Page 30 of The Golden Scoop

Matt takes my hand in his, but I’m too busy analyzing my internal reaction to realize we’re moving until he stops us in front of a hole-in-the-wall bookshop.

Out front, there’s only one window, with the name ‘Dog-Eared Bookshop’ in golden letters across it. To the right, a small wooden door.

I frown. Next to me, Matt seems like he’s ready to jump out of his skin with excitement. Is he a book nerd? That’s not part of his brand.

“Let’s go!”

He pulls us inside, the bell on top of the door immediately alerting everyone of our arrival. An old couple appears from the back, and Matt moves to greet them.

I hover in the doorway for a couple of seconds, taking in the smell: old book pages, worn leather, and fresh coffee. It’s bigger than I expected, and somehow also full to the brim.

To my left, there are six rows, stretching front and back to the edge of the shop, lined with books of all kinds. To my right, in the small corner by the door, there’s a stand with current bestsellers.

And right ahead, from where Matt’s currently gesturing at me, a little café is set up.

“We didn’t expect to have you in today, Matt,” says the elderly woman.

“I know, Bea. It was a last-minute decision,” he says. “I have someone special with me today. Can we get her set up with a card?”

“Of course!” says the man.

“This is Emma Miller,” Matt introduces me when I join him. “Emma, these are George and Beatrice, owners of Dog-eared, happily married for longer than we’ve been alive, and action movie aficionados.”

“Hey!” says Bea, playfully. “We’re not that old!”

Matt laughs, more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him before. It doesn’t match the man I thought he was, just like everything else lately.

“How’s Lucky doing?” he asks. She immediately pulls her phone out to show us a video of a puppy carrying around a shoe in his mouth.

“George was not happy about his slipper.” She laughs. “We love him, though. Thank you for getting us in contact with the shelter.”

“Happy to help.”

I guess he wasn’t lying at the wedding either.

George comes back and hands me a card with a picture of a dog, ear flipped down, reading a book. “Here you go, Ms. Miller. Two free drinks every month, unlimited reading.”

Matt hands him his own card, chipped in one corner and faded to the point where the dog is almost gone.

Okay… so this isn’t staged. That’s inconvenient.

He moves to the side to order for us, and I catch Bea eyeing me playfully.

“You must be special,” she comments. “You’re the first person he’s ever brought here aside from his mama, of course.”

“I guess your number one enemy does take up a special place in your life,” I tell her, rolling my eyes.

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.” She looks at George, love clear in her eyes. “There’s something in arguing about modern-day prose, and who gets to pick up after the dog, that’s kept the spark going more than forty years.”

Matt comes next to me, his hand on my lower back. “Let me show you around.”

I nod, unable to form a sentence, too distracted by the warms of his palm seeping through the denim. I hate that my body is reacting this way.

Keep it together. This is not impressive, this is… books, I think.

But then his lips graze my ear as he whispers, “Bet you thought the ones in my bedroom were fake.”

He guides me through the neatly stacked shelves, pausing to through the history section.