The Best Man's Baby by Victoria James

sign to Open .
    Her heart lurched painfully and her body temperature skyrocketed when she saw Jake across the street, sitting on his motorcycle. He was staring at her, obviously waiting for her to open her store. He gave a short wave.
    She couldn’t wave back. Her heart was slamming against her chest. Why was he here?
    She flipped her sign back to Closed . There, take the hint and go home . The last thing she needed was Jake infiltrating her work space with his baby demands. And the look she gave him would have frozen a lesser man, but much to her disappointment, not him. No, Jake held her gaze as he got off his bike and walked across the street with his confident swagger. She broke into a sweat when he didn’t break her gaze and swallowed up the distance between them in two seconds flat.
    He stood on the other side of the door and gave it a few languorous raps even though she was standing right in front of him. She glared at him and crossed her arms. Then she pointed to the sign. Childish as it was, she was not opening the door. He smiled, the smile that had surely scored him a multitude of women, including her. She was now immune, she told herself, ignoring the goose bumps of awareness prickling her arms. She just lifted up one of her eyebrows and smiled back, waved and walked away. She had work to do. Jake had had six weeks to talk to her. Too bad for him.
    …
    “Well that’s strange. Claire is always open by this time.”
    Jake swallowed the curse about to erupt from his throat at the sound of Eunice Jacobs’s shrill voice in his ear. He turned to the elderly woman, amazed that even on the sunniest of days she was dressed in her infamous purple pineapple raincoat.
    “Hi, Mrs. Jacobs,” he said tightly. He was about to find out just how fast the Red River gossip circle moved. Mrs. Jacobs was a good gauge. She usually had a stranglehold on the late-breaking news department.
    She tilted her head and peered at him as though she were looking through a giant magnifying glass. “Do you know why Claire is closed?”
    You’re looking at him . “Nope.”
    “Buying flowers for one of your pretty girlfriends?”
    He sighed. “No.” What was with this town and their perception of him as some sort of Don Juan? At least it didn’t appear she’d heard about the burger-stabbing.
    “And how are Quinn and Holly? You know I haven’t seen much of them and that adorable little niece of yours,” Mrs. Jacobs said, fishing as usual for some morsel of gossip she could feast on for endless hours of entertainment.
    “They’re just fine, thanks.” He fixed his eyes on the inside of the store, desperate for any sign of Claire. He would willingly subject himself to Claire’s wrath over the incessant chitchat he was being forced to contend with.
    “Are they thinking of giving Ella a little brother or sister? That would be nice, and well, Holly isn’t that young anymore.”
    “I’m really not sure what their family-planning situation is, Mrs. Jacobs,” he said, trying his damnedest not to roll his eyes at the inappropriate question.
    He pounded on the door, desperate for salvation.
    Claire emerged from the back room with large vases in her hands. Jake made eye contact and tilted his head in the direction of Mrs. Jacobs. He could see the irritation play across Claire’s face. He couldn’t help the slow smile of victory that overwhelmed him. Old Eunice had done him a favor—if Claire didn’t answer the door, the elderly woman would spread the news all around town that there was a four-alarm fire at Claire’s Flowers. Claire paused at the front desk, unloaded the vases, and then walked over to them. She glared at him and unlocked the door, the chimes jingling as he and Eunice barreled into the shop.
    Eunice almost knocked him over as her arms flew out to her sides, narrowly missing a display of glass vases. “Well, my goodness dear, what happened? I thought for sure there was something wrong!”
    “Just running a little