Page 16 of Once Smitten, Twice Shy

Juliet steps closer. “Did you just say,I would?”

My cheeks heat. “If I did…that was another one of those thinking thoughts that shouldn’t have become a talking thought.”

“Will, you are a genius.”

“I am?”

“Hear me out.” She clasps my arms. “I want to get comfortable with romance again. You want to get better at romance. What if we helped each other?”

My heart’s pounding, my mind racing, as I process what she’s saying. “You think we could be each other’s…training wheels?”

Her smile brightens. “Yes! I know we barely know each other, but…look at us, bumping into each other twice in the same year, in two distinct corners of the world, our lives connected by someone so important to us. Doesn’t it feel…like something’s putting us on each other’s path? What if this is why?”

“To help each other out?” I venture.

“Exactly! To help each other. We could be like workout buddies, but for romance. You’d get to find and flex those romancemuscles. I’d start to use mine again, get them back in shape. It would put me back on the bike and you…”

She doesn’t say it, probably because she’s too sweet to say something that might prick my pride, so I say it for her: “I’d belearningto ride.”

Silence hangs between us. Then she steps forward and squeezes my hand. “I’d be wobbling right beside you.”

I stare down at her, my insides knotting. It’ll be so embarrassing for her to see up close how awkward I am, especially when I’m so attracted to her. But the look of hope in her eyes, how much I hate the thought of taking that away, loosens every thread of my resistance. I couldn’t say no to this woman if I tried.

“Then let’s do it,” I tell her.

She claps her hands together and squeals. “Let’s do it!”

“On one condition.”

She freezes mid-clap. “What condition?”

“You swear you’ll tell me if I’m ever…if you don’t want to do it anymore. Just don’t walk out on me, okay? I need to know you’ll tell me to my face if it’s not working.”

Juliet’s expression turns serious. Her hands fall to her sides. “Will, of course. I…” She sighs. “I know I’ve bolted on you—”

“Twice.”

She grimaces. “I swear it had nothing to do with you. That was my stuff. The stuff I need to work on. I promise”—she juts her pinkie up into the air—“if we do this, any part of it that isn’t working for me, I’ll tell you. And same goes for you. We’ll talk it out, be truthful but kind in our honesty. That’s what friends do.”

“So we’re friends now, huh?”

She juts her pinkie closer, eyes narrowed. “We better be. We’re going to be romance workout warriors, flirty biking buddies. We’re going to be thick as thieves.”

A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. I like the idea of being friends with Juliet. Gently, I hook my pinkie with hers. “Deal.”

Juliet squeals again, smiling wide. “I can’t wait. Oh gosh, I feel like I’ve been on the Whole30 diet and someone just handed me a plate of brownies. I’m going to gorge myself. When can you start? How do you want to plan it? Wait.” Her face falls. “You don’t live around here, do you? How are we going to do this if you’re…well, wherever you are?”

I scrub at my neck. She’s got a point. “I’m not too far, couple hours’ drive upstate. I could…come down on weekends? Take a few weekdays off here and there, too, if we needed them, if that worked for your work schedule.”

“I work from home right now,” she says. “Freelance business writing. I’m flexible. We can plan it around your work.” She peers up at me, her head tipped in curiosity. “Whatisyour work?”

My phone starts going off in my pocket, and I recognize its sound as the one I have programmed for my right-hand man, our operations manager at the distillery and farm, Fest.

“Speaking of work. Sorry,” I mutter, drawing my phone out of my pocket and frowning down at his text, relieved to see it’s nothing urgent; in fact, far from it. Fest has too much time on his hands and an obsession with videos of people falling on their asses. The man laughs so hard at those damn videos, he cries. I only ever feel secondhand embarrassment and sympathy for those poor bastards.

I tap back on the video with a thumbs down, like I always do when he sends this shit, and pocket my phone. “That was my operations manager. Just had to make sure nothing’s on fire. My family owns a whiskey distillery and a small farm upstate. My work, my part of it…the easiest way to explain what I do is, I make sure none of it goes to hell. Fest, my operations manager, keeps things running smoothly for me and keeps me in the loop when I’m gone.”

“So he’s like…your steward?” she asks.

---