Page 10 of Small Town Daddy

"God, where do we even begin?" I muttered, scanning the overwhelming array of supplies.

Marie chuckled and bumped my hip with hers. "Maybe there's a special section for clueless DIY newbies like us?"

A surprised laugh burst from my lips and I felt a bit of the tension drain away. Still, my other hand crept to my bag, fingers curling around the soft lump of Mr. Whiskers tucked inside. Just knowing he was there helped settle the butterflies raging in my stomach.

Taking a fortifying breath, I squared my shoulders. "Okay, paint first. That’s easy to find. Let's do this." I marched toward the paint section, Marie hot on my heels.

But rounding the corner, I stopped short, my heart leaping into my throat. There, stretching up to grab a box from a high shelf, was Marcus. Time seemed to slow as I drank in the sight of him.

Damn, he looked good. The sleeves of his flannel shirt were rolled up, revealing muscular forearms dusted with dark hair. A hint of stubble shadowed his strong jaw and his thick hair looked effortlessly tousled, as if he'd just rolled out of bed. Heat bloomed in my cheeks at the thought.

"Wow," I breathed, unable to tear my gaze away. He was even more striking than I remembered, all rugged edges and quiet intensity.

Marie sidled up beside me with a knowing smirk. "Earth to Lucy. You're staring," she singsonged under her breath.

I jumped, heat flooding my face. "Shut up, I am not!" I hissed, forcing myself to look away.

Marie's elbow jabbed my ribs. "See something you like?" she whispered, eyes twinkling.

Heat rushed to my cheeks. "Shh! It's just Marcus," I hissed, tearing my gaze away. My heart hammered against my ribs.

"Uh-huh," Marie smirked. "'Just Marcus' who's turned into a total heartthrob."

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't stop the smile tugging at my lips. "Let's just get what we need."

Determined to regain my composure, I reached for a can of paint on a high shelf. The metal was cool beneath my fingertips. As I stretched, my tote bag slipped off my shoulder.

Panic flared. I lunged to catch it, bumping the shelf. Paint cans wobbled like dominoes ready to fall.

Time slowed. One can teetered on the edge, then plummeted.

The crash echoed through the aisle. Bright blue paint exploded across the floor. I watched in horror as it splattered onto Marcus's boots.

But worse - so much worse—Mr. Whiskers tumbled from my bag. He landed with a soft plop in the center of the puddle, his floppy ears instantly stained cerulean.

My cheeks blazed. I wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. How could this get any more mortifying?

"Oh no!" I gasped, dropping to my knees. Paint seeped into my jeans as I snatched Mr. Whiskers from the puddle. My face burned hotter than a furnace.

I glanced up, dreading Marcus's reaction. His eyes flickered from his ruined boots to me, but instead of anger, I saw only concern etched in his features.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, kneeling beside me. His calm tone caught me off guard.

"I'm so sorry," I stammered, clutching my paint-drenched stuffie to my chest. "I didn't mean to— your boots—and my . . ." Words failed me. I hugged Mr. Whiskers tighter, not caring that blue stained my shirt.

There was something in the way Marcus looked at me. Something like understanding. Marcus reached for a clean ragon a nearby shelf. "Here," he said, offering a gentle smile that made my heart skip. "Let's see if we can save him."

Our hands brushed as we dabbed at Mr. Whiskers' fur. Electricity zinged through me at each accidental touch. I couldn't help but notice how carefully Marcus handled the stuffed bunny, treating him with unexpected reverence.

"He's been with me since I was little," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. I braced myself for judgment, for that look people got when they realized I still clung to childhood comforts.

But Marcus just met my gaze, his blue eyes warm and understanding. "Some things are worth holding onto."

My breath caught in my throat. Did he really mean that? Or was he just being kind?

I felt a sudden urge to fill the silence. "You're really good at this," I said, gesturing to Mr. Whiskers' slowly improving condition. "Must come in handy, running a hardware store."

Marcus chuckled, a deep, rich sound that sent a pleasant shiver down my spine. "You'd be surprised how often stuffed animal triage comes up in my line of work."

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