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“How exactly?”
“She killed him.”
“She did not kill him.”
“Oh, come on! He absolutely could have fit on that door, but instead, she left the poor bastard in the freezing water to meet his doom. She wanted him dead. The woman was a killer.”
“If she really was a killer, she could have left him handcuffed to the pole, but instead, she freed him with the axe.”
“No, she missed when she swung the axe. She was aiming for his head.”
I burst out laughing, shaking my head. “You’re a cynic.”
“I’m a realist,” he counters.
“A realist who likes to watch romance movies?” I tease, smiling playfully, and his lips curl up with mirth.
“I have two sisters, and we have one TV. When they get hold of the remote, not only am I outnumbered, but my options are limited.”
“Uh-huh.” I nod, feigning belief. “Well, I think this book could change your mind on the whole ‘My Heart Will Go On’bullshit.”
“Oh really?” he asks, looking intrigued as I hold it up to him. “What’s it about?”
“Two people who are madly in love but are torn apart by the mistakes they made and the consequences of it. I honestly don’t want to spoil it, so I won’t say anymore but trust me, it’s good. I’ve read it three times.”
I place it on the table before us, and he examines the cover.
“Okay,” he decides. “But if I read that, then you have to read this.”
He passes over his book, and I pick it up, smoothing my hand over the glossy cover. “I must admit I am slightly intrigued. Is there any romance in it?”
“The characters are involved in relationships, but it doesn’t derive from the main plot. Wilbur Smith is a brilliant author. I have read just about everything he has written. I think he may be the guy to finally make you realize that you have been wasting your time on thiscontemporary romance bullshit.”
“Well, I thinkMcKinlay Millermay be the woman to finally make you realize that you have been missing out on thecontemporary romance bullshitall this time,” I retort.
“Touché.” He smirks, and I giggle.
“Shh,” someone hisses, and both our heads snap to Ms. Fletcher, the school librarian, standing in front of her book cart and scowling at us over the spectacles resting on the edge of her nose.
Ms. Fletcher is a widow in her late fifties who reminds me of Ms. Gulch fromThe Wizard of Oz.Her gray hair is slicked back into a tight bun. The pale blue blouse she is wearing is buttoned up to her neck, and the long skirt that reaches the floor closely resembles the carpet under her feet. The permanent scowl that is etched on her face often makes me wonder if she’s constipated.
Maybe that’s why she is grumpy all the time.
The poor woman really needs to go.
Putting a finger to her lips, she gives us another shush before turning around and marching down the aisle with her book cart.
My eyes swing to Mason, watching her walk away with his eyebrows raised. Turning his attention back on me, his face breaks into a wide smile, and my breath catches in my throat as I stare at his mouth. His luscious, thick lips are finally parted to reveal a set of perfect white teeth. I have never seen him smile like this before, and sweet baby Jesus, that is one hell of a smile.
Mason Reynolds is gorgeous.
Where has this guy been hiding all this time?
Closing his mouth, the smile transforms into a smirk as he regards me with an amused twinkle in his eyes. Suddenly feeling flustered and slightly embarrassed that he just caught me gawking at him, I quickly reach over and grab the book he gave me and start reading it.
He does the same, and we spend the rest of lunch reading quietly, both of us peering over our books occasionally and smiling at each other.
For the first time in weeks, I finally feel relaxed. I honestly don’t know whether it’s from Mason’s presence or the library’s peaceful atmosphere. All I do know is, the chronic tension that has had my stomach twisted into knots is suddenly gone, and I finally feel like I can breathe.
