Page 9 of Her Maine Squeeze

“What are you doing?” I hiss.

Ignoring my question, he asks, “Where do you keep the gloves?”

I gesture to a box beneath the counter, and he pulls a couple of gloves out of the box and proceeds to slide his hands into them. “I’m here to help. Put me to work.”

I stare at him incredulously. “You’re a bit overqualified to make sandwiches.”

He grins, and he looks so much like the boy I used to know that my chest aches. “I’m an architect. I like to build things—including sandwiches.”

The bell above the door chimes again and the Fog Harbor mayor enters, followed by his entire staff. I glance back at Oz’s smiling face. I could certainly use the help, and he’s offering. I give him a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

He salutes me. “At your command, boss.”

Turning to face the crowd, I call out, “Okay, everyone. Form two lines, please. I have help today.” The crowd cheers in response.

For the next three hours, Oz and I work side by side, building sandwiches for what seems like every resident in Fog Harbor. Oz is a natural with the customers, smiling broadly as he takes their orders. At one point, our hands brush as we each reach for a slice of cheddar cheese. Even though we’re both wearing plastic food safety gloves, the contact makes my stomach somersault.

When the crowd starts to thin, Oz leans over to whisper, “This doesn’t count as our date, you know.”

My lips twitch into a half-smile. “Does that mean I have to pay you? What’s the going rate for a sandwich architect?”

He chuckles. “One jar of dill-jalapeno pickles.”

I tilt my head, as if I’m considering. “Hmm. That’s awfully steep. I’ll need to think about it.”

“I’m prepared to negotiate,” he says.

After the final customer leaves, Oz helps me wipe down the tables. He stacks the chairs on the table so I can sweep the floor. With his help, cleanup takes half the time.

I put the broom back in the closet and stretch my arms over my head. “Thanks for your help today, Oz.”

“It was my pleasure, Lindy.”

I laugh. “You have an odd sense of pleasure.”

He quirks an eyebrow and folds his arms across his chest. “I got to spend the day with you, didn’t I?”

“Oh.” How am I supposed to respond to that? I awkwardly tie a knot in a strand of hair.

“Plus, I was hoping with my help we could finish in time to catch the last matinee movie. I saw that they’re showing old Hitchhock movies this month, andThe Birdsis playing today. Is it still your favorite?”

He remembered my favorite movie?“Yes.”

He grins. “Good. Then the two tickets I purchased won’t go to waste.”

Chapter Seven

It’s hard to focuson the movie with Oz seated next to me in the dark.What am I supposed to do with my hands?When I was sixteen, I would have kept one on the armrest between us, with my palm facing upward in a clear invitation to hold. But that seems ridiculously silly now.

And I’m not sure I evenwantto hold Oz’s hand.

Okay, that’s a big, fat lie. If I’m honest, he won me over when he was thoughtful enough to bring a blanket to our picnic lunch yesterday. And if that hadn’t been enough, reading his sweet note would have done the trick.

I read it so many times before I went to bed last night that I’ve practically memorized it.

And after today, when he jumped in to help me at the sandwich shop, there’s no going back. I’m falling for Oz all over again.Of course,I want to hold his hand.

When we leave the theater, it’s dark outside. The temperature has fallen several degrees. I wrap my arms around my body towarm up. Oz notices, immediately sliding out of his jacket to hand it to me.

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