Page 1 of Falling for Keeps

Emma

Bachelorette parties are the tenth level of the inferno. Past violence, fraud, and treachery, according to Dante and his journey to rescue his love. He thinks there should only be nine levels of hell, but I’ve found the tenth, and it involves off-key drunk singing, too many woo-girls, and soggy bar food.

Don’t get me started on the sashes draped over our shoulders. Since we’re a group of rowdy librarians, we can’t sport the typical I’m with the bride gear. No, that would be too normal. Ours say things like First Edition, The Reference Team, and Shelf Support.

My sash? Picture Book Princess.

It’s a step up from The Babysitter, which was evidently going to be my original description for the night. That was horrible, even if it’s true, since I’m the sober driver this evening. The silky one sliding down my shoulder now literally makes no sense. Not even the bride’s is clear. Hers is white and reads Head Librarian.

I don’t know who handed the maid of honor free rein and a Cricut, but they probably didn’t expect our two male librarians to show up at the bar in Burlington sporting Lord of the Library and Keeper of the Stacks.

We don’t even have that many stacks in our tiny, old building in our minuscule town of Autumn Ridge. My library is nothing compared to Burlington’s. We’re lucky if we get the hold request transfers we ask for.

I lean back in the booth against the squeaky, red vinyl seat and watch the bride, my good friend Demi, sing “Any Man of Mine” with my workplace nemesis, Maggie. I was invited up on stage with them, but singing Shania Twain to a crowd of strangers isn’t really my thing. Neither is wildly dancing in the dim bar like the rest of the bridal party.

Give me a stack of Dr. Seuss and a horde of under-tens, and I’m in my element.

Okay, maybe Picture Book Princess fits.

Bars late at night with drunk librarians, a soon-to-be bride, and too much smoke filtering in through the door for my asthmatic lungs to be comfortable isn’t what I’d call a good time. At what point is it socially acceptable for the designated driver to stop taking pictures and videos of the karaoke singers and pull out a book?

Especially when the guy constantly looking at me from the center of the dance floor was a mistake I made last year that I can’t ever undo. I should never have agreed to attend the librarian conference with Seth. The vibe and all the books and the new possible programs we’d get out of it went to my head. I made stupid decisions…like accepting his offer of dinner and making out to the tune of “Careless Whisper” at the after-hours mixer. George Michael really did me dirty.

At least Seth isn’t suffering since we ended things. He’s dancing right now all over the bride’s older sister.

Yeah, this warrants some reading time. I’m halfway through the book club book for this month anyway, and I need to finish it before my autumn responsibilities make it impossible to find time to read.

My glass of ice water is sweating all over the table, so I pick it up to take a sip just as a man slides onto the bench beside me. “Sorry I’m late.”

Water shoots to the back of my throat and promptly goes down the wrong pipe.

He hands me a napkin from the other side of the table. “You alright?”

“Asthma,” I blurt. It’s not our resident Lord of the Library or Keeper of the Stacks, and it’s not the groom. This guy has dark golden hair that glows beneath the pink overhead lights and a—holy mother of all things, it’s Carson Price.

He smiles at me briefly before bringing his drink to his lips and taking a sip, but his eyes linger on my face.

Does Demi even know Carson? She’s too young to have been in school with us, back when he was the starting quarterback of our football team and everyone’s favorite guy. I knew his sister, but Carson was so far above me on the social scale, I’d bet my second edition Sense and Sensibility he has no idea we’re even from the same small town thirty minutes south of here.

Buying time, I take another sip of water.

Carson leans back against the red pleather seat and lets out a weary sigh. He looks at the door every few seconds, then turns his striking green eyes on me. It’s hard to tell they’re green with all these pink lights, but I remember them from high school. That’s how beautiful they are.

The rest of my water disappears, so I set my glass on the table.

Carson studies my face. “You know, you don’t really look like your brother.”

“We get that a lot.” I wave my hand at my auburn hair. It used to be much brighter, but age has dulled it to more of a red-brown, and I keep it trimmed to my collarbone. I’m the opposite of my younger twin siblings in more ways than one. I push a lock of wavy hair out of my face.

How does he know my brother Dominic well enough to search for resemblances? And why hasn’t Dom told me they’re friends?

“How long have you been in town?” he asks.

This is so weird. Does he not know that I live right across the road from his mother? The last time I saw this man was from my front window when he came home for Christmas a few years ago with his wife and daughter…ex-wife, I guess. He looks just as powerful and confident now. His jaw is sharply angled and covered in a shadow of facial hair I wouldn’t mind running my hand over.

Okay, Emma, slow your roll. The mild crush I carried in high school is long dead. The only reason I’m feeling the least bit of butterflies is those old feelings knocking on the door and asking to be let back in. I’m Drew Barrymore in Never Been Kissed and this is my shot at reliving high school differently. I have no idea what Carson’s connection to Demi is, but he is single, and there’s a reason he’s sitting with me tonight. I’m not going to look this gift horse in the mouth.

Besides, that’s his job, anyway. The man is a dentist.