Page 22 of Like A Daydream
“Still,” Jet says, standing to his full height and holding a hand out for her, “I didn’t know he was going to do that.”
She takes his hand and lets him help her up, brushing her jeans off as she does. Danielle grabs the stack of books she had been shelving, and glances out the window. The handsome stranger tugs a hand through his wavy dark hair, muscles in his arms flexing in the most delicious way, and kicks the sidewalk.
His mouth opens in what she assumes is a stream of expletives, judging by the way people cross the street to avoid him, and Danielle ducks her head to hide a laugh.
She turns away from the window so she can keep working on her shelving, noticing that Jet is lingering. It had been a long time since the feelings she’d had for him disappeared, but it didn’t mean that she wasn’t aware of him in her space.
“Did you get Ainsley’s order?” she asks, not looking over at him. “I saw it came in in the back.”
“Cara’s going to get it,” Jet says. “I also wanted to see if you’re doing alright, you know, with everything.”
“I really wish people would stop asking me that,” she says, tone shorter than she had meant. “I’m not okay, like at all, but the only thing I can do is get through it, isn’t it?”
“I know what it’s like to lose someone who means everything to you,” Jet says, “so if you need anything, you know where to find us. Whether it’s watching Harper or helping you at your house, dinner, laundry… whatever. Just call, okay? We’re here for you.”
“I’m sure Ainsley would be thrilled to hear you say that,” Danielle says with a huff. “After everything I put both of you through, the last thing you should be offering ishelp.”
“It’s water under the bridge.” Jet says, waving her off. “Even if it wasn’t, we help each other here. Ainsley even brought it up this morning, so I’m not saying anything she hasn’t already thought herself. We help each other. That’s what community is for.”
The bell above the door jingles, and Jet’s friend walks back in, stopping at the coffee counter and shifting from foot to foot, looking anywhere but at her.
She kind of wishes he would look at her again, though.
“Are you Andrew Fisher?” one of the brothers, her regulars, asks. Jet’s friend stiffens before turning, wiping his hands on his shirt before extending one out to the man in question.
Danielle can’t hear what they’re saying, but she sees Andrew pull a marker out of the pocket of his shorts before she glances over at Jet.
“Andrew Fisher?” She asks, raising an eyebrow. His name is so familiar. “Is that…?”
“Right defenseman for the Carolina Hurricanes?” Jet supplies. “Yeah. He’s here for the summer, and my best friend.”
“Do they not have training?”
“It’s the off season,” Jet answers, “and he’s been through it this year, so he’s staying at my house until he’s ready to go back and play.”
“What happened, did his stick break during a game?” she asks, bitter edge in her voice that she doesn’t like. “Too many minutes in the penalty box?”
She immediately wants to take her words back as Jet levels her with a look.
“That’s not fair,” Jet says, folding his arms over his chest. “You aren’t the only one in this town who has gone through a hard time.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, “it’s fresh right now, that’s all.”
“I know, but pain isn’t an excuse to step on other people’s feelings,” Jet says. “Andy’s hurt might not look like yours, but it’s there.”
“Does he always carry a marker around with him?” she asks, raising a brow and trying to cut tension that’s built between them.
“He makes a habit of it, I guess,” Jet says, shrugging, “both of us did when we were playing together.”
Andrew excuses himself from the conversation with the twin brothers, and heads in their direction. Danielle turns away again, shelving another book before grabbing another stack from the floor.
“Hiding outside not doing it for you?” she asks.
Jet rolls his eyes, but makes no move to leave. Andrew flushes, and it’s the most stupidly endearing thing she’s ever seen. Much to her chagrin, everything this man has done in her presence has been stupidly endearing.
“I needed some air,” he says, his voice isn’t as deep as she expected it to be, but it’s smooth. The kind of voice you would associate with a fall afternoon.
“I’m sure,” Danielle says. “Not your best move.”
