Page 100 of Long Story Short

“Do you want me to stop?”

She looks back at me, her fingers curling tighter around the fabric of my shirt as she keeps me close to her. “No,” she admits, her voice soft.

This time, my mouth lands on hers. We make out against the shelves like we have all the time in the world.

It feels like we do.

She spent the morning writing while I sat in her kitchen working as well. Lately, I’ve been using every spare second I can find to look into the books for Bishop-Moore Hotels, trying to find out if there’s any merit to my father’s threats. I don’t want to give in and pay him, but I also don’t want his past mistakes to come back and haunt all the progress we’ve made either.

Josie and I have fallen into a routine together where, even when working, we’re spending time together. We’re in close proximity to one another, but doing our own thing. We wake up next to each other and then start our mornings with breakfast and coffee. We work, we eat lunch, we get some more work done before finding something to do in the afternoon here in the Hamptons. Sometimes it’s going to Pembroke; other times, like today, it’s exploring the town. But we’ve fallen into this routine where it’s familiar and easy. I never feel like I have to rush things because I know, even when this book is done, I’ll get to see her.

I don’t know how long we stand against the shelves kissing, but it’s perfect. The store is quiet around us, but still, at any moment, someone could walk around the corner and find us.

Josie’s hands slide up my chest and into my hair. They pull on the longer strands on the top as she melts into the kiss, making me forget where we are entirely.

I tighten my hands around her waist, my fingertips digging into her skin as I press her even harder against the shelf behind her. The books shift slightly at the pressure.

She lets out a soft sigh against my mouth. “Ty,” she whispers.

I pull back just enough to rest my forehead against hers, both of us attempting to catch our breath.

“We should maybe get home,” she mutters.

“Yeah,” I agree, my entire body feeling hot with need for her.

Neither one of us moves.

Her lips brush against mine this time, soft and sure, like she can’t help herself.

I pull my mouth from hers. “Come on,” I say, keeping my voice low. “We’ve got to go before I forget we’re in public.”

She laughs as I take her hand, threading our fingers together as I lead her out of the store and back to the house…where we can finish what we started in between the shelves.

FORTY-SIX

JOSIE

“Mouse, we’re back,” I call out as we walk through the front door of my grandfather’s Hamptons home. We spent the afternoon wandering around Southampton Village, walking into one store after the next. Tyson follows me inside, carrying our bags from the purchases we made. It’s become a ritual of ours to explore the different areas down here, and it’s one of my favorite things we do together. It’s a good motivator for me to get work done early in the day so I can spend the rest of the afternoon with him.

It’s been two weeks of us spending every second we can together. The only time we’ve been apart is when I flew to Manhattan last week for my weekly dinner with Pop. I’m supposed to go back in two days, and part of me wants to ask if Tyson will come too. I want him to formally meet Pop and for them to get to know one another. I want to know what Pop thinks of Tyson, because with each day that passes, my feelings for him grow.

We step into the house as Mouse bounds around the corner and runs right past me and into Tyson’s arms.

My jaw hangs open as I look behind me, finding Tyson setting the bags down by the door before he swipes Mouse off the ground and pulls him to his chest.

“My cat is a traitor,” I announce, shaking my head as Mouse lets out a loud, satisfied purr.

“He isn’t a traitor just because he loves me,” Tyson responds, his voice full of humor as he continues to pet Mouse.

I roll my eyes because my cat is definitely a traitor. Since I’ve been spending so much time with Tyson, Mouse has been with him a lot too. It’s becoming more and more obvious the more my cat is around Tyson that I’m no longer his favorite person.

Walking to the kitchen, I set my purse down on the island and search for my phone. Finally, I find it sitting at the bottom of my oversized bag. I pull it out and look at the screen, my heart immediately falling to my feet when I see all of the missed calls.

I think Tyson says something from behind me, but I can’t hear it. I don’t hear anything except for a ringing in my ears.

There are five missed calls from Pop.

Eleven missed calls from Beatrice—Pop’s house manager.