phrase struck Seth when he pictured her, tucked in the corner behind him, the whir of the pricey sewing machine a soft hum beneath her hands. A cloud of delicate fabric covered her lap, and she’d clipped her hair back, away from her face. The combination of the curls and the puffs of gray fabric were a Renaissance painting come to life.
He kept his eyes on the wall and the drill, his gaze focused on the sturdy brackets needed to brace the movement and weight of hanging garments.
But his thoughts? Those were ten yards back, on the pretty girl sitting at the pale blue machine, the motorized pause and go of intricate work keeping her in his mind.
The scent of something amazingly delicious captured his attention midday, about the same time as a knock came at the street-side door. Gianna started to stand, but Seth waved her back down. “I’ll get it. You keep working.”
He didn’t wait to see if she obeyed him, but when he opened the door, his mother stood on the snow-crusted sidewalk. “Mom.”
“Hello.” She breezed in, flashed him a smile, then held a basket high. “Gianna?”
“Yes.” Gianna stood, settled the fabric onto the chair and rounded the sewing table. “I’m Gianna Costanza.” She put out her hand in welcome. “You’re Seth’s mother.”
“Jenny Campbell.” Jenny handed off the basket and waved toward the kitchen in the apartment beyond. “I wanted to welcome you and your grandmother to town. I’d have been here sooner but one of our grandsons was sick and I took over with him the past few days so his parents could work.”
“Is he doing better?” Gianna asked, and it didn’t surprise Seth to see genuine concern in her eyes. “I hope so.”
“Much,” Jenny told her. “He had fifth disease, nothing major, but I wanted to keep him away from Piper if possible because she’s quietly expecting.”
“Not so quiet if half the town knows,” Seth scolded.
“This isn’t half the town. It’s you and Gianna. And Zach was in here earlier and I expect he said something.”
“Nope.”
“Oops.”
His mother looked chagrined. Seth laughed and looped an arm around her shoulders. “We won’t tell. Will we?” He shifted his gaze to Gianna. She shook her head, but a hint of worry glazed her eyes. “You okay?”
“Fine. Yes.”
Carmen bustled in from the apartment side of the building. “Hello! You’re Seth’s mother?”
Jenny introduced herself. Gianna handed Carmen the overflowing basket and watched as her grandmother led Jenny into the kitchen. But when she turned, worry creased her brow.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Tired, I think.” She made a face at the chair. “Too much sitting work makes me sleepy. I think I’ll take a quick walk.”
“Sleepy equates walk?” Seth stepped closer. “Usually the way to conquer tiredness is to nap.”
“Fresh air works, too.” She grabbed a thick jacket from a hook around the corner and donned it quickly. “I’ll be back soon.”
She was out the door in a flash, and when Carmen poked her head through the connecting door, Seth just shrugged. “She went for a walk.”
Carmen waved it off as if it wasn’t outrageously rude behavior. “She can’t sit too long working. She’s an action-motivated girl.”
“Who sews for a living.” Seth hiked a brow in Carmen’s direction. “Odd, right?”
“Not at all,” Carmen answered smoothly. “Come on in here, I’ve got chicken soup, and your mother brought homemade bread. We’ll have a quick lunch before we get back to work.”
He shouldn’t, even though Gianna had left. He’d promised himself he’d keep their relationship professional. Distanced. Being caught in the shop with Gianna so close showed him the unlikelihood of that. Just knowing she was there, sewing, humming now and again, made him feel at home.
He couldn’t afford to feel at home here.
Why not? His conscience scoffed. She’s nice, funny, talented and creative. Did I mention drop-dead gorgeous?
Seth got all that. What he didn’t get was the vibe she emitted, keeping him at bay. He’d obey his instincts—his other instincts—and maintain degrees of separation, no matter how much his heart softened in her presence. Soft hearts led to one thing: soft heads. And he’d been in the fire too much of late. He had no desire to get burned again.
* * *
Fifth disease.
Gianna hurried across the road, turned left at the first of two traffic lights and climbed the steps to the library. Warmth greeted her.
She barely felt it.
Children laughed in a semicircle off to her right as the librarian held up a funny-looking puppet and squawked, “Hi! I’m Skippy Jon Jones!”
The children giggled as the librarian continued the story. The puppet interrupted regularly, his raucous voice teaching on a kid-friendly level. Their joy of learning without knowing they were learning flooded Gianna with anticipation, but the thought of this childhood disease concerned her.
She sat at one of the computer screens, clicked it on and waited until she could do an internet search, then sighed in relief when she saw that most people contracted the virus as youngsters and carried that immunity into adulthood. A simple blood test would tell her if she was susceptible to the disease or had already had it.
That meant she needed to find a doctor, and that was something she would do first thing Monday morning. She’d relocated her grandmother and herself by promising her family that she’d look after Grandma. None of them were aware that Grandma was currently the caretaker of the two.
They’d know soon enough. She shut down the computer, then grabbed a couple of books so she wouldn’t look like a complete idiot when she walked back into the shop. She signed up for a new library card and headed back down the road, wondering if Seth would think she was totally whacked.
Some days she wondered herself.
“You’re back!” Her grandmother’s bright smile said everything would be fine. Just fine. “Jenny has brought us homemade bread, and I just put on water for tea. And I do believe there’s a tray of chocolate-walnut brownies in that pretty basket.”
“My weakness. Well. One of them,” Gianna admitted as she slung her jacket back onto the hook. She set two books down on the counter, trying to make it look like her trip to the library had been crucial.
“Raised Bed Planting and Turn-of-the-Century Patterns, Volume 2.” Seth surveyed the books once he stood up. He pulled out a chair for her, then carefully slid it in behind her as she sat. “No time like the present to ponder June’s gardens, I guess.”
His gaze skimmed the snow-filled front window.
He
