Melt For Him(44)
Whenever she was here she spent most of her time in the kids’ section, reconnecting with the books that sparked her love of drawing in the first place—the illustrated tales that had hooked her when she was younger.
Megan pulled open the door and headed over to the counter, recognizing Craig immediately from the crutches. He was busy at the register. When he finished with a customer, he turned to her.
“Hey. I’m Megan Jansen,” she said, then gave a quick wave, knowing it would be easier for him than having to shake hands.
He flashed a bright smile. He had a certain California charm about him, with tousled blond hair, light blue eyes, and a trim build.
“Good to meet you. Glad you could help out.”
“It’s my pleasure. I’m ready for my refresher course, and I know you have to leave soon,” Megan said, and walked behind the counter, standing next to Craig. He opened a drawer, keeping himself impressively steady with his crutches. “You’re a pro at those,” she said.
“Ha. Thanks. Was always one of my life’s aspirations to master crutches.”
“How much longer?”
“I should get rid of the cast this week, actually. That’s why I needed you to fill in so I can see the ortho surgeon for a check-in. But I’ll have the crutches for another eight weeks. And then probably at least a year of PT.”
Her eyes widened. “That is a long time,” she said, with sympathy in her voice.
He nodded. “My leg was broken in several places, and this kind of break usually takes more time than usual. It was a hell of a fall, turned out.”
“I heard some of the details, but may I ask what happened? Jamie said that you were training for some sort of charity race?”
“Yep. The annual MS fund-raiser. My sister has MS, so I always do the race to raise money for research. On one of my last training races, there was a crazy skier not paying attention and shooting downhill like a bat out of hell. Trouble was, the skier was aiming straight for a young kid on a snowboard. I saw the kid, grabbed the back of his jacket to pull him out of harm’s way, then wound up careening down the slope myself.”
“Wow,” she said, breathing out low and shaking her head.
“Pretty sure I toppled about twenty times.”
“I’m so sorry, Craig. That sucks. How’s the kid doing?”
Craig smiled brightly, his grin lighting up his whole face. “He’s good. Perfect. Not a hair on his head out of place.”
“Well, there’s that.”
“His parents keep sending me gifts every week. It’s kind of cute. The kid even wrote me a card.”
“What about the guy? The skier?”
Craig shook his head, his shaggy blond hair brushing against his forehead. “Gone. Just kept on skiing. Probably took another run, too.”
“Crazy,” she said, shaking her head sympathetically. She felt bad for Craig. Just a regular guy trying to help his sister. And it wasn’t even his fault, but he was the one who stepped in to save the day in a hit-and-run. Funny how life worked out like that.
“What can you do?” Craig said, but he didn’t sound sad. “Things happen and you just gotta deal. Let me show you how to run this bad boy.”
He spent the next fifteen minutes reviewing the high-level details for her—ringing up purchases, cash versus credit, and handling gift cards. Megan paid attention, even though the whole time she was thinking of how even a guy who managed a bookshop could get hurt. How there were no guarantees. That life didn’t offer you any safety nets.
She worked until closing time, then locked the door and took a deep breath. She checked her phone, hoping for a text from Becker as he’d promised, but there was none. She wasn’t going to let that bother her. She had the store to herself for a while and she was going to enjoy her time alone. She wandered through the aisles, past the shelves in thrillers, mysteries, poetry, and nonfiction, too. There were a few empty shelves in one corner of the store near the small coffee bar; her mom had hired Smith to start building out a larger cafe. Megan strolled past it, picturing an expanded array of cookies, cakes, and other goodies. She meandered to her favorite spot—the kids’ section, where she ran her hands across several picture books, and after careful consideration, picked one starring a giraffe.
Positioning the book on a thimble-sized chair as if it were an easel, she lay back in one of the multicolored bean bags. She removed her leather bracelets so they wouldn’t get in the way, placing them next to her on the soft, formless chair. She grabbed her sketchbook from her cavernous purse, along with the colored pencils she’d brought along for the occasion, and spent the next few hours drawing variations on this giraffe.