Page 50 of Driven Daddy

Now that we weren’t in the shadows, I noted the reddish brown of her dress. The memory of the soft fabric made my throat dry. Her blond hair was artfully arranged around her shoulders with that wispy fringe of bangs that made her face even more…there was no other word thanelven.

She could have walked out of the pages of a fantasy novel.

And I’d absolutely fucked up with her.

I set the boxes beside the table and shoved them under the cloth, well versed in signings. “Right.” I glanced at the double names. “Just you?”

She stiffened. I wasn’t sure how she could be any more rigid, but her fingers curled around her chair until the skin around her wine-colored nails went white. Hell, had I stepped on another landmine?

“Any other ways to slice me open today?”

Colette’s gaze swung to Rita, her eyes wide.

I held my hands up. “I didn’t mean anythin?—”

“Why no,” she whispered furiously, “I’m here alone. It’s obviously just how it should be, right?”

My stomach dropped. Fuck.

Colette touched her arm soothingly.

“Why don’t you go over there with your dark and chaotic knight. Oh, so dark and manly with his perpetual nihilism. Very well rounded. I’ll just stay over here in my lovely romance world where everything is light and soft. Surely I couldn’t have a deep and meaningful scene with romance, right?”

I moved back a step. The zinger was sharp and accurate. When I turned around, I noted all the people in line with her books versus mine. It was plentiful, but the difference was very apparent.

And much of the rest was for Ryan.

Which was amazing.

True, a small town wasn’t exactly the market share for my readership. Just another sharp bit of truth for my day.

I moved to Ryan’s table, pasting a smile on my face. “Hey, Ry. I see you got the shipment of your guys.” I took a soft plushie Sylvie out of the basket. Her sweet fox face had been surprisingly perfectly captured on the huggable pillow kind of plushie that had taken the world by storm.

“PMS is tired of storing these guys in the garage.”

PMS was her snarky nickname for her partner, Preston Shaw, a local lawyer in the next town over, Kensington Square.

She grinned up at me from the table. She sat back a little, all of her witchy things glittering along with a tarot deck beside her. “Actually, that’s a lie. Preston has built a freaking storage unit for them and the last of the books I had on hand. Actually built. With a drill. I’m not sure what’s happening with my guy these days. Hanging with his renovating friends too much, I guess.”

“I expected him to be here.”

“Oh, he will be. He’s fighting the crowds at the coffee shop. Sent me a snap of the line.” She pitched her voice low. “I wasn’t expecting this turnout. I’m not sure I have enough books.”

“I know it. I’m sending Larsen to the house for the last few cases I have in my mom’s garage. I had them sent up, just in case.”

Relief smoothed her face. “Thank the goddess.”

This wasn’t the place to mention that I wasn’t sure I could fulfill the preorders. I had to put my burgeoning love life on the back shelf of my brain. Handily, Rita had used a scythe to take care of the worst of that.

“We’ll just try to make sure everyone here is happy, yeah? If we run out, we’ll offer a discount to preorder.”

Digging myself a further hole wasn’t the best idea, but it was all I had.

“Good. I like a plan.”

I arched a brow. “Since when?”

Ryan grinned. “Since PMS. I’ve learned having a few plans are good for me.”

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