I lead them through a series of questions and lots of opinions are given, nearly all of which I agree with.
Yes, pudding is good.
Yes, it was funny when the dragon slipped in the pudding.
Yes, it was good that the prince had the princess to save him, or else he’d be dragon dinner.
I love how much picture books have changed since I was a kid. Girls aren’t lying around in metaphorical sleeps waiting for a guy to wake them up. Today it’s Power to the Princess, and not even the boys question it.
“Who’s ready for snacks?” I ask. Again, they know the drill. They sit in their spots so I can hand out cookies. The bookstore crew usually leaves the package on an upper shelf. I look, but no cookies.
“Let me see if I can get Brandi’s attention,” I tell the kids. “Sit still for a minute.” I walk to the door, and something flickers in my peripheral vision.
Blue.
Bright blue raglan tee over blue jeans. Brighter blue eyes.
My pulse jumps. “Why are you still here?”
Garrett is half sitting on one of the tables meant for browsers. “I’m waiting for you. You’re very cute with the kids.”
Heat stings my cheeks. “You were watching?”
“It’s a bookstore. The door is open.” He grins. “Do you have a tiara, too?” He wiggles his eyebrows.
I refuse to smile. I’m not going to encourage him. An un-encouraged Garrett Reeves is as much as I can handle. I point a finger toward the picture book section. “Go and find Brandi. Tell her I need cookies.”
“I don’t know who Brandi is.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
“Do I get a cookie, too?”
“You’re worse than the kids.” I point again. “Go!” I walk back in and tell the kids, “The cookies are on their way.” I hope I’m right. My heart is racing. I smooth my ponytail and then mess it up again when I realize what I’m doing. What is wrong with me? I don’t even like him. I take deep breaths until my pulse slows.
A few minutes later, he’s at the door, a stack of napkins and a package in his hand. “Sugar cookies, anyone?”
The kids clap and cheer, turning shining eyes on Garrett as he saunters in.
“You look like the prince in the book,” Ciera says.
“Are you a prince?” Kate murmurs, her eyes like Frisbees.
He tears open the cookies. “I am.” He walks around the circle, squatting beside each kid as he hands them a cookie and a napkin.
“You’re big,” Bryson says. “Are you a football player?”
“I’m a baseball player,” Garrett says. “You like baseball?”
“I like football better.”
“We’ll work on that.” He gives Bryson a wink.
Talia tugs on my leg. “Is he your prince, Josie?”
“No,” I say. “Girls don’t need princes, do we? We’re like Princess Pudding.”
“But who will kiss us?” she asks.
Garrett points a finger at Talia as if she’s asked a very good question. “Yes, Josie. Who will kiss you?”
I spare a second to glare at him and then smile at the kids. “I’m not old enough for kisses.”
“My brother kisses his girlfriend,” Ciera says. “Sometimes he kisses her on her boobies.”
“Ohhhkay!” I say, ending with a clap so loud my hands sting. “Well. That’s all the time we have for today.”
Garrett is trying so hard not to laugh, his whole body is shaking.
The parents are waiting near the door, so I excuse the kids. I’m surrounded by more hugs and thanks. Half the girls swarm Garrett, and he doesn’t seem the least bit surprised or uncomfortable. He’s probably used to female attention wherever he goes. He immediately gets into the swing of it, saying something sweet to each of them in turn.
Until it’s just the two of us.
My pulse quickens again. He watches me while I shelve the book and toss out the cookie bag. He’s making me nervous and that makes me mad. Mad is safe. Mad I can do. “You need to go. I have work to do.”
“Another story time?”
“Unpacking boxes.”
“Doesn’t sound nearly as fun.”
“It isn’t.” Through the open door, Bryson is playing imaginary hopscotch while his mom browses the books.
Garrett follows my gaze. “They’re great, aren’t they? Every summer, Coach Richards runs a baseball camp and I volunteer. Kids are about the same age as this group. Sevens and eights. But ball caps instead of tiaras.”
He slides his hands in the pockets of his jeans, rocking a little on his heels as if he’s reliving a moment of time. I knew a lot of ballplayers who volunteered because it was expected, but there’s no arguing that Garrett was good with the kids today.
“The things they say,” he murmurs. “And the way you feel when you show them something and they get it right. You know?” His gaze shifts to me, his smile genuine.
I scowl. Yes, I know, but I’m not going to admit it. I don’t want to have this conversation with Garrett. He’s looking for an angle—trying to wriggle his way into my—
“You lied,” he says, shocking my brain into silence.
“What? What are you talking about?”
“You said you don’t do things for fun. And this—” He gestures to the room. “You were having fun.”
I flush, feeling exposed. “I get paid to do this.”
“Yeah, but it can’t be a lot. You could make more somewhere else.” He eyes my throne. “This is something you love. You’re lucky to have that.”
“You’re making too much out of a part-time job.”
“Stocking books is a part-time job. You have a talent with those kids.” His charming smile switches back on. “Seems like you’re one of those people who’s talented at a lot of things.”
I react with a sniff of disgust. “Now you’re laying it on too thick.” I bend down for a heavy box of books that should go to storage.
Garrett takes the box from me before I have time to straighten completely. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”
“I’m not changing my mind, Garrett.”
He balances the box in one arm as if it weighs nothing. “You are. I just have to figure out your why.”
“I’m afraid to
