Page 28 of The Side Road
His phone beeped, a message from Blanche. The wake was a non-event – eight people had turned up. They were now taking Tash back to her house to look at the old photographs.
Thank you. See you soon,he replied.
No rush. Why don’t you see if Mia needs a hand with the store? She’s short-staffed,Blanche replied.
Everyone had the same idea. Everyone except Mia. There was only one place he wanted to be. He opened his door and followed Mia into the store.
9
TOOL RACK
As the bellson the front door tinkled, Mia turned. Like a loyal Labrador, Oliver had followed her inside. Surprise registered, but she admired his persistence. Was he about to make her life easier or complicate her day even further?
‘The thing is.’ He walked briskly toward her. ‘I can stay here and help you, or I go back to Leo and Blanche’s, look at old photos, and drink tea.’
She had no trouble picturing the scenario. ‘I see your predicament,’ she sympathised. ‘But I sell wool.’
A glance around the store seemed to confirm his suspicions; there was a lot of wool. ‘Well, I could unpack a few boxes and I live for recycling. If I get in your way, I promise to leave.’ He paused. ‘Also, I need something to do.’
His enthusiasm was welcome. Unpacking stock was a job the staff consistently tried to avoid. In the loading bay were two pallets waiting to be unpacked, and Mia had no problem with free labour.
‘I’m also great at taking instructions, just tell me what to do.’ He offered a sexy, engaging smile, and there might havebeen a twinkle in his eye. He had discovered her weakness; she enjoyed telling men what to do.
‘Okay,’ she conceded. I’ll write you a list. Are you okay with a list?’ She picked up a notepad and a pen.
‘Yes. Did you make this jumper?’
‘Technically, it’s a cardigan.’
The garment was pink. A luxuriously soft knit with a light, fluffy finish. She held out her arm. ‘You can touch it if you like. I don’t mind.’
He ran his hand up her arm. He didn’t say anything, but she thought he liked the feel because it was impossible not to like mohair. ‘We call that the hand – the hand of the fabric – that’s how we describe the feel of the fibre on our skin,’ she told him.
Again, he didn’t respond, but he seemed impressed by her technical description because he took a very deep breath.
She clicked the top of her pen and wrote an itemised list of tasks, including unpacking the new stock, disposing of the recycling, placing orders in the dispatch area, and re-stocking the accessory stand. She handed him the page.
He scanned the list and nodded. Slipping his suit jacket off his shoulders, he removed the garment and was about to leave it on the counter when she reached for it. ‘No, no. I have a hanger.’
She took the jacket and draped it over her arm. As her fingertips stroked the nap of the fabric, a wave of unexpected desire washed over her. Mixed, complicated feelings, akin to yearning, were circling, and like a whirlwind, they were threatening to drag her from her mooring.
Next, he unbuttoned his cuffs. Turning them back, he pushed up his sleeves, revealing muscular forearms. Deftly, he undid the top button of his shirt and loosened his tie. A hardcore erotic gesture, if ever there was one. She wasfighting a desire to undo all his buttons, help him take his shirt off, and lay her face on his naked chest.
‘Where do you want me?’ he asked.
About one hundred kilometres away from me, she thought. But it was far too late for that. Still fingering his Italian jacket, she realised she had offered him a manual labour job in her storeroom.
She swallowed. Pointing over her shoulder, she said, ‘The loading bay is this way.’
He followed her out the back, and she showed him the boxes stacked on the pallets.
‘You have a high turnover.’ It was a statement, not a question.
‘Online orders,’ Mia explained. ‘Eighty percent of our business comes from our website. Knitting kits, from beginners to advanced, are our biggest sellers. We call it slow fashion.’
‘Well, it’s moving out the door.’
After picking up the largest box, he carried it into the storeroom. Filled with compressed wool, it was lighter than it looked, but there were tasks men could do because they were men. Her arms would not have reached around the box.
