature tennis ball from her bag, and waved it in front of Vinnie, who began to try to swim through the air to get to the ball.
"Cheater," Joe chastened mildly, but obligingly set Vinnie down. The dog immediately snorted in excitement and raced to Kylie, quickly going through his entire repertoire of tricks without pause, sitting, offering a paw to shake, lying down, rolling over . . .
"Cute," Joe said. "Does he fetch?"
"Of course." But truthfully, fetch wasn't Vinnie's strong suit. Grunting, farting, or snoring-these were his strong suits. He also often went off the rails with no warning, zooming around a room in a frantic sprint until he started panting and then passed out. But he did not fetch, not that she'd admit it. "Vinnie, fetch," she said hopefully and tossed the ball a few feet away.
The dog gave a bark of sheer joy and gamely took off, his short bowlegs churning up the distance. But as always, stopping was a problem and he overshot the ball. Overcorrecting to make the sharp turn, he careened right into a wall. He made a strong recovery though and went back for the ball.
Not that he returned it to Kylie. Nope. With the mini – tennis ball barely fitting in his mouth, Vinnie padded quickly into the back, presumably bringing his new treasure to his crate.
"Yeah, he's great at fetch," Joe said with a straight face.
"We're still working on it," she said just as a man came out from the back, joining them at the counter.
Gib was her boss, her friend, and her very longtime crush-though he knew only about the first two since dating her boss had never seemed like a smart idea-not that he'd ever asked her out or anything. He owned Reclaimed Woods and Kylie owed a lot to him. He'd hired her on here when she'd decided to follow in her grandpa's footsteps and become a woodworker. Gib gave her a chance to make a name for herself. He was a good guy and everything she'd ever wanted in a man-kind, patient, sweet.
In other words, Joe's polar opposite.
"Problem?" Gib asked.
"Just trying to make a purchase," Joe said, nodding to the mirror.
Gib looked at Kylie. "Told you it was remarkable."
It was pretty rare for Gib to hand out a compliment, and she felt her chest warm with surprise and pleasure. "Thanks."
He nodded and squeezed her hand in his, momentarily rendering her incapacitated because . . . he was touching her. He never touched her. "But the mirror's not available," he said to Joe.
"Yeah," Joe said, although his gaze didn't leave Kylie's. "I'm getting that."
Suddenly there was an odd and unfamiliar beat of tension in the air, one Kylie wasn't equipped to translate. Because her parents were teens when she was born, she'd been primarily raised by her grandpa. She'd learned unusual skills for a little girl, like how to operate a planer and joiner without losing any fingers, and how to place bets at the horse races. She'd also grown up into a quiet introvert, an old soul. She didn't open up easily and as a result, not once in her entire life had two guys been interested in her at the same time. In fact, for long stretches of time, there'd been zero guys interested.
So to have that bone-melting kiss with Joe still messing with her head and now Gib suddenly showing interest after . . . well, years, she felt like a panicked teenager. A sweaty, panicked teenager. She jabbed a finger toward the back. "I've, um . . . gotta get to work," she said and bailed like she was twelve years old instead of twenty-eight.
Chapter 2
IfYouBuildItHeWillCome
Out of sight of both Joe and Gib, Kylie leaned back against the workshop door and put her hands to her hot face. Good going. Way to be cool.
"What's wrong?" asked Morgan, a new hire and a part-time apprentice to Gib. After a few missteps with the law, Morgan had recently turned her life around, and though she had no woodworking experience, she seemed eager enough to learn.
"Nothing," Kylie muttered. "I didn't say anything."
"No, but you moaned a little."
Kylie sighed and poured herself a huge mug of coffee from a sideboard against one wall where they kept caffeine and, if they were very, very lucky, sometimes snacks. "You want to know what's wrong? Men. Men are what's wrong with life."
Morgan's laugh said she agreed as she went back to hand-sanding some teak for a project of Gib's. Other than that, the shop was quiet. There were two other woodworkers who were employed here as well, but neither was in today, leaving the big, cavernous workshop feeling peaceful and calm.
Typically, Kylie spent long stretches of hours at a time in here. For her, it represented home and comfort in more ways than one. But even standing at her workbench in front of several ongoing projects and her tools, with Vinnie asleep clutching his ball at her feet, she was short on comfort today. Shaking it off, she started up her joiner and went to work on the mahogany slab she was making into a tabletop.
Gib stepped through the doorway, looking big and brawny from all the physical labor of his work. He had a handsome face that made women sigh and Kylie had never been immune, not even when they'd been young. He gestured for her to turn off the machine. "What was that about?" he asked.
"What was what about?"
"That vibe out there," he said with a jerk of his chin to the front room. "Something going on between you and Joe?"
"No. No, of course not," she said. Flustered and needing something to do with her hands, she poured herself yet another mug of coffee while Gib studied her.