Page 11 of Of Heather and Thistle
He held up a book—a worn copy of The Great Gatsby. “Needed a replacement. My old one’s fallen apart from too many rereads. I figured I’d come here instead of ordering it online. Support local business and all that.”
“Very noble of you,” she said, smiling as she rang him up.
“What can I say? I’m a man of principle.”
He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the counter.
“So, how’ve you been? I came by a few days ago, and when I saw you weren’t here, I left.”
Heather’s heart raced in her chest. Was he paying that much attention to her?
“Oh, um, yeah…,” she said, fumbling for the right words. “Just… life stuff, you know. It’s been a weird couple of weeks.”
Sam studied her for a moment, his expression softening. “Yeah? Anything you want to talk about?”
Heather shook her head quickly. “No, nothing serious. Just… busy.”
From behind the counter, there was a suddenthud—then a cascade ofthunksas a whole stack of books hit the floor. Heather turned just in time to see Mark standingthere, frozen, hands half-raised like he’d been caught mid-eavesdrop.
“Sorry,” he blurted, bending down to scoop up the fallen books. “Slipped.”
Heather narrowed her eyes, but Mark refused to meet them, his entire focus locked on restacking the books atrecord speed.Heather let out a slow breath before turning back to Sam, pretending likethathadn’t just happened.
Sam arched a brow, glancing between them with clear amusement. “You good over there, Mark?”
“Peachy,” Mark muttered, shoving the last book into place. “Please, continue.”
Sam bit back a smirk but refocused on Heather, his voice easy but his gaze steady. “Well, maybe you could use a break from all that. I was thinking… this new Italian place just opened up downtown. How about dinner? My treat.”
Heather blinked, sure she’d misheard him. “Dinner?” she echoed, startled.
“Yeah,” he said, his grin turning slightly teasing.
“The thing where two people sit down, eat food, and have a conversation?” she asked.
“You’ve heard of it right?” he questioned.
“Right… No, yeah… I mean… I know what dinner is…” She winced at herself and thought,Oh my God, did I really just clarify the definition of dinner for him?
Sam chuckled, sliding his card across the counter.
“Good to know.”
She let out a nervous laugh, her cheeks burning.
“I… yeah, of course. I didn’t think—”
She stopped herself, realizing that she was about to say something self-deprecating.
“I mean, that sounds… nice.”
“Nice?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “I was going for unforgettable, but I’ll takenicefor now.”
Heather couldn’t help but smile, her nerves settling just a little under his easy charm. “Okay,” she said, feeling a rush of courage she hadn’t expected. “Dinner sounds great.”
Sam straightened, his grin widening. “Great. Tomorrow night, then? I’ll pick you up at seven?”
She nodded, her pulse racing. “Seven works.”
