Page 36 of That Time I Kissed My Beachfront Boss

“See?” He squares his shoulders, and his eyes sparkle. “I’m learning from you already.”

I take a beat, and lay a hand over my heart. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For asking my opinion. For thinking I might appreciate a library here at the inn.” I glance at the empty shelves thinking back to my days at school. “You know, English was always my favorite subject, but I didn’t exactly publicize that fact.” My mouth angles sharply. “Being a scholar was Darby’s claim to fame, and I wasn’t about to compete with her. Besides.” I turn back to Hudson. “Loving books wasn’t part of my brand.” I put the word “brand” in air quotes.

“Yeah. Me either. I didn’t really start reading until a few years ago. That’s when it became an escape from my job—which I didn’t love. Understatement.”

“Funny. That’s when I stopped reading.” I wrinkle my nose. “I got too focused on my job. But before then, I was obsessed with books.”

“So we took opposite trajectories. For the record, I’ve blown through all your cousin Brady’s B.R. Graham mysteries. Some I’ve read more than once. They’re really great.”

“That’s amazing.” I meet Hudson’s gaze. “Mysteries aren’t my thing, but I’ve probably read Jane Eyre a dozen times.”

“A dozen?”

“At least. Not that I’m trying to one-up you and your B.R. Graham track record.” I let out a soft chuckle. “But I fell in love with Jane Eyre back in high school. And even after I figured out parts of the story could be … ummm … problematic, it’s still my favorite. I guess I’m nostalgic like that.”

“A problematic classic?” Hudson guffaws. “Get in line, Jane Eyre.”

“Right?” I turn to brush a finger along one rung of the ladder. “Anyway, I’m a sucker for the Bronte sisters.”

“Who?”

“Charlotte, Emily, and Anne.” I face him again. “The Brontes.”

Hudson’s lip edges up. “There’s three of them?”

“They had a brother too.”

“Well, that’s kind of coincidental.”

“Or … maybe not. Maybe that’s why I like their family so much.” I lean back against the shelf. “Mostly, though, I just like the romance of it all.”

“Interesting.” Hudson stifles a smirk. “I’m more of a Stephen King guy myself.”

“Ha! Then you might actually like Wuthering Heights. That’s Emily’s book. She’s the middle sister—basically the ham in the Bronte sandwich.” I take a beat. “Kind of like me, come to think of it.”

Hudson’s mouth crooks. “You’re the ham of the McCoy triplets?”

“If the lunchmeat fits.” I shrug. “Either way, Wuthering Heights is full of death and ghosts and hauntings.”

“Ahhhh.” Hudson nods. “So it’s a real feel-good story.”

“Let’s just say Catherine and Heathcliff’s relationship is … complicated. They have this instant attraction, but their relationship is doomed from the start.”

“Oof.” He clutches his chest, in exaggerated pain. “And you like that kind of story?”

“You like Stephen King?”

“Heh. Point taken.” He pauses for a beat. “And by the way, I’m not surprised you love books. At all.”

I study his face, assessing his expression. He seems sincere, like he’s not even teasing me.

“Someone as smart as you must read a lot,” he adds.

I blink. “You think I’m smart?”

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