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“This is an antique store.” Piper glares at me.
I look down at her, hands on my waist and trying to look scary. “Didn’t we get everything I need?”
Sure, she’s going to back off when a SEAL, who’s at least half a foot taller than her, stares at her with a murderous look, right? Nope. Piper snorts. “Not at all. We need shelves for your books.”
Books?
“If I want to read, I use my phone or my tablet. Books are a thing of the past.”
She gasps dramatically. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that, blasphemous man.”
“E-readers save forests.”
“Sure, but you have to have your favorite books on a shelf,” she argues. “And what if someone visits you, and there’s nothing to read?”
“Why are they coming to read at my house? Who is visiting?”
“It could be one of your brothers, maybe your father, should they plan to stay with you for the weekend.”
I laugh. “Doubtful.”
“Why?”
“My family hates me.”
She blinks a couple of times and sighs, probably disappointed in me or life. “Oh, well then, a friend?”
“I don’t have any of those.”
“How about the members of your platoon?” she whispers, and I’ve noticed she’s pretty discreet about that part of my life.
“Most of them are deployed or live and work in Virginia Beach or San Diego. I doubt they’ll want to spend their free time visiting me and reading books.”
She snickers. “I guess we’ll find you new friends.”
“So they can enjoy my books?”
Piper narrows her gaze. “Are you mocking me?”
“You fixate on the weirdest things.”
“No, only on what matters to me,” she clarifies.
“I take it you like books.”
“Love them.”
I study her. “Do you just read, or are you planning to make writing your third career?”
She smiles, looking everywhere but at me. “I doodle some.”
“Don’t tell me. You’re an author too?”
She waves a hand and walks toward an old oak bookcase. “This has character.”
“So, you write books in your nonexistent spare time?”
“We can also buy some unfinished bookcases and stain them.”
