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A Christmas Affair
Jodi Thomas
A shy soul and an adventurous heart. As the holidays approach, can they find happiness together?Maria Anne Davis was on her way to an exciting career as a chef in Dallas, until a terrible car accident left her blind. Ever resilient, Maria has reinvented her life on her own terms, starting a business out of her home kitchen, selling her jams and jellies to the local grocery.Maria loves romance novels, and despite her bold spirit, she fears she’ll never have a big love affair like ones her heroines experience. That is, until she realizes how much she cares about the quiet Wes Whitman, the owner of the grocery.Wes can’t keep Maria’s wildly popular jam on his shelves—just like he can’t keep the fierce, beautiful Maria out of his thoughts. But how could a firecracker like Maria come to love a shy, nervous man like him? Maybe all they need is a grand affair. Wes needs to convince Maria that some affairs last forever, though—just in time for Christmas.


A shy soul and an adventurous heart. As the holidays approach, can they find happiness together?
Maria Anne Davis was on her way to an exciting career as a chef in Dallas, until a terrible car accident left her blind. Ever resilient, Maria has reinvented her life on her own terms, starting a business out of her home kitchen, selling her jams and jellies to the local grocery.
Maria loves romance novels, and despite her bold spirit, she fears she’ll never have a big love affair like ones her heroines experience. That is, until she realizes how much she cares about the quiet Wes Whitman, the owner of the grocery.
Wes can’t keep Maria’s wildly popular jam on his shelves—just like he can’t keep the fierce, beautiful Maria out of his thoughts. But how could a firecracker like Maria come to love a shy, nervous man like him? Maybe all they need is a grand affair. Wes needs to convince Maria that some affairs last forever, though—just in time for Christmas.
A Christmas Affair
Jodi Thomas


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
About the Author (#u53f4161d-b6aa-5476-a870-1ec7fe712047)
New York Times bestselling author JODI THOMAS is a fifth-generation Texan who sets many of her stories in her home state, where her grandmother was born in a covered wagon. She is a certified marriage and family counselor, a Texas Tech graduate and writer-in-residence at West Texas A&M University. She lives with her husband in Amarillo, Texas.
www.JodiThomas.com (http://www.JodiThomas.com)
Contents
Cover (#ud50b744e-b825-5f61-a092-bb963f2f1688)
Back Cover Text (#ude50d569-bd97-5c61-85f8-6f889d116f9f)
Title Page (#u03d58ee0-dcf9-56b2-9efb-ae9b1fec0a6d)
About the Author (#u6a661607-eea4-5d5b-a6c8-064416dd9b35)
CHAPTER ONE (#uaaa57a69-1212-5e67-9f4c-03ea12ad5a87)
CHAPTER TWO (#u92de90a9-7e62-5562-9fb3-24ee5538f398)
CHAPTER THREE (#u06c9701a-378a-57c4-92c6-a993b5052447)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u97f8286c-e08e-5ec4-a608-6c523de32055)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u53f4161d-b6aa-5476-a870-1ec7fe712047)
TRAVIS FULLER TURNED UP the collar on his jean jacket and tried to slide farther down into the backseat of the sheriff’s cruiser. He hated the way cop cars always smelled of vomit and stale coffee. He hated cold days. He hated little towns and he hated the deputy who picked him up from the Lubbock airport like he was a rescue dog going to a new home.
Hell, he thought, if he ever reached his sixteenth birthday, he’d probably hate being on his own, too. He’d learned a long time ago that the next place was usually worse than the last, and Crossroads, Texas, looked to be touching the bottom of the barrel.
Travis had made up his mind when he was seven that as soon as he turned sixteen, he’d run away and never look back. He couldn’t do a worse job of raising himself than his parents had. Both were drunks. His mother was mean and his father was stupid. Their last fight ended with her in the hospital and him in jail.
“And me?” he mumbled. “I have to go to hell in Texas just because I’m their offspring.”
The deputy turned his radio down and glanced back. “You all right, kid?”
“I’m not a kid. I’m almost sixteen.”
“Right,” the deputy said with a laugh. “Well, Mr. Fuller, welcome to Crossroads. Looks like you’ll be staying with us for a while. You’ll love it here. The three uncles you’re bunking with are real nice guys. One was a teacher for almost forty years, one is still working as a real cowboy, and the third one, Horace Fuller, no one knows what he did for a living but he always paid his bills. He’s sort of the town hermit, and that’s not an easy title to have in a small town.”
“They are not my uncles,” Travis grumbled.
“Oh, right. Great-uncles. Longevity must run in your family. I’m guessing all three are past their seventieth birthday.”
“I don’t care. Not one of them had any kids or a wife so I’m guessing they are not long on social skills.”
Deputy Cline didn’t argue, but added, “They’ve been fixing up a place at Horace’s for you to stay. Up high, almost like a tree house. I wouldn’t be surprised if you can see the lights of town from there.”
“Great. Another cage.” Travis looked out the window as the deputy pulled off the highway. The town was all brown and deserted in the winter morning light. Most of the buildings were built square and low to the ground.
“You ever had an architect live here?” Travis frowned.
“Nope. Not that I know of.”
“I could have guessed that. Frank Lloyd Wright would have a heart attack here.” Travis could spend hours looking at Wright’s work in the books at libraries. To him the buildings were art, every one a masterpiece.
“Wright? He’s that famous architect who built all those strange buildings?” Deputy Cline chimed in, as if he thought he was on a game show. “I’ve done carpentry work, but would have no idea where to start on something like his designs.”
“He was a genius,” Travis mumbled, not really wanting to have a conversation with the deputy. Cline was so new at the job he didn’t even know he wasn’t supposed to talk to anyone riding in the backseat. Travis had had enough rides to know that rule.
As the cruiser circled round, Travis asked, more to change the subject than from interest, “What’s that, a barn for tumbleweeds?” He pointed to an open-air building on the land left when streets crossed in the center of town.
Deputy Cline laughed as if he thought the question was a joke. “That’s our town square. The structure in the middle was going to be a grand gazebo, but the project kind of got dropped. Maybe some committee will pick it back up in the spring.”
Travis sat up straighter. “Anyone ever tell you that the town square is a triangle?”
“Nope,” the deputy answered too quickly to be telling the truth.
Travis had a feeling Cline had heard the question one too many times. He was doing like folks do to anyone too young to vote when they don’t want to answer a question. Kind of like parents do when the world falls apart and they tell you you’re lucky. Yeah, Travis thought, he was real lucky. Mom was half dead, Dad would probably never get out of jail this time, and he had to go live with three crazy old uncles not even one woman thought worth marrying.
Three weeks to Christmas and all he wanted was a bus ticket out of his life.
CHAPTER TWO (#u53f4161d-b6aa-5476-a870-1ec7fe712047)
WES WHITMAN WATCHED Maria Anne Davis move silently back and forth from the farm pickup parked just outside the side door to her display in his general store.
Every Wednesday she restocked the shelves with Davis Delightful Jams and Jellies, and every Wednesday he kept an eye on her from ten feet away. Standing ready to step in and help if needed, but never smothering her.
The small woman couldn’t be much into her thirties, and there was a calculated grace about her movements. She counted her steps, touched familiar points along her path, made sure everything was in place before she carried in each crate. Maria Anne Davis might be blind, but she used her other senses and her brain.
Watching her move was poetry in motion, he thought, and then laughed at himself for being almost romantic.
Wes made sure everything was exactly the same as it had been the week before. Nothing was ever in the aisle to block her path. In the silence of the early morning, she stocked and he watched.
She might be petite, but she was strong. She always dressed in jeans and a blue plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Nothing fancy. Never showy. But pretty, just the same, with her long hair tied back at the base of her neck and the dark curls drifting down to her waist.
At first he’d tried too hard to help, then he realized Maria Anne didn’t need any help. She needed to be alone in the stillness of the dawn hours before any customers came in.
If he left her to her work, the shelves would be stocked, all the labels facing forward, all in order.
Every week he tried to talk to her. He liked her shy ways and the grace in her slender movements. He’d probably like her voice, too, if he ever heard it in more than a whisper. She was too shy, too beautiful for the likes of him. Folks said if she hadn’t been blinded in a car wreck five years ago, she would have been a great chef in Dallas now.
She’d never be interested in him, no matter how hard he tried. Nothing would ever be between them but a business relationship.
He had to be content to stand back and watch her, never getting in her way, never talking too much for fear of distracting her. Now and then over the years, he’d offered to help her and she always shook her head and whispered no. But if he just stood and waited, she’d eventually finish, turn in his direction and say his name.
He’d step forward and offer his arm.
Maria’s small hand would glide across the air until she brushed his starched shirt. Then, with her fingers resting on his arm, he’d direct her to his office, where they’d settle up for last week’s sales.
Wes knew she could have found her way to his office without trouble but they both seemed to like this simple ritual each week. In an odd way he felt almost like a knight escorting a lady fair.
He suspected, after more than four years, he still frightened her, but had no idea why. After all, the only person shier than her was him.
“Nice day, isn’t it?” he said as they walked the ten feet to his office.
Nodding, she added, “Almost Christmas.”
“That rain the weatherman promised for next week might turn to snow, and we could have a white Christmas.”
She smiled and he decided he was an idiot. A white Christmas to a blind person wouldn’t matter. It would just bring cold.
He opened his office door and she stepped inside, gliding her fingertips over the boxes that lined the left wall. He made sure they were always there, always the same height so she could find her chair in front of his desk without trouble.
Maria always sat on the edge of her chair, waiting for him to write her check. Then she’d touch the corner of her cell, number 3 on her speed dial to call her sister, and say simply, “I’m ready.”
Their fingers might touch as he passed her the check, but nothing more personal.
She’d whisper a thank-you and stand.
He’d follow her out, but on the return journey she didn’t take his arm. She knew the way. The touch-points where she brushed a display or let her hand slide along the glass doors of his frozen foods section were all she needed.
She would hurry away as if he were a stranger and not someone she knew. Her sister, Dakota, would be waiting for her just outside.
Wes usually followed Maria out the side door. He’d watch as she climbed in the old pickup. He’d wave as her sister, Dakota, backed up. Maria’s window would pass within a few feet of him. She’d often be turned as if looking right at him, but she never saw him wave at her. She had no idea he was there.
He wished Maria had an ounce of her sister’s confidence. It was hard to believe they came from the same parents. Dakota was as outgoing as Maria Anne was quiet. She ran the town’s only real estate office half a block down the street from his store.
He’d figured out that Maria wanted to stock the shelf herself, so Dakota would walk over to her office to open up and check emails, then drive Maria home when she called to say she was finished.
Only today, Maria had finished early, and she didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave his office. She’d made no effort to pull her phone from her pocket to call her sister.
Watching her as she perched on the edge of her chair, he asked, “Got time for a cup of coffee?” The words were out before he thought.
To his surprise, she smiled. “I’d like that.”
He didn’t miss that she checked her watch with a brush of her finger. She’d probably stay a minute or two, no more, but it seemed a gift just the same.
Wes thought of saying that he wasn’t likely to attack Maria Davis, or anyone else for that matter. The only weapon he’d ever handled was a broom. Owners of grocery stores usually didn’t show up on wanted posters in the post office.
Maybe she still thought of him as an outsider. After all, he’d only lived in Crossroads for seven years. She’d been living in Dallas when he moved to town, so he’d never known her before her accident. Small-town people are sometimes slow to accept strangers, and maybe her being blind made it harder still.
But Wes sat across the aisle from her in church every Sunday and they sometimes ate at the same cafeteria table during the potluck suppers for singles. That didn’t exactly make them friends, he guessed.
He set a cup of coffee down in front of her but didn’t move around to his desk.
“We sold out of the apple jelly last week,” he said, proud of himself for thinking of some way to start the conversation. “With Christmas coming, you might want to think about restocking on Saturday, or you could leave a case and I’ll take care of it.”
“I will.” Her slim fingers brushed the heavy mug and circled the handle. “I could wrap a few gift baskets. They’d be expensive, but people might buy them as Christmas gifts.”
“It wouldn’t hurt. Last-minute shoppers are always looking for something unique.” That was it, he thought. The limit of their conversation.
He didn’t blame her for not wanting to know him better. They were simply polite acquaintances. Both too quiet. And even though she couldn’t see him, someone had probably told her he was homely. He might be only thirty-four now and considered himself passable, but in a few years he’d get that buzzard look his father and grandfather had aged into. Too tall, too thin, hawk-nosed and big-eared. The few women he had dated years ago must have seen the future the moment he took them home.
A rattle sounded at his open office door.
The Franklin sisters, who owned the bed-and-breakfast down the street, poked their heads in and interrupted his torture. They used to brag that they put up their own jams, but since Maria had started selling her jams and jellies, the sisters had decided to buy from Wes.
“Morning, Maria,” Rose Franklin said as she waddled past Wes like he was a post in the center of the office. “You got any of the apricot jam? I make a great chicken bake with it.”
“Yes ma’am, I made some more up from the apricots I froze this fall. You might want to stock up because what’s on the shelf will be the last until next summer.”
Maria grinned for the Franklins. Something she never did for him. She had a sunbeam smile, he thought, a slice of beauty peeping through her normally cloudy-day expression.
Daisy Franklin leaned close to Maria. “We’d buy it from you wholesale, Maria, if you’d let us.” She glanced over at the six-foot-two post named Whitman and must have decided he wasn’t listening in. “Cut out the middleman, you see.”
Wes didn’t move or comment. He’d heard the sisters try this trick before. Maria’s jars might not bring in much income for him, but her product brought in customers. All it took was one jar and they stopped by for more every time they passed Crossroads.
“No, thank you, Miss Franklin,” Maria said as she carefully sipped her coffee. “I have an agreement with Wes. He buys all I can make and I sell only to Whitman Grocery.”
Wes smiled. She’d said his first name in front of someone. Like they were friends. They’d made a deal and she’d stuck to it.
Half the store was regular supplies, but the other half was specialty items, all locally grown or canned or baked or brewed. She’d walked in with her sister leading the way and asked if he wanted to stock her jellies. Wes couldn’t have said no even if he’d had to eat every jar.
Now folks stopped in to buy the small jars that had red bandannas tied with ribbons on the lids. Every week, Wes watched her stock empty off the shelf, counting down the days until she’d be back.
Rose Franklin frowned as she looked around his office. Two chairs. Walls lined with boxes and Wes standing at the door. “I understand if you two have some kind of private agreement, just between you.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “I’ve had a few of those myself over the years.”
Neither Wes nor Maria looked up. Arguing with Rose was like fighting a case at the Supreme Court. You’d better be ready to brawl, or stay out of the court.
Wes saw Maria’s cheeks redden. Rose seemed to be hinting there might be more between them. Much as he wished there could be, he knew the chances were zero.
“Everyone who has your peach preserves on our famous nut bread at breakfast wants to buy both. If the bed-and-breakfast carried a stock of the preserves, it would save them a trip over here.” Rose straightened, prepared to wait it out for the answer she wanted. “You’d only up your sales.”
Wes stepped into the line of fire. “Now, Miss Franklin, I’ve heard of that homemade bread of yours. Folks say it’s straight from heaven. Have you ever thought of marketing it? I think it would be cute with both of you ladies’ pictures on the label. Franklin Sisters Famous Breads. I can see it on the shelf.”
Daisy clicked her tongue almost like a little drumroll. “Oh, no, no, we can’t do that. We’ve got far bigger irons in the fire.” She glanced at her sister for permission. With Rose’s slight nod, Daisy continued, “Rose and I have decided to open another business. What with the town growing, we’re going to become wedding planners. And though our first clients are keeping it a secret, we’re planning a huge wedding, bigger than this town has ever seen.”
Rose nodded. “Once we establish our name, folks from big cities like Amarillo or Lubbock, or even Abilene, can call us. We’ll put the wedding party up in the bed-and-breakfast, plan the wedding, bake the cake, and all they’ll have to do is show up.”
Daisy giggled. “It’s called a destination wedding.”
“Imagine that,” Wes said politely. He’d never thought of Crossroads as a destination, more like a potty stop where two highways crossed.
“That sounds grand, ladies. Let me know if I can help.” Wes considered asking how two ladies who’d never married had suddenly become experts on wedding planning, but he didn’t want to hurt their feelings.
Rose straightened. “Well, as a matter of fact, you can help. If you’d find a bride, we’d give you half off for being our first local customer. We could work you in before the big wedding in June.”
Both women laughed when Wes backed away.
“It’s all right, dear.” Daisy Franklin waved him back. “We know you’re like us, Mr. Whitman. Some folks just aren’t meant to ever marry.”
Wes was thankful when one of his employees stepped up with the sisters’ bags.
The Franklins waddled off and Maria handed him her empty cup. His time alone with her was over.
She moved away without a word.
Wes sat down in his office chair and turned his back to the door. He wished he could close off the world. He’d worked on being able to make small talk with customers. The weather. Sports. The local news. But it never came easy, and his mind didn’t seem to work fast enough to think of something witty to say to Maria.
A light tap came from the direction of his door.
Wes swiveled and looked up. “Yes?” was all he could think of to say.
Maria stepped back inside his office and, to his surprise, closed the door. “Would you mind if I stay longer?”
“No. Would you like more coffee?” He stood and knocked a stack of car part catalogs off the corner of his desk.
She moved to where he’d knelt, but made no attempt to help him pick them up. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were all right after what Miss Franklin said.” Her soft voice seemed to whisper through the cluttered room as she reached out and touched his shoulder.
He straightened and tossed the catalogs into the trash behind him. “I should have tossed these a long time ago.”
He didn’t move away. He just stared at her delicate hand sliding down his arm. “I’m all right,” he finally said, more surprised that she was worried about him than upset by anything Daisy could ever say.
Maria nodded. “Of course you are. Daisy Franklin didn’t mean anything. Her words get ahead of her brain sometimes.”
He sat on the corner of the desk so he could look at her face. “It was kind of you to worry about me.” He still towered over her.
He thought about touching her, maybe her cheek or covering her hand with his, but that might not be right. If he were another man he might ask her out, or kiss her cheek. Then he remembered what she’d come back for. It was time to settle the account. He needed to pay her.
“Oh, I’m sorry. If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll write your check.” He sat down at his desk and opened his checkbook.
She remained at his side.
Dread settled like lead in his chest. She must have something to tell him, and if she closed the door it had to be bad. She was moving? Marrying? Selling out to the Franklin sisters?
He placed her check on the corner of the desk without looking at her and waited.
Swiveling in the chair, he started to stand. Maybe it would be all right to walk her out this time?
She took a step and placed her hand on his shoulder again, holding him down with her feather touch.
When he looked up at her, he saw her sunbeam smile just for him, and her fingers brushed his jaw.
Then she did the strangest thing. She leaned down and touched her lips to his.
He was so shocked, he didn’t move.
Straightening, she frowned at him, then kissed him again. Harder this time.
He reacted like a man waking up and finally kissed her back. A light kiss. An almost innocent kiss.
Then she stepped away as if the tidal wave that had just rolled over him was simply receding back into place.
“I’ll see you next week,” she said, as proper as ever.
“Yes,” he answered. He stood and awkwardly opened the door for her. “Hope you get home before the cold front comes in.”
She never turned back as she left the store, but quiet Maria Anne Davis had just changed his world.
Wes stood in his cluttered office and wondered how people sleep with strangers they meet at closing time and have more lovers then they can count. He didn’t even know how to talk to women anymore, or ask Maria out. He had no idea what to say but he was pretty sure a weather report wasn’t right.
But if she kissed him, she must like him.
If he did figure it out, she probably wouldn’t know how to answer, or they wouldn’t have anything to talk about on the date. Neither knew much about communicating.
He smiled. Maybe it didn’t matter. She’d kissed him. That was a start.
CHAPTER THREE (#u53f4161d-b6aa-5476-a870-1ec7fe712047)
TRAVIS WALKED INTO the county offices, thinking, How bad could this new home be? The three great-uncles probably had no clue about how to raise a kid. He barely remembered his father mentioning them, and if they were kin to his dad, they were probably drunks. New town, new house, same old problem. He’d still be on his own.
When the deputy motioned him into the sheriff’s office, Travis swallowed his gum apprehensively and stepped into his new life.
The three old men lining one wall were worse than he’d feared. One’s face was so wrinkled that at first Travis thought it was a mask. One was tall, real tall, and skeleton-thin. And the third looked like he was wearing pajamas.
The deputy smiled. “Travis, meet your nearest relatives.”
Travis thought of bolting, but it was like looking at the freaks at the circus. He was afraid to blink.
The wrinkled uncle grinned and removed his hat that said CAP. “Hello, son, I’m your Uncle Cap, Cap Fuller.”
“Of course you are.” Travis took his offered hand, wondering what the other two would be named—probably Slim and Crazy.
“We’re sorry about your folks,” Cap said, without letting go of Travis’s hand. “We’ll do the best we can for you while you’re here.”
The bony one took a long step like he was crossing a line in the sand and committing himself to sudden death. He removed his cowboy hat and nodded. “I’m Dice, Dice Fuller. You’re a fine-looking boy. How old are you, son?”
“Almost sixteen.”
“I would have guessed older, maybe seventeen. You got old eyes.” Dice looked him up and down as if there would be a test later. Height, weight, hair color.
Travis decided he liked the thin man—unless, of course, Dice was planning on frying him up for supper. He probably hadn’t had a meal in years.
The third uncle was chubby and looked like he’d spent way too much time staring at the refrigerator light. He didn’t speak, but he smiled at Travis like the criminally insane might. The guy had too many teeth to be normal and his lips looked like rubber bands pulled tightly between fat cheeks.
In fact, none of them seemed normal. That one point probably confirmed they were kin to him.
About the time Travis had decided to run, a uniformed man stepped into the room. The deputy straightened slightly.
The stranger, who had kind eyes, introduced himself as Sheriff Brigman. “I know this isn’t going to be easy on you, Travis, and I want you to remember that I’m right here if you need me.” He turned to the uncles. “You’ve all made changes to make this work.” He looked at Travis. “This won’t be like home, son, but if you give it a chance it won’t be so bad.”
Travis lowered his head, not wanting to say anything. The last time he saw the trailer he called home, there was trash everywhere, broken furniture and blood. Even the uncles’ place probably wasn’t that bad.
Cap shook the sheriff’s hand. “Thanks for your help, Dan. If you’ve no objection, we’d like to keep him out of school until the new year? Let him get used to the place and us. He’ll stay at Horace’s house with Dice at night, but they’ll drop him off at my place across the street on the days they’re working. Among the three of us, we’ll do our best to keep up with him.”
“You guys work?” Travis was shocked. They all looked old enough to be drawing Social Security checks.
Cap turned to him, talking slowly, as if there was a language barrier between them. “I retired from teaching several years ago, but I still help out at the retirement village. The manager needs my advice often. And as a former captain of the volunteer fire station, I’m called in to handle problems. I’ve even been known to work crowd control for the sheriff from time to time. It seems to be in my DNA to take charge in emergencies.”
Typical teacher. Ask him the time and you get a lecture on how the watch works.
“You ride, son?” skinny Dice Fuller asked.
“Horses?” Travis thought of yelling that he wasn’t any of their sons, but he’d save that tantrum for later. Four-to-one odds didn’t look so good.
“Yeah, horses. We don’t usually ride the cows.” Dice chuckled.
“Nope. Never had the chance, but I’ll give it a try.”
“I’ll teach you. A man oughta know how to ride.”
“How about drive? That’s important, too. I’ll be old enough to get my license next year.” Travis saw the first ray of hope. If these old guys would teach him to drive he wouldn’t have to run away; he could drive. Then he could really go places, live in his car, much safer than the streets. If he didn’t like the place he landed, he’d just drive away.
Dice leaned his head sideways, as if swashing water to brain cells he hadn’t bothered using for a while. “You learn to handle a horse and then we’ll take on a car. Fair enough.”
Travis smiled. “Fair enough.” This prison wasn’t going to be so bad. In three, maybe six months he’d learn all he needed to know and be driving out of here.
Free, he thought. And these three old guys would simply think they forgot where they put him.
CHAPTER FOUR (#u53f4161d-b6aa-5476-a870-1ec7fe712047)
ONE WEEK TO the day after Maria Anne Davis kissed Wes Whitman, she walked back into his store with her arms loaded down with boxes of jars. Wes rushed to help her and accidentally brushed her arm as he took half the load.
“Sorry,” he said, remembering she didn’t like help.
“That’s all right,” she answered with a shy smile.
Then she turned away as if he was no more than a stranger again. As if they hadn’t kissed. As if he hadn’t spent hours thinking of what he should have done.
He knew all about running a store; he’d learned from his father. He could make small talk with customers and stand back in crowds until he seemed invisible. Wes knew how to live an orderly life, but he had no idea what to do with Maria.

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