In truth, he was starting to believe it. He was starting to believe that he’d lost his ability to read a woman. That he was seeing and feeling things that weren’t there only because he wanted them so badly.
This was a simple matter of wanting what he couldn’t have. That was all. He never had to chase a woman, and his competitive streak just wouldn’t give up until she admitted she wanted him. At this point, he didn’t even care if he slept with her or not. He could get sex anywhere. He just wanted her to give. To acknowledge who and what he was. To show a sliver of real interest.
Then he was sure this ridiculous infatuation would end.
He climbed from the SUV, pocketed his keys and pulled on his Braves ball cap before strolling toward the store. Grant checked out the front windows of other shops and returned friendly hellos from pedestrians. This was something he did miss about small-town life. And, he had to admit, he also found a soothing sort of rhythm in being able to focus on a project or a practice. On the quiet country setting. On the sounds of nature. All without a million other pressures on his mind.
He hadn’t realized he’d missed it until now.
As Christmas approached, now just a week away, Faith’s store seemed busier every time he stopped in. That was great for Faith. Not so great for Grant. When she was busy, she barely gave him the time of day. On the occasions when things were slow, he’d been able to cajole her into helping him get what he needed for whatever project he’d adopted. Though, he hadn’t been able to hold her interest any longer.
He was beginning to think he’d blown it by pushing her that day—even though he hadn’t pushed her near as far as he’d wanted to. He cursed his lack of finesse. But he was who he was. He didn’t like or want slow and sweet. Which made him question his own judgment every time he had a nasty thought about “the sweetest girl in town”.
“Because I live in the boondocks, you don’t think I can think just as dirty as you?”
Her words jumped to mind, followed by a wicked flash of heat from head to toe.
“A man could dream,” he muttered under his breath.
Regardless of whether she turned out to be the biggest prude he’d ever met or the nastiest lay he’d ever coveted, Faith Nicholas was very different from any woman he’d ever been interested in. But he was pretty sure the only reason he kept coming back was her impish little tendency to pretend he didn’t exist until he put himself directly in her way and forced her to acknowledge him.
Passing the Holly Jolly Chocolatier, Grant glanced at the artistic displays of chocolates in the windows. He was three steps past when his feet halted and spun him around almost before he understood why. But something he’d heard in the hardware store earlier this week triggered in his mind, and Grant backtracked, turning into the store.
He only had the door open three inches when the warm, chocolate scented air reached out and grabbed hold, dragging him the rest of the way in. He was having a Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory flashback when he closed the door behind him.
“Well, look who’s here.” Jemma came out of the back with her dar
k hair tied up in a ponytail, her bright blue eyes sparkling, and her white apron smeared with chocolate. “Heard you were back in town. How’s the big shot?”
He grinned. “Hey, Jemma. Man, you still look sixteen.”
“Oh, go on.”
“No, really. You’re throwing me back to high school, only in a much better way than the first time around.”
She laughed. “You’ve come a long way since high school. Got a lot to be proud of. Dwayne says you’re pitching in to help out the hockey team.”
“Word still travels fast around here.”
“Like lightning.”
Grant chuckled, hoping word of his identity had finally reached Faith. “Happy to do it.”
“What can I get you? I have a fresh batch of that marzipan your mama loves. Makes a great stocking stuffer.”
“Sure, I’ll take some. Can never hurt to please my mom, right? But I’m here because I understand Faith has an addiction to your chocolate.”
“Faith.” Jemma lifted her brows and tried way too hard to look innocent. “Oh? Did she say what, exactly, she was addicted to?”
“No. I overheard her talking about it to a friend at the store. She’s given me a lot of help this week while I’ve been working on my parents’ house, and I was thinking I’d bring her a little thank you. Something she likes.”
Jemma pursed her lips, scrunching them sideways, her gaze cast down.
He knew that look: the naughty, guilty one.
“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.”