Butterface
“You are not ugly.”
Pretty people always said stuff like that, but she knew the truth. “My eyes do this bug-eye thing.”
“They’re big. So what?”
That wasn’t what she meant and he knew it, so she went on. “Have you seen my nose in profile, I am Big Nose Tommy’s granddaughter.”
“Lots of people have big noses or some other perceived beauty flaw, so what,” he said, leaning forward so their faces were so close. “It shouldn’t change how you see yourself. I wish you saw the woman I see when I look at you.”
Now he was just being stubborn. She knew what she looked like and how that impacted how others viewed her—every woman did. And his words hurt. They shouldn’t have, because he was just trying to be nice, but the kind lies only lead to hope and heartbreak. “That’s sweet of you to say, but fibs don’t help. I don’t look like a woman most men want to date and I know it. What helps is accepting it and moving on, not dwelling.”
He didn’t blink, just stared her into silence with the intensity of his gaze. “I believe there’s someone for everyone.”
A dangerous warmth spread through her. Not the burn of embarrassment that she was way too intimately familiar with, or the needy heat of desire. This was hope. If he believed something so ferociously, then maybe it could happen. It was a pretty thought, but not the kind a woman like her could afford to have.
“Detective Hartigan,” she said, forcing a cheerful teasing into her tone that she didn’t really feel. “I never would have guessed that you’re a romantic.”
“I guess I’m full of surprises.” He let go of her legs and leaned back before picking up his empty bottle as he stood. “Want another lemonade?”
“I’m good.” Any more and she’d follow through on the naughty ideas having his hands on her had inspired.
“All right.” He rubbed his palm against the back of his neck, looking like he wanted to say something but not really knowing what it was. “I guess I’ll see you inside.”
Gina mumbled in agreement and followed him with her gaze as he walked across the porch, picking his way around the weak spots, and then disappeared inside.
Only once the door was shut behind him did she let go of the breath she’d been holding.
It came out as a sigh. She couldn’t help it. She was the nerd in the teen movie who’d become friends with the hot, popular guy, only to do the one thing she wasn’t supposed to—start falling for him.
…
“It’s a doohickey,” Gina said. “Who needs one of those?”
Okay, she knew it wasn’t anything but the most gorgeous piece of reclaimed and restored ceiling tin that she’d ever seen. Just looking at the center wreath surrounded by a square of leaves on the silver tin surface made her heart speed up. It was beautiful. She just wanted to pet it. But with all of the other renovations and getting her wedding planning business set up for success, she didn’t have the money to add amazingly gorgeous tin ceiling tiles to the list of must-haves. Instead, it was relegated to the list of somedays. Therefore, calling it a doohickey when Ford held it up at the Wooden Barber Hardware Shop on Main Street made saying she didn’t want it an easier lie to utter.
The look Ford gave her told her exactly what he thought of that statement. It was kinda cute, that you’re-full-of-shit smolder of his. Who was she kidding? It was totally hot.
“Think of what this will look like in your office. You can dazzle the Donnas and Scotts while they pick between pink and yellow envelopes and get them to make the decision you already knew they should make all the faster.”
He had a point. She looked at the price per square foot written on a handmade tag affixed to the shelf where the tin sheets were stacked. Ouch. Her bank account would reach out and slap her if she even thought about it.
“It’s gaudy.” She barely managed to not flinch after letting loose with that fib.
The truth was nothing at the Wooden Barber was gaudy. The store was as if Ace Hardware and Restoration Hardware had an illicit affair, and the baby that resulted was this heavenly mixture of practicality and beauty in a specialty hardware store.