Quick Trick (Rough Riders Hockey 1)

“I’m also trying to soften her up so she’ll let me take her out,” Grant added hopefully. “Some days, I swear I’m invisible.”

Jemma’s smooth brow pulled into a deep vee. “That’s not like Faith. You may not think she’s paying attention, but she knows everything that’s happening around her. Everything that’s happening in the store. When you think ‘mind like a steel trap,’ you think Faith.”

He was having a hard time seeing that. “Can you help me out?”

Ten minutes later, he jogged up the brick steps to St. Nicholas Hardware and pushed through the door to a chorus of loud male voices.

“Stop, both of you,” Faith cut in, her voice distinctly female and clearly authoritarian. But Grant had come to recognize the dry sarcasm edging her tone. “St. Nicholas Hardware is an inclusive safety zone for all fans, Wolfpack and Tar Heels alike.”

“What the hell does a ram have to do with being a Tar Heel anyway? And what kind of name is Rameses?” Leon Simms chided Mike Lowry. “Those boys paint his horns blue? Doesn’t anyone call the ASPCA? Or PETA?”

“It’s pronounced ram-sees, Mike, and you know it,” Faith said while she rang up and bagged his items. “Don’t be starting trouble for the sake of trouble, now.”

“That’s right,” Leon said. “Listen to the lady. She knows what she’s talkin’ ’bout.”

“I do know what I’m talking about,” Faith said. “Which is how I also know you ask Mike the same questions every year when the Tobacco game comes up, just to rile him.”

Mike pointed at Leon. “You do. Every year.”

“That’s because it works. Every year.”

A chorus of laughter filled the store, and Grant was grinning at the exchange and Faith’s smooth control over everyone and everything that happened in here as he wandered into her peripheral vision. Joe Sheridan came toward the register with a customer close behind and rang up some paint.

Faith’s attention was on the credit processor waiting for the receipt, when her gaze slid left and caught sight of Grant. And she smiled. The lift to her lips, the crinkle at the corners of her eyes, they made her look cute and sweet and mischievous all at the same time. Grant was hoping to pull out more of the mischievous side. She knew he was coming in every day to see her, and she liked it. Knowing that gave him the strangest buzz. One equal to the thrill he got every time he took in the smoking way the woman wore her jeans and the way she filled out a tee shirt. But the way she kept her interest in him on lockdown frustrated the hell out of him.

“Well, look at that.” She tore the receipt off the machine and placed it in front of Mike for his signature, never taking her eyes off Grant. “Real trouble just blew in.”

He chuckled, crossed his arms, and waited. Faith’s gaze drifted to the bag he held in his hand, then jumped back to his face with a hint of surprise, an edge of question.

“Grant,” Leon said. “You’re a State fan, ain’t that right?”

“Don’t put words in his mouth,” Mike told Leon. “I happen to know Grant’s a UNC fan just like my boy Bobby, ain’t you, Grant?”

“My good sense tells me to stay out of this conversation,” Grant said.

“Smart,” Joe said without turning from the register.

A young kid Grant didn’t know came up to the front carrying five different wrenches and laid them on the counter near Faith. He wore a polo shirt with the hardware store’s logo, and he was out of breath, sweating, his face red with worry. “What about these? Is it any of these?”

Leon and Mike stopped their argument to peer at the group of tools. Joe finished his sale and joined them, looking over Faith’s shoulder. All of them studied the wrenches like they were some archeological relics.

“No, no, Billy.” Leon frowned over at the kid, who couldn’t have been more than sixteen. “Didn’t you listen to me? The left-handed box-end wrench is on aisle twelve, a third of the way down, between the left-handed monkey wrench and the left-handed magnet wrench. You can’t miss it.”

Laughter bubbled up, and Grant had to bite his lip to keep it in. The poor kid wiped at the sweat on his forehead.

“No, Leon,” Joe said. “Aisle fourteen, bottom shelf on the right at the end cap, next to the—”

“Foghorn tuning pipe,” Faith finished, nodding at the kid. Her expression solemn, she patted his shoulder. “It’s all right, Billy. Try again.”

As soon as the kid disappeared into the maze of aisles, Leon, Mike, Joe, and Faith broke into smiles.

“He’s a keeper,” Leon said, voice low. “How long has he been looking for that thing now? This has to be a record.”

Faith gave Joe’s shoulder a push. “Put the kid out of his misery, will you? If he doesn’t want to belt you or quit, he can keep the job until school starts again.”

Leon and Mike said good-bye to Grant on their way out, and Faith turned to him, her grin still bright from the prank they’d collectively pulled on the new kid. “Well, good afternoon, Mr. Saber. I was starting to think I might have to go a full twenty-four hours without seeing that handsome face. What could possibly need fixing at your parents’ house today?”

That. That “handsome” was one of those mixed messages she tossed out every time he was here. The ones that didn’t say she was interested, but didn’t say she wasn’t. And they were making him crazy. They were keeping him up at night. She was keeping him up at night.