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“So, we have the classics, Shakespeare, Faulkner, Allende and so on.” She points to a book site’s cart. “I thought it would be nice to have those in leather bound editions, so they last a long time. But I added some current popular pieces, and then some complete collections, like the “Harry Potter” series. I thought we could have a small picture book section, since some of your guests will have kids.”
“I like it when you talk literary to me.”
Her gaze skitters, and she clears her throat again. Her tongue flicks her lips before continuing, her forehead lined with a scowl. “Then there’s the matter of where to put them all.”
I need to slow the flirting for now. And figure out a way to help her maximize the embarrassingly tight space we’ve given her.
“It’s more visually appealing to have the books spread out on the shelves,” she says. “To have some forward facing and to put little decorative items on the shelves. You don’t want this massive block of books with titles you can barely read.”
“You don’t?”
She clicks her tongue. “No. You haven’t visited Scott lately, have you?”
I hadn’t and I regret it. There are so many things I regret.
“Can I come over there soon?” I ask.
She stares at me before nodding. “I’d love for you to come.” My heart starts beating faster at her nearness. She turns back to her computer screen. “The thing I’d love to try is sort of the same way a bookstore displays their books. You want to make everything visually appealing. And if we had more space, we could even provide a sitting area for kids, too. Maybe a small set of table and chairs…and a bean bag…”
She frowns as she trails off and I know she’s realizing there’s no room for that. This resort library thing was just supposed to be one little amenity. Sebastian never meant to hire a consultant.
But Sophie’s vision has gotten a hold of me, and I want her to dream bigger, like those resort libraries she showed me online. I don’t want Tate International’s to be small and weak. And I’ve done her wrong by not pushing Sebastian more on this.
I’ve done her wrong in a lot of ways over the years.
I plan to rectify that, if she’ll let me.
“Hey, Carpets Plus is here.” I point as two men carry in a rolled-up rug on their shoulders. It’s plush and the lightest shade of pink they had. I want her to be able to slip her shoes off and enjoy it.
Her mouth drops open. “You got me a rug?”
“Of course.” I want to trace the curve of her cheek, but I shouldn’t do that type of thing at work. I also resist the desire to thread my fingers through the hair at her scalp. “I want you to be comfortable.”
The carpet people have laid the rug down. She slips her shoes off even before she reaches it. “Ooooh. Yeah. Oh yeah. This isalright.” She smiles at me, and her nerves and cautiousness melt away. Her gaze is raw and filled with desire.
Yes. Yes, it is alright. It’s all good. I just have to figure out how to either find a way to stay here in Longdale with Sophie from now on, or, better yet, convince her, somehow, to come to Capri with me.
Chapter 19
Oliver
I’m at a book show in Denver with Sophie and it’s the best time I’ve ever had.
Don’t tell my brothers this. They’d take offense that a book show is more exciting than our Swedish cruise last year where we saw the Northern Lights while eating calamari. But it is.
Book shows? Huh. I didn’t even know they existed.
Turns out they’re like a mix between a tradeshow, bookstore and Comic Con, complete with nerds dressed up in literary character costumes and where authors are treated like celebrities getting high on praise from their massive fans.
I don’t know whether to walk around shushing all the librarians or go get in line and gush over some writer’s book signing.
Sophie’s in heaven. This is her element—her Super Bowl of the librarian world. She’s hugging people like they’re long-lost relatives, and I don’t think it’s exactly necessary to point this out, but Sophie’s by far the most beautiful librarian in the bunch. And there are a lot of librarians here.
It was a week ago that we kissed on the beach, the glow of the bonfire nothing compared to what I was feeling in my chest. Sophie’s kissing is something else. It’s a surprise wrapped up in your favorite t-shirt. Or sweatshirt to be exact, because she looked unbelievable that night.
Now, she’s in professional librarian clothes: a dark green blazer and skirt. I admit I’m excited by anything she wears.
We’ve been together every evening since the bonfire, hanging out at my place or hers until the most sensible thinking one—usually that’s Sophie—insists we call it a night. Saying goodbye is stupidly hard.
