Page 8 of One Christmas Eve
Basically, she needed him to keep acting like a total dick until her subconscious stopped lusting after him.
After a few tries, she managed to get a shot of the window that wasn’t just the glass reflecting Cedar Street back at the camera. She and Carly had borrowed and scanned photos of the town’s veterans all the way back to the Civil War, and they even had a photo of the painted portrait of the town’s Revolutionary War hero, which hung in the library. Around each photo was a display of books relevant to that veteran’s time of service, right up through the young men and women from town that were currently serving.
“We did a good job,” she said, and she meant it. Carly had put a lot of time into helping her plan the look and assemble the materials. Generally Zoe did more of the creative stuff and the actual window decorations, while Carly handled the nitpicky computer stuff, but mostly they tried to do everything together. That had been the dream, after all.
Once they were back inside, Carly went on a hunt for a book a customer had come in looking for. She hadn’t found it on the shelf, but the computer said they had a copy, so there was a good chance somebody had picked it up, wandered around with it, and then put it down in the wrong place. If she didn’t find it, they’d order the customer a copy, but they also wanted to figure out where the book went.
While Carly did that, Zoe sat at the computer and sent the photo—along with the conciliatory letter they’d drafted together—to the town to prove they’d complied with the demand to remove the National Candy Day display.
Then, after choosing a flattering filter and drafting an inviting and respectful caption, she posted the photo to the shop’s social media accounts. That was another thing they handled together, but Zoe was better at the photos and fun engagement, while Carly handled actual customer interaction and fielded customer service questions.
Her thumb was moving, ready to close out the Instagram app, when the first notification came.
PrestonWheeler liked your post.
“He didnotjust do that.”
“Who didn’t do what?” Carly walked back to the desk, the missing book in her hand.
“Our new neighbor just liked my Instagram photo of the new window display.” She set the phone down and crossed her arms, fuming. “How passive aggressive is that?”
“Or maybe he just likes the display because it’s pretty freaking awesome.”
“No.” She shook her head. “He wants me to know heapprovesof the new window.”
“You’re like a rabid honey badger right now,” Carly said firmly. “Either you’re projecting Ben onto this guy, which isn’t fair, or you want to have sex with him and you’re trying to convince yourself he’s an asshole so you’ll stop wanting to.”
“Why would I want to have sex with a guy who gets his knickers twisted over a ceramic witch in fishnet stockings? I mean, he should probably start wearing a pearl necklace with his tie so he has something to clutch when he walks by our store.”
Carly laughed at her. “Maybe you could loosen him up a little.”
Zoe felt the faint and lingering zing of shame she’d put a lot of emotional work into trying not to feel anymore. “Trust me, if I leaned in on that guy, he’d makethat faceand probably fall over trying to back away from me.”
“Or maybe he’s not like Ben at all and was just thrown off by the display. It’s not like this town being conservative and determined to keep that old historical charm is a secret. If you take out the cars and turn the lights off, we could pass for 1850 around here.”
“Maybe you’re right—about me overreacting tohisoverreaction. Not about me wanting to have sex with him.” She couldn’t be held accountable for what her subconscious self did in her dreams, right?
“Oh, I think I’m right about all of that.”
When Carly laughed again, Zoe rolled her eyes and decided to change the subject. “Are you ready for your trip next week?”
“It’s not much of a trip. Just two days and one night in Rhode Island. And Noah and Jim will be in meetings for much of both days.”
“But you and Emily can explore, and you’ll all be together for dinner.”
“It’ll be fun, yeah. And thanks for agreeing to cover for me.”
The bell over the door rang as customers entered, and Carly waved to them. The two older ladies loved books and loved talking about books even more, so Zoe knew what they’d be doing for the next hour.
But before they joined the customers, Carly leaned close enough to Zoe so she could whisper. “The important fact you seem to be missing is that Mr. Preston Wheeler must be practically stalking your Instagram feed to have been the first like.”
Zoe’s cheeks flushed with heat. “It’s the bookstore’s Instagram feed, and it was probably just a coincidence he happened to be policing our level of propriety at the moment I posted.”
“Sure. I totally believe that.”
She clearly didn’t, and the thought stuck in Zoe’s head for the rest of the day. Was he actually watching their Instagram feed? And, if so, why?
And why was she so disappointed when she finally caved to the urge to checkhisfeed and found his was a locked private account?
