Mistletoe Hero. Tanya Michaels
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She smiled at them, then rejoined her father in the main part of the store. He was busy helping bald Mr. Jebson compare camping equipment.
Business picked up over the next hour, and Arianne was grateful to stay busy. She answered gardening questions for two little old ladies, ordered a new shipment of saws, rang up purchases for four customers and told a woman over the phone that while they didn’t officially have gift cards for purchase, Arianne would print some sort of certificate for her husband’s birthday and have Zachariah sign it.
Eventually she hit a lull and couldn’t help thinking about Shane’s unanticipated confession, his optimism that they could build something special. Arianne knew instinctively that she would never reciprocate the sentiment. In fact, one of the reasons she’d always felt so at ease in his company was because he was so…safe. There’d never been any sexual tension.
Arianne was known among family and friends as being cheerfully fearless—which was mostly true—but Waides didn’t mess around when it came to love. They fell hard, and Arianne had never been one for half measures. She dated, but with the exception of some high school heartbreaks, she’d guarded her heart.
She hated to think what could happen if she carelessly gave it to the wrong guy.
Chapter Five
Gabe had just started cooking dinner—which, tonight, involved dumping a can of soup into a pot—when his cell phone buzzed and vibrated across the countertop. He saw Waide Supply on the caller ID and considered not answering. What had he been thinking yesterday? He’d been in a strange mood after encountering his father. When he’d seen Arianne, it had been as if something clicked in his brain—help her with the festival, make that his casual farewell after thirty years in this town.
By the time he’d arrived home with his groceries, the idea had begun to seem like more damn trouble than it was worth. There wasn’t anyone here to whom he owed a farewell. Still, he’d given his word.
With a sigh, he snatched up the phone. “Gabe Sloan.”
“You know, for a guy whose living is dependent on paying customers being able to contact you, you’re not that easy to track down,” Arianne scolded lightly.
“Yet you managed.”
“Ever thought about getting business cards? If you need help creating them—”
“Don’t tell me. When you’re not managing the store or drafting community volunteers, you design business cards.”
“Me? No. But Chloe Malcolm does some great marketing work. She put together our Web site for the store.” She paused. “I don’t suppose you have a Web site?”
“Miss Waide, as much as I appreciate your helpful advice—”
She guffawed, an unfeminine but admirably unselfconscious sound.
“—now’s not really the time for me to be building business. I’m leaving soon,” he reminded her, the words warming him. Every time he said it, he felt stronger. Freer.
Arianne was silent a moment. “Do you know where you’re going?”
Even if he did, he wouldn’t give that information to his would-be stalker. Perhaps that wasn’t fair—Arianne had never shown much interest in him before now. After he helped her and Quinn with this festival, she’d go on with her sheltered life and forget all about him.
But just to be on the safe side, he wasn’t leaving her a forwarding address.
He redirected the conversation. “I assume you’re calling about the fair?”
“A bunch of the volunteers are meeting at Whiteberry tomorrow evening. Six-thirty, in the cafeteria. Think you can join us?”
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