Nights Under the Tennessee Stars. Joanne RockЧитать онлайн книгу.
sexual undertones didn’t mean her words did.
“That’s a coincidence.” He paused a few steps away from her and seemed to take her measure, his hazel eyes doing a slow tour. “Because I hardly recognize you without the overalls and safety goggles.”
He wasn’t flirting. Probably just being amusing. But his attractiveness skewed the conversation in a weird way, and it didn’t help that she didn’t have the goggles and overalls to hide behind. Suddenly self-conscious, she turned and headed inside.
“Come on in,” she called over her shoulder, hoping she was behaving normally and not like a junior high school girl. “I have a table in the back where we can discuss what you’re looking for.”
She heard the shop bell ring behind him as the door shut, sealing them inside the empty store. Alone again, just like the night before.
“I appreciate you making time for me today.” Remy’s tone had shifted to all business as he followed her past the open pie safe full of vintage linens. He gripped a dark leather folder in one hand. Was he going to take notes? Or maybe he had pictures to show her the kinds of items he collected.
“Antiques are my business.” She switched off her phone since it was already buzzing with incoming texts, no doubt replies from her friends about the last-minute clothing drive. “I’m happy to help.”
She gestured to an old kitchen chair repurposed with a leather seat that was pulled up to a high workstation with drawers full of swatches, samples and assorted cabinetry hardware. Occasionally, she refinished furniture here or re-covered old lamp shades with new material.
“You seem to be involved in a lot more than antiques,” he observed, gesturing to the racks of vintage clothing dotting the store just outside the alcove where they sat across from one another.
“I have a wide variety of interests.” A quality she’d inherited from her mother.
“Everything from construction to retail.” He winked at her, but the charm felt a little too practiced.
She knew she was a cynic, but she had an odd feeling about this meeting. Why the added charm if he wasn’t flirting with her?
“Can you tell me what you’re looking for?” She folded her hands on the scarred wooden surface of the worktable, trying to keep the meeting on track.
“I’m the producer for a television show called Interstate Antiquer.” He slid a business card across the table with the logo of a show she recognized from one of the home improvement cable channels. “I’m on a scouting trip this week in central Tennessee, hoping to line up some stops for our host.”
Did that mean a big sale for her store? She was even more curious now and also grateful for the new barrier to her attraction for him. She couldn’t act on the attraction if they were working together.
“You need antiques for the show?” She tried to recall the format of the program but wasn’t sure if she’d seen it.
“We need stores to feature. We would film at least a full day’s worth of footage in Last Chance Vintage to give our viewers a chance to see you work with the customers and what kinds of things you sell or trade—”
“Is that why you were in the rain outside my store last night? As part of your scouting trip?” It reminded her of the telemarketing calls where the sales rep launched into a friendly chat as though you were old friends before identifying himself. “You drove through here to find antiques shops?”
Any flirtation she’d imagined on his part had been an illusion. He was here only on business. She should be grateful she didn’t need to worry about any romantic distraction—he would not test her willpower regarding handsome men. But irritation niggled.
“Last Chance Vintage was on my list of places to see. Yes.”
“Yet you didn’t mention it.” Was it too much to ask for people to be forthright about who they were and what they wanted? Even knowing that she was overreacting didn’t stop her from feeling...deceived. “I thought you were here on business.”
“I am here on business.” He reached into his folder and pulled out a piece of paper.
“Television is your business, not mine. I’m renovating the store while my sister is out of town, and I have to run daily operations, too. That doesn’t leave time for much else.” She scooped up her cell phone and stood. “Maybe when my sister returns, she could do it. She has more personal charm than me and I’m not really what you’d call viewer-friendly.”
“Wait.” Remy rose, as well, his lean height and well-tailored suit making her feel short and frumpy. “These spots are usually very good for a store’s bottom line, Erin. Did you want to check with your partner before you say no? She’s the one who brought your shop to our attention. And we can’t reschedule our whole central Tennessee spotlight until she returns.”
He handed her the piece of paper he’d withdrawn from the leather folder, and she recognized the Last Chance Vintage logo at the top of the letterhead. A note from Heather. No doubt her sister had worked hard to gain this kind of exposure.
Heather would kill her for turning down an opportunity like this just because Erin felt deceived that Remy Weldon hadn’t been forthright. Heather was always working on promo opportunities from the store, a part of the business Erin gave little attention.
“I don’t understand.” She stopped. Setting Heather’s letter aside, Erin folded her arms across her chest. “Why didn’t you tell me last night that you were in town to look at Last Chance Vintage for the show?”
“Two reasons.” He tipped one shoulder against the doorjamb, looking oddly at ease in spite of the hand-sewn floral aprons fluttering in the breeze from an oscillating fan nearby. “First, I don’t always advertise my business in case the store I’m researching turns out to be a glorified junk shop or the owners are difficult to work with.”
She supposed that made sense.
“And two, I was a road-weary zombie last night when I walked in here. I wasn’t thinking straight.” His smile returned, the one that made the cleft in his chin deepen. “I got distracted by the nail gun and figured we could just sort things out today.”
What was it about his Cajun accent that slid along her skin like a soothing touch?
“I don’t want to be on camera.” She had survived childhood as one of five children by learning never to be the center of attention. It was an MO that worked for her.
Her mom’s battles with bipolar issues had given her a big personality that overshadowed the rest of the household. For Erin, being the center of attention meant someone might notice her shortcomings, so she had always taken behind-the-scenes jobs in the family. The habit had rolled into the rest of her life. Heather kept things organized, Erin tried to help quietly on the sides and their youngest sister, Amy, had bailed on the family at the first opportunity, declaring herself an emancipated minor at seventeen and never looking back.
“So where’s Heather?” Remy peered around the shop as if she might walk out of a back room at any moment. “Maybe she can be the voice of the store on the show.”
“She’s on a buying trip. She won’t be back for four to six weeks.” Erin hated to let her sister down. She felt she’d been one disappointment after another to her family lately, starting with not showing up for that dinner with Mr. Right six months ago. She’d kept a low profile ever since, using store renovations as an excuse for skipping out on family events. “How soon will you want to film a spot?”
He frowned. “Normally, I’d have a longer lead time. But my host quit a few weeks ago and some of the spots pulled out when he did.”
“Meaning?”
“I just tentatively confirmed with a store in Franklin for next week. I could do the shoot with Last Chance Vintage right afterward. Maybe nine days from now?” He pulled out his phone as if to give her a date.