“No, the sorry suckers decided to keep it,” Dotty said. “That box of tools that Tucker wants is next, so we’ll stay until they sell it. Then I’m ready to go home. My part-time help wants to leave before quittin’ time. Anyone want another sandwich? I’m takin’ a couple back with me for Flossie and Lucy’s afternoon snack.”

“I’m good,” Tucker said.

“Maybe we will get on home after Tucker bids on his screwdrivers.” Jolene smiled. “In our world a screwdriver is a whole different thing than in his, right, Dotty?”

“You got it, kid! And a planer isn’t a funny-lookin’ tool—it’s talkin’ about someone who doesn’t dress to the nines, right? As in, ‘she sure dresses plainer than her cousin,’” Dotty teased. “What’s your top bid, Tucker?”

“I haven’t decided.” His hand brushed against Jolene’s as he reached across the table to gather up everyone’s trash and take it over to a big black can. She felt another rush of sparks, but the way she figured, it was like when she’d gotten a silly notion that she’d like to dye a blue streak in her hair a couple of years ago. She had, and she’d hated it. It took a while to grow out, but it taught her a lesson: never do anything on impulse again. So what if there were sparks—she was a woman and he was a very sexy man. If there weren’t vibes, then she should be worried, right? Besides, she’d vowed that she’d never start a relationship with anyone who got drunk—even on weekends—and she intended to stand by that promise.

Dotty nudged her again, this time with a shoulder. “I’d give a pretty penny to know where your mind is, chère. I’ve got a feelin’ it’s not on a box of doilies.”

“Nope, it’s on how pretty that magnolia scarf is going to be with a dark-green mat and a pretty frame,” she said.

“Come on, chère. Tell the truth,” Dotty prodded.

“I’m attracted to Tucker. We were talkin’ about things, heavy things, this morning, and I thought he might kiss me, but he didn’t,” Jolene admitted.

“Were you disappointed?”

“A little, but it’s for the best.” Jolene sighed.

Chapter Fifteen

Eight bucks!” Tucker couldn’t expect Jolene to be as excited as he was to have just bought a two-hundred-dollar antique for only eight dollars, but he couldn’t contain his excitement, either. He’d almost grabbed her and kissed her when he won the bid on the box of worthless tools that contained his planer.

She nodded toward the back seat at her box of doilies. “Big spenders today, aren’t we?”

Tucker’s grin widened with every word. “This same auctioneer is doing another one on Saturday, starting at noon, and Buster is going to be there with his food wagon again. Want to go?”

“Oh, honey, I’ve got the fever now.” Jolene nodded. “Where is it?”

“Right in Linden. The sale bill is in the back seat. It lists a couple of washstands like we’re lookin’ for,” he told her.

“We’ll have to tell Aunt Sugar about our finds when she calls.” Jolene reached for the green paper. “They’ve got a tiny picture of the washstands, and in the column that lists other things, they’ve got tools, crystal, and lots of miscellaneous. Wonder if they’ll have doilies?”

“You’ve got enough in that box to outfit the whole house,” he said.

“But for five bucks a box, I can hang them on the walls, use them in baskets where we’ll put out cute little soaps and lotions in the bathrooms, and all kinds of other places. They’d even be beautiful sewn on the tops of pillows. They bring such an old flavor to a house,” Jolene said.

He stole a sidelong glance at her as he parked the truck in the front yard of the inn. Several strands of hair had escaped her ponytail, and there was a tiny smudge of barbecue sauce on her jaw. But she still looked adorable in her ragged and faded work jeans and sweatshirt. What would it be like to really kiss her? To hold her in his arms and . . .

“No!” he muttered.

“No, what? You don’t want me to use doilies in the house?” Jolene asked.

“No. I don’t need any more tools. I didn’t even need the planer. I wanted it because my shop teacher in high school had one like it, and I loved using it.” It was lame, but at least it was the truth, and he didn’t have to explain what he’d been thinking.

Good for you. Melanie’s voice popped into his head. Not for the lie covered with the truth, but for actually taking a step forward.

“I’m not stepping anywhere, back or forward,” he muttered to himself as he carried his box of tools inside the house.

Jolene had gone in ahead of him and was now sitting on the living room floor, dividing the doilies from the scarves. If they had a stain, they went in one pile. If not, then she stacked them on the coffee table.

The inn’s phone rang, and he reached for it at the same time Jolene did. His hand closed around hers, but he quickly moved it away and told himself that the abrupt noise had startled him—that’s what created the electricity between them.

“Magnolia Inn,” Jolene said. She listened for a few minutes and then said, “I’m sorry, but we’re closed for remodeling.”