Page 6 of His Sacrifice

He turned his head toward me, and my stomach dropped to my feet. My god, he was handsome. I would have thought I was dreaming if I hadn’t known better. He had a chiseled jawline that could cut glass, and his deep mahogany eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. His dark hair was neatly styled, complementing his perfectly tailored slacks and crisp white button-down shirt. He had an air of confidence and sophistication that made him blend effortlessly with the uptown crowd of Chicago that wandered in and out of the store.

“Just browsing,” he replied, his voice smooth and warm like honey. He smiled, and I felt my knees weaken.

“Well, Colleen Hoover is a great choice,” I managed to say, trying to steady my voice. “She’s got a way of pulling you into her stories. I also have a mile-long list of other authors you could try.”

“Is that so?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Any recommendations?”

“Uh, yeah,” I stammered, my mind racing. “Maybe start with ‘It Ends with Us.’ It’s one of her best.” It was the only book I could think of, even though there was a display of her books right in front of me. Talk about being tongue-tied.

“Thanks,” he said, flashing me another dazzling smile. “I’ll give it a look.”

As the man turned back to the books, I couldn’t help but steal another look at him. His side profile was just as breathtaking—his strong jawline, slightly aquiline nose, and the way his lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks made my heart flutter. Butterflies filled my stomach, a sensation I hadn’t experienced because of a man before. At least, not a man who wasn’t fictional.

“Are you really looking for a romance book?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

The man glanced at me, his eyes sparkling with a hint of amusement. “Looking for something for my mother. Her birthday is next month.” He grabbed a copy of ‘It Ends with Us.’ “Do you suppose this is something your mother would like to read?”

“Uh, well,” I stammered, feeling a bit flustered under his gaze. “My mother isn’t really the reading type. She’s more into... crafts.” I suppose you could call my mother’s hobbies crafts. Reading certainly wasn’t something she did these days.

The man put down the book and stepped toward me, closing the distance between us. I felt a rush of warmth and tried to suppress a nervous smile.

“Crafts, huh?” he said, his voice smooth and inviting. “My mom’s pretty eclectic, too, but she loves a good story. Maybe I’ll go with something else.”

I nodded, feeling a bit more at ease. “There are plenty of other options. Do you know what kind of stories she likes?”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “She enjoys stories about strong women, overcoming challenges, that sort of thing. Do you have any recommendations?”

I thought for a moment, scanning the shelves. “Well, if she likes stories about strong women, maybe something like ‘The Nightingale’ by Kristin Hannah. It’s a powerful story set during World War II about two sisters and their struggles.”

His eyes lit up. “That sounds perfect. Thanks for the suggestion.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, feeling a sense of satisfaction. “It’s one of my favorites.”

He smiled, and I felt that familiar flutter in my stomach again. “I’ll take your word for it. I’m Creed, by the way.”

“Jada,” I replied, extending my hand. His firm yet gentle grip sent a tingle up my arm.

“Nice to meet you, Jada,” he said, his voice like warm honey. “Do you work here, or are you just really knowledgeable about books?”

I laughed softly. “I work here. But I do love books. They’ve always been a big part of my life. I actually own Happily Ever After.”

“That’s great,” he said, genuinely interested. “I wish I had more time to read. My life is rather busy these days.”

“I get that,” I nodded. “But it’s nice to escape into a good story every now and then.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed. “Maybe I should make more time for it.”

“You should,” I encouraged. “It’s worth it.”

He glanced around the store, then back at me. “So, do you have any hidden gems I should know about? For myself this time.”

I smiled, feeling a bit more confident. “Well, what kind of stories do you like? I’m sure I have something that might interest you.”

“Hmm,” he mused, crossing his arms and leaning casually against the bookshelf. “I guess I like a mix of things. Thrillers, a bit of sci-fi, and even some historical fiction. As long as it’s well-written and engaging, I’m in. I can’t even tell you the last time I read a book the whole way through, so I’m open to anything.”

“That’s a good range,” I said, scanning the shelves again. “If you’re into thrillers, you might enjoy ‘Gone Girl’ by Gillian Flynn. It’s a real page-turner with lots of twists. For sci-fi, maybe ‘Dune’ by Frank Herbert. It’s a classic. And for historical fiction, ‘All the Light We Cannot See’ by Anthony Doerr is beautifully written.”

Creed’s eyes widened. “You really know your stuff. Those all sound amazing.”

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