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"I love it. Books are my escape." I took a sip of my chai and smiled at him. "They let me be anyone — it's a little rebellion from all the things everyone thinks I should be, you know?"
"I do. And you're in the right place," Colby said, a grin breaking free. "Because that's what we're all about here. Escapes. Rebellions. When you're done with your snack, I'll show you around."
We talked a little more as he cleaned up the kitchen area and I drank my latte. Then Colby led me back through the shop, showing me his favorite little treasures. We shared bits of ourselves between the stacks. I felt a real connection to him,and it burned fast and hot, which only made me more confused about what I'd felt for Gunnar Malloy.
"Favorite genre?" I quizzed, challenging him, craving his response.
"Erotica, or erotic romance," he confessed without hesitation, his voice a velvet dare. "The power dynamics, the sexual exploration — it's raw and real, the kind of deep connection I crave for myself someday."
My cheeks heated. His honesty stripped me bare, leaving me feeling exposed. I never talked about that with anyone, not even Shay, who knew what I liked to read but didn't quite understand it.
"Me too," I breathed, picking up a book by a favorite author and flipping through it.
"And comedy," he added, easing the tension. "I do love to laugh."
Our conversation started again, easy and unforced. With each shared interest, each mirrored experience, the bond between us grew. Was this something I could have with a man like Gunnar? Gunnar and I didn't talk. We didn't get to know each other. We operated on lust, raw and pure.
"What are you doing in town?" Colby asked, as we rounded the corner, back into the coffee shop. I leaned against the counter and smiled at him.
"The KHZY bachelor thing. One of the bachelors picked me," I said.
"No! You're kidding! Which one?" Colby exclaimed.
"Jay Malloy."
Colby frowned, his brows pushing together. "Jay Malloy entered the bachelor contest?"
"Yeah. Why? Is he not single?"
"Nah, but with Wanda and Daisy here, I hear all the gossip. Wanda is Jay's grandmother, and as far as I know, Jay Malloy is in love with a man." He blinked. "Shit, I hope I'm not, like, breaking your heart or anything."
"Oh my god, no. The date was a disaster," I groaned. "And not just because of my carnation allergy."
Colby smirked. "Carnation allergy? That's a new one."
"Pollen from certain flowers sort of closes up my lungs and makes me swell up like a balloon. If there are one or two carnations, I sneeze a bit, but if there's a lot of them, it's a trip to urgent care. And Jay had hundreds."
Colby leaned forward. "Something about that doesn't compute — Jay Malloy and hundreds of carnations? I must know why."
"They were everywhere. All over the Malloy Customs shop. Like a carnation bomb had gone off in there."
"Why?"
"Fuck if I know. I think he wanted to advertise the motorcycle shop, and he wanted it to look romantic for social media. He went a little overboard." It was nice to laugh about it, it released some of the tension I'd been feeling when I came in.
"Shit, I gotta see that. Did Jay post it to the Malloy Customs socials?" He reached for his phone, scrolling to Instagram. "Oh my god, he did. Insane! I would have had an allergic reaction to this, too, on principle!"
I giggled, taking the phone from him and scrolling through the photos, freezing when I landed on one of Gunnar and Jay with their bikes. I quickly blew out a breath and closed the phone, handing it back to Colby.
The bell above the door jangled, pulling us from our cocoon of intimate conversation. A couple wandered in, greeting Colby by name. Colby straightened, his eyes flickering to mine before he turned to greet them with a warmth that filled the small space.
"Morning, Greg, Bonnie," he called out. "What can I get for you today?"
"Two mocha lattes, please, to go," the man requested, his hand finding the small of the woman's back. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and stepped away, picking up a book on a shelf.
"Coming right up." Colby moved behind the counter with an ease and grace that spoke of familiarity. His hands worked the machine like an artist, steam hissing and milk frothing into creamy perfection.
"That's a good one," I said, then realized I was in her way. I brushed a lock of dark hair behind my ear, suddenly self-conscious, as I backed off a little.
