Free One More Kiss by Kim Amos Page B

to rip the tights off a woman in the middle of a store in broad daylight either.
    She replayed the scene in her head over and over, cringing at the part where she told him she wanted his heart. Instead, she should have been ice cold. She should have pretended it didn’t matter. She should have been calm and cool and aloof.
    But that wasn’t her style. And damned if she was going to wait around while Randall Sondheim took her to dinner and figured out whether he liked her. She knew the answer. Or at least she thought she had. It was the same answer sounding in her own brain over and over: Yes, yes, yes.
    Except clearly she’d been wrong about everything.
    She grimaced as she remembered all the other times she’d been wrong, too. Men who said they admired her, who claimed to enjoy spending time with her, only to do the same thing—bail as fast as they could—the minute things started to tip too far into the romantic. They’d all found excuses to be too busy to take her calls, to buy her coffee instead of a drink, to fumble for something in their pocket when she went to hold their hand.
    Betty sighed and put her fingers unconsciously to her lips, expecting to feel her teeth jutting. She was tired of the pattern. She was exhausted by being someone’s friend all the time. Her heart ached from it. If a man liked her, he needed to like her. Not pussyfoot around everything, for crying out loud.
    But deep down, a cold lump of doubt sat lodged inside her, wondering if Randall was different. If maybe he really did need time, and if maybe she should give it to him. She had never known him not to be honorable. She had never known him to lie.
    She pulled on her denim, her mind racing. There was another side of all this to consider as well: her store.
    Would he still support her store after this? Would their arrangement with the bulletin and the PR still stand?
    She buttoned her jeans and ran her fingers through her hair, mussing it up. Her old work boots were nearby and she pulled them on, savoring the soft, familiar insides.
    Her clothes were well worn and comfortable. Her life was well worn and comfortable. She didn’t need Randall Sondheim to make it better.
    She told herself she didn’t need him at all.
    Because when Pastor Randall Sondheim was ready to settle down, it would likely be with someone like Valerie Lofgren. Lutheran pastors didn’t get joined up with loudmouthed, independent businesswomen. Not for more than a quick fling anyway.
    If even that apparently.
    She closed her eyes, imagining how good even a quick fling would feel with Randall. It might have been all for nothing, but the way he’d touched her and kissed her had still been—well, heavenly was a terrible turn of phrase, but it was close. Her thoughts had been gauzy clouds, her body filled with light and feeling. His mouth had been a halo of delight that she’d wanted on every part of her. She cringed when she remembered asking him to touch her. If only she wasn’t so loudmouthed and demanding. Maybe that was part of what had turned him off, had made him slow everything down.
    And then Valerie had walked in like she owned the place, squawking about her damn markers and looking scandalized enough to pass out.
    God, the whole town was going to be talking about this within hours—if they weren’t already. Which would only add to the drama surrounding her store right now, and make the situation worse.
    And the man who was supposed to be helping her had just jogged away in the rain.
    “It’s up to you, Betty,” she muttered to herself, battling back a wave of disappointment. She wouldn’t sit here and feel sorry for herself. She would get right back to work.
    As she tied her bootlaces, an idea began to form in her mind. If the root of all the Halloween problems in White Pine was the pranksters around town spray-painting graffiti and knocking over tombstones and smashing pumpkins, then part of the solution had to be to find the pranksters. If she could