Page 9 of Stealing Kisses

“Would you prefer I be grumpy and cross?”

“Maybe,” she said, crossing to the bookcase to pick up two Heritage Press Club books, both matching with emerald green binding and canary yellow slipcases. Teddy couldn’t read the gold foil imprinted titles from across the room.

Baylin perched on a second reading chair close to where Teddy sat, handing the top book to him before sliding the book in her lap from its case.

“Gone with the Wind,Margaret Mitchell, Number 1,” he read aloud.

“Hmm,” she hummed. “These are my favorite in the collection.” Teddy followed her lead as he’d done in the garden, opening the volume and flipping until he came to an elaborate double-page illustration, a sketched and colored scene straight from the height of antebellum finery. He glanced to see Baylin’s illustration depicted a post-battle scene of the Civil War. Where the artwork in his volume promised youth and hope and possibility, the artwork in her volume portrayed bleakness, pain, and death.

Teddy watched Baylin run her fingers over the pages. Then she exhaled, as though shaking off sadness. She closed the book and went to replace it. Teddy did the same. He stopped to standjust behind her shoulder, reaching over and around to return his volume.

Was it rude to invade her space? Nah, he just wanted to see how she’d respond.

Too bad that yet again, he didn’t know if her reaction was a positive or a negative, if the way she stood her ground meant she didn’t feel the air sizzling between them, or if she felt it but had the strength to hide it.

If so, she was stronger than Teddy.

His fingers itched to touch her hair, to move it aside and trace her jawline. Oh, to place his lips on the soft skin at the curve of her neck.

Man, had Cupid’s arrow hit its mark, right dead center in the middle of Teddy’s chest.

Reining in his wayward thoughts and even more outrageous desires for a woman he’d known less than twelve hours, one who didn’t seem to feel the same…yet,Teddy stepped past Baylin to return the Dickens book to its empty slot on the shelf. He might’ve let his body brush hers as he went by. Just a hint of touch.

He wasn’t a saint, after all.

5

Old MacDonald Had a Farm

Traditional children’s nursery rhyme ~

Thought to have been written by

Thomas d’Urfey for an opera in 1706

“You were right about Jax Fielding. I just got off the phone with him, and the man knows cars, even vintage German roadsters,” Teddy announced.

“Just as I suspected,” she said with her most charming know-it-all smirk.

Baylin crossed the wide expanse of the parlor, the part that felt like the most inviting living room in the world…her favorite spot on earth, next to her sewing studio upstairs and the horse stalls in the barn and the garden plots.

Maybe I like this entire place a little too much?

She bent to adjust the logs on the fireplace grate, lit a match, and turned the key to light the gas starter. Satisfied with the fire, she closed the screen and picked up a project from the game table, which stood in the room’s corner. Then Baylin plopped down on the deep-seated, rolled-arm, overstuffed sofa, quilt inhand, to begin hand-stitching the binding around the edges. She needed to finish before Wednesday, when she’d submit her Valentine’s quilt for judging in the weekend’s competition.

The work in progress merged her love of crisp, clean backgrounds and the festival’s theme: Conversation Hearts. Baylin had pieced heart-shaped blocks in boisterous reds, pretty pinks, and warm peaches; the random prints created a scrappy vibe, while their precise placement on an oyster-white solid broadcloth established structure and stability. She’d machine-quilted custom motifs in unique patterns…a time-consuming process, but one that produced a one-of-a-kind quilt. Baylin had named the designSpeaking of Lovebecause it reminded her of candy hearts, a handful of sweet nothings that provide joy and delight. The Busy Bees’ Quilt Guild consisted of unbelievably talented quilters and fiber artists, so Baylin didn’t expect to win the contest, but sharing it with the world brought its own reward.

Teddy scanned the other bookshelves as he weaved through the parlor. He meandered with patience, making his way to the wide recliner beside her big comfy couch.

“This is quite a chair,” he acknowledged, flipping the handle to extend the footrest. “Easily large enough for two.”

She ignored his teasing reference.

“That also looks like quite a quilt.”

The admiration in his tone caused a strange response in her nerves. A flush of pride heated her cheeks. She admonished the reaction; his praise meant nothing…less than nothing, really.

But even as she thought the thought, she stood in front of him, shaking the quilt to hang flat from her grasp so he could see the full design.

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