Page 15 of The Roommate Lie

We hurry a few blocks across town, stopping at a bakery along the way to pick up something called Gold Rush cupcakes. Then we’re standing in front of the strangest row of shops I’ve ever seen. An entire block that looks like it’s straight out of a cowboy western on TV.

“Where are we?”

That question comes out breathless, but I can’t help it. I feel like Dorothy when she got her first glimpse of Oz. Or Charlie is the White Rabbit, and I’ve followed him into Wonderland.

He gestures to the whole block before pointing out one building in particular. “This is Old Town, and that’s where we meet for book club.”

This man actually goes to a book club? I figured that was another lie, an excuse to get us out of the bus station after his boss showed up. But this is better than a lie.

Every word he said feels magical, and I take it one marvel at a time. Adorable street first. “Old Town?”

“Ponderosa Falls was a mining settlement during the Gold Rush, and this was our first official Main Street…before it burned down.”

He points to the buildings on the right. “That side mostly survived the fire. Our town historical society had the buildings restored, so they could turn them into a museum. But that side of the street”—his hand sweeps to the left—“burned to the ground. It didn’t get rebuilt until the 1920s, after we got a generous donation from a bootlegger who was hiding out in Colorado from the cops. Now it’s just regular restaurants and shops.”

Again, a lot of amazing words came out of that man’s mouth all at once, and they echo in my head. Words like “historical society” or “generous donation from a bootlegger.” I pick my favorite tidbit first, going nice and slow. Lest I faint from delight.

“Half of it is a history museum?” I love history almost as much as I love books, sometimes more, and nothing could make me happier than a museum in the middle of nowhere. Finding a small-town gem like that is like finding buried treasure.

Charlie nods. “It’s one of those places where the staff dresses up, and it’s like one big reenactment. We used to go on field trips here in elementary school.”

Be still, my heart.

Period costumes?

Reenactments?

“A living history museum?” I practically swoon right there on the sidewalk, and Charlie bites back a grin.

“If you play your cards right, maybe we can stop by the museum before I take you to the bus station tomorrow.Maybe.If we have time.”

Oh, we’ll have time.I give Charlie my best hopeful look, batting my eyelashes and everything. He chuckles before glancing away.

It takes two seconds for my nervous system to kick in, reminding me that batting my eyelashes at a stranger is probably a mistake. It’s only been a few hours since we met. The last thing I need is him getting the wrong idea. Normally, I don’t have any problem being careful around new guys, but something about Charlie keeps making me forget.

Focus, Alice.

Remember your training.

I’m the daughter of Jeffrey “Self Defense is the Best Defense” Kilpatrick; caution might as well be my middle name. But too much has happened today. I’ve been so exhausted, I haven’t had the energy to worry about Charlie or stranger danger. Though now I’m ready to make up for lost time.

As we wait to cross the street, a rush of anxiety blooms in my stomach. A feeling that only grows as we stand there side by side—probably because I’ll be spending the night at Charlie’s house.

He offered to let me stay with him on our walk across town, and I’m amazed how quickly I said yes. How I didn’t even question it until now. As if that man could make any bad idea sound good.

That anxious feeling almost swallows me whole. But then Charlie glances over when it’s time to cross the road, and my fears fade a little. His Gilbert Blythe eyes are just that friendly.

He leads the way to the bookstore, but I stop when I notice the sign in the front window that announces today’s event.

Cold Nights, Warm Books: A Christmas Romance Book Club

As much as I love every word on that sign, I know it has to be a mistake. Holiday romances are my weakness, but I’m sure they aren’t his. “I think you got your dates mixed up. Tonight is romance night.”

Charlie only shrugs. He’s balancing two trays of cupcakes with a skateboard under his arm, and he struggles to open the door. I lunge to help, scurrying after him when he ducks inside.

I don’t regret it.

The shop is called The BookSlinger, and it’s even better once you walk in, the old western facade out front giving way to a bookstore that looks like it’s nestled in an old saloon. Everything is dark and cozy around us, from the thick velvet drapes to the polished wood floor and brass fixtures. The mahogany bookshelves against the walls reach all the way to the ceiling while shorter bookshelves create a neat maze throughout the room. There’s even an old bar up front where the cash register is, framed by a long row of barstools. As if you could sit at the counter all day and chat with the woman who runs the place.

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