Page 105 of Sweet Madness

“How do you know?” Shaw’s voice is husky.

I shrug again. “You look at me the way my father looks at my mom,” I whisper, taking a leap of faith and hoping my bluntness won’t drive him away.

“And how does your father look at your mom?”

“Like she’s the stars, the moon, and every galaxy to him.”

He stays quiet; the only sound is that of distant cars and the wind rustling.

I take a deep breath and focus on the books in front of me. Books, like cupcakes, are always a good idea—the solution to everything, in my humble opinion.

I spot a few books I’ve already read and some that are on my “To Be Read” list. Then my eyes land on a black and green book that my Aunt Kadra has read about a dozen times since it was released: Venomous Bonds by A.A. Turner.

Nobody knows the true identity of the author except their family and my Aunt Kadra. When I was younger, I overheard her talking to someone on the phone about this same book. She told the person on the other line that she couldn’t be prouder of them, and ever since I was a kid, I remember my Aunt buying more than one copy of every book the author has published.

The author is someone close to my aunt, but she will never reveal his or her identity. I think I might know who it is.

My attention shifts to a book next to it, with an illustrated cover featuring a grumpy businessman and a curvy girl with long blue hair dressed as a scientist, who looks up at him with a shy smile and flushed cheeks.

I let out a surprised shriek. How did I forget this book was coming out this month? I’d set an alarm and everything, but with everything that has happened, it must have slipped my mind.

I pick up the book and hug it close to my heart. Not only is it written by one of my and Aunt Mila’s favorite authors, but it’s also by the girl who haunted my cousin Azariel’s library. The Blueprint by Poe James.

It is an enemies-to-lovers romantic comedy between a multimillionaire and a quirky scientist.

My excitement is palpable as I clutch the book to my chest, my eyes no doubt sparkling with joy. “I’ve been dying to read this, Shaw,” I exclaim, turning to him as I bounce on my feet. “It’s finally out! Oh, my God.” I breathe out. I’d completely forgotten about it.

Shaw’s lips tuck up in a smile as he looks down at me. “That’s wonderful, darlin’,” he replies, genuinely pleased to see me happy.

It’s clear that Shaw is not a man who reads romance or smut, yet he’s never once made me feel bad about my taste in literature. Even now, despite not knowing the author or what the hell I’m talking about, he still smiles at me. Once, he seemed almost lifeless, and now look at him.

“Can you take a picture of me holding the book?” I ask eagerly, already positioning myself next to the dreamy bookmobile. My cheeks are flushed with excitement, and my hair is blowing in the wind.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, pulling out his phone and framing me within the lens. Happy as can be, I strike a pose, the book in one hand and my other hand gently resting on the car’s handle. The fairy lights cast a soft glow around me, adding to the magical atmosphere of the moment.

“Smile wide, moonshine,” he teases.

Laughing, I do.

After snapping the perfect shot, he tucks his phone back into his pocket and joins me by the bookmobile. I have always wanted to find one of these bookmobiles but never had luck. I have read online that readers can either buy the books or trade one of their own for one in the car. But I don’t see the owner anywhere, which seems odd—who would leave it unattended, risking theft of it and the books?

“It’s a charity.”

“What?” I ask, my thoughts interrupted by Shaw.

He nods toward the van. “Penny Cooper owns it and the bookstore in town. She sells books in her bookstore, but this bookmobile is for readers who can’t always afford to buy books from her store.”

“Isn’t she losing business by doing that?” I frown, confused by it all.

He shrugs. “I suppose she’s gaining something else.”

“What’s that?”

“The satisfaction of getting books into the hands of people who can’t afford them. It might surprise you how many kids lack the privilege of reading. Besides, I don’t think she’s doing all that bad—her store gets a lot of traffic. Just last Wednesday, a New York bestselling author hosted a meet-and-greet there.”

“That’s…,” I breathe out. “That’s so kind of her…”

Feeling inspired by the kind and charitable heart of Penny Cooper, I grab a piece of paper wedged between the books and a yellow highlighter that happens to be there and write a note for the owner. I tuck it between the rows of books, hoping she will find it when she returns.

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