Читать книгу Mistletoe Hero - Tanya Michaels, Tanya Michaels - Страница 12

Gabe had just started cooking dinner—which, tonight, involved dumping a can of soup into a pot—when his cell phone buzzed and vibrated across the countertop. He saw Waide Supply on the caller ID and considered not answering. What had he been thinking yesterday? He’d been in a strange mood after encountering his father. When he’d seen Arianne, it had been as if something clicked in his brain—help her with the festival, make that his casual farewell after thirty years in this town.

By the time he’d arrived home with his groceries, the idea had begun to seem like more damn trouble than it was worth. There wasn’t anyone here to whom he owed a farewell. Still, he’d given his word.

With a sigh, he snatched up the phone. “Gabe Sloan.”

“You know, for a guy whose living is dependent on paying customers being able to contact you, you’re not that easy to track down,” Arianne scolded lightly.

“Yet you managed.”

“Ever thought about getting business cards? If you need help creating them—”

“Don’t tell me. When you’re not managing the store or drafting community volunteers, you design business cards.”

“Me? No. But Chloe Malcolm does some great marketing work. She put together our Web site for the store.” She paused. “I don’t suppose you have a Web site?”

“Miss Waide, as much as I appreciate your helpful advice—”

She guffawed, an unfeminine but admirably unselfconscious sound.

“—now’s not really the time for me to be building business. I’m leaving soon,” he reminded her, the words warming him. Every time he said it, he felt stronger. Freer.

Arianne was silent a moment. “Do you know where you’re going?”

Even if he did, he wouldn’t give that information to his would-be stalker. Perhaps that wasn’t fair—Arianne had never shown much interest in him before now. After he helped her and Quinn with this festival, she’d go on with her sheltered life and forget all about him.

But just to be on the safe side, he wasn’t leaving her a forwarding address.

He redirected the conversation. “I assume you’re calling about the fair?”

“A bunch of the volunteers are meeting at Whiteberry tomorrow evening. Six-thirty, in the cafeteria. Think you can join us?”