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"It isnota date! It's dinner. With me and my aunt. And you hacking mahjong so my crazy aunt can beat a lady in a nursing home," I add hastily. Just in case he forgot that part.
Somehow, his grin grows even wider.
"Please go away now," I groan, pressing my hands to my flaming cheeks.
He laughs all the way back to his table.
Chapter Four
Finn
"I'mcoming!"Scarlettshoutsthrough the front door when I knock twice.
"I wish," I mutter, scrubbing a hand through my short hair. I can't remember the last time I was this nervous. Or this fucking hard-up. Scarlett Crawford's reading list is slowly torturing me. Especially that book she gave me today. It's not hard to see why it's her favorite. The characters jump off the pages. Unfortunately, so do the sex scenes. They're layered with emotion and scorching hot.
Reading those while Scarlett bustled around the bookstore all afternoon had me ready to start breaking furniture. Luckily, Rafe came in and dragged me out of there to talk before I did something rash. It helped, but not much. By the time the shop closed, my cock had permanent marks from my zipper. I jerked off twice in the shower before driving over here, and he's still throbbing for release.
It's all Scarlett's fault.
My little bookworm has more layers than 256-bit encryption.
She aches to explore the carnal things she reads about but holds herself back. Out of fear? Because she hasn't found the right one? I think there's more to it than that. She craves love on that soul-deep level but is afraid to open herself up to it. Her heart is her greatest treasure, and she guards it closely, afraid to have it broken. My little bookworm is afraid to let herself need anyone because she's terrified she won't be needed in return. She doesn't want to be rejected.
I haven't just been reading her books. I've been reading her, learning what she likes and why. I plan to know every line she hides behind that beautiful cover. You can learn a lot about people through what they read and the characters they relate to. She relates to the outsiders, the heroines who haven't had it easy and ache to find their place in the world. She doesn't know it yet, but she's already found hers. It's right here in Silver Spoon Falls with me. I'm the man meant to be her home. If she's looking for her happily ever after, she's already found it. She's already foundme.
I feel that certainty in my bones. She's my one, my dream woman. She's shy and sweet but can be sassy and full of mischief too. She's also clever as a little fox and knows everything there is to know about books. Watching her with customers is fascinating to me. There isn't a genre she doesn't know, hasn't read, or can't recommend. It doesn't matter what a customer comes in searching for, she never judges, and they always leave smiling.
My favorite time of day is when it's just the two of us in the store. Conversation with her always flies hot and fast. Talking to her is effortless, and that's saying something considering that I don't talk to most people. I usually spend my time locked in my office, focused on work. Yet I haven't gotten a damn thing done since I set eyes on Scarlett. For the first time in years, work is the furthest thing from my mind. Scarlett occupies every square inch of space.
"Oh, hey," she says, nearly tumbling out the door when she pulls it open. She's breathless and flushed, peeking up at me from beneath her lashes. "You're early."
A slow grin stretches across my face. "It's five minutes until seven, pretty baby."
"I can tell time, Super-spy Finn Taylor," she sasses, flapping a hand in the air. "We said seven thirty."
"No, you said seven."
"I did n…" Her eyes grow wide. "Shoot. I did say seven. Why did I say seven?"
"Because you couldn't wait that extra half hour to see me again."
"If your head gets any bigger, you're going to flip that pretty bike out there," she says, batting her lashes at me. "Physics, you know."
"The head between my shoulders isn't the one I'm worried about, Scarlett Crawford from Gatsby Books," I growl, smirking at her. "It's the other one in danger over here. Your fault, by the way. Entirely your fault."
Her cheeks turn pink.
I love that color on her.
I lean forward, eager to feel the heat in them against my lips. "He gets bigger every time I look at you, pretty baby," I whisper against her skin. "You're too damn beautiful for words."
The way her breath catches might be my favorite sound.
"These are for you," I say, presenting the bouquet of flowers to her with a flourish.
"Oh, wow," she whispers, reaching out to touch a petal and then quickly pulling her hand back. "Please tell me you didn't destroy a good book to make these."
"Nope. Devin made them from that fucking bullshit book you had me reading this morning." I scowl at the memory. After reading only a handful of mafia romances, I won't pretend to be an expert on the dark romance genre, but I'm smart enough to comprehend the difference between dark romance and overt misogyny. "The words on those pages have thorns, pretty baby. So we turned them into roses."
