Book Lovers

I kiss him then, like there isn’t someone reading one of the Bridgerton novels five feet away, like we’ve just found each other on a deserted island after months apart.

“And what about my bloodlust?” His eyes go heavy as he smiles. “That,” he says, “might be my favorite thing. Be my shark, Stephens.”

I laugh wetly, shake my head again. “You said your mom would never let someone outside the family run the store.” His eyes settle on my face, his expression going serious. “I think she’s hopeful Libby won’t be outside the family forever.”

“They put together a list,” he says. “ ‘Twelve Steps to Reunite Soul Mates’—which, by the way, involved multiple Jane Austen quotes. Not sure if that was Libby or Dad. But what I’m getting at is, they made some compelling points.”

“Goode Books,” he says carefully, “is under new management.” I shake my head, trying to clear the fog. “Your sister came through?” He shakes his head. “Yours did.”

“You taking off?” I not only yelp in surprise but throw my purse. It crashes into a planter. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” Clint Lastra sits on a bench, his walker beside him, a few stray moths circling overhead.

“Do you want to dance, Stephens?” “Do you?” I ask, surprised. “No,” he says, “but I want to touch you, and it’s a good cover.”

“You know what?” Libby whispers. “Probably,” I say, “but try me.”

“What the hell,” Libby whispers, laughing. “Are you crying?” “Shut up!” I toss a pillow at her. “You broke my eye muscles. I can’t stop it now.” “You’re crying because you love Brendan so much,” she teases. “Admit it.” “I love Brendan so much,” I say, laughing through the tears. “He’s nice!” Libby’s laughter escalates. “Dude, I know.”