Page 35 of When the Angel Falls First

“That would be great, Fred. Any time.”

They smiled at each other, the first genuine warmth I’d seen between the two of them all night.

“Great. You two drive safe.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to leave but then stopped. “I’m really happy for you, sis.”

“Thanks, Fred. That means a lot.” She nodded and leaned heavily into my side as Fred continued to stroll back inside.

Josie trembled in my arms as we walked to the car. Today felt like so much more than just a party for family reconciliation, more even than a fake relationship to appease the parents. So much more than a deal between friends to help each other out.

I squeezed Josie tighter, and she squeezed me right back. There was something far too fulfilling, far toorightabout having her in my arms.

FIFTEEN

Josie

Morning sunbeams playedtag with the weathered sign of the Bookish Cat as I unlocked the door. The scent of musky paper from this week’s still-unopened delivery of new books from England, laced with a hint of vanilla from the incense I kept in the back, rolled out to greet me.

And so did three cats.

“What are you doing here? How did you get in?” I had left them snoozing in the morning sun at home, but sure as day, they were lounging on various shelves, indifferent to my arrival.

The question of how they managed that magic trick couldn’t distract me from the real issue weighing on my mind.

An intoxicating memory clung to my senses—the taste of last night’s fateful change of direction…

Caleb’s kiss.

Just the thought of it brought wetness to the lace panties I’d picked with care this morning. I had zero plans of showing them to anyone—least of all, Caleb—but something about yesterday reminded me that I was a woman. I needed to feelthat sensation on my skin, in my veins—my pussy was crying out for more attention than I’d given it in years.

My fingers wandered down, slipping beneath the waistband of my jeans. Just the slightest of touches was all I would allow. I was on the clock, after all. And I wasn’t afraid to admit that I kind oflikedthe torture.

I navigated through the maze of towering bookshelves with practiced ease, since I set up every single part of the store. Each book was a world unto itself, humming with stories untold. That kiss awoke a part of me I’d forgotten about, the part where I got myownlove story. I found myself echoed in the books that surrounded me—in heroines who dared to love, in heroes who left, in plot twists that unraveled in the wake of a single, fateful kiss.

God, it had felt like fate.Over the last seven years, I’d let myself forget how he did that to me. But being around him changed something inside of me, too. I was damn proud of everything I’d built since he left, but his presence made me want more out of life.

I ran my hand overLittle Womenbecause I’d been bold like Jo, who dared to defy societal norms and love freely. A few shelves away, I tappedThe Book Thief, where Rudy Steiner’s steadfastness reflected the essence of Caleb. The wrenching plot twists and single fateful kisses inThe History of Lovewere a perfect fit for what was happening between Caleb and me. Alma Singer definitely knew what she was talking about when she wrote that.

The shop had been my escape, but now I saw our love story reflected in books from left to right, from classics to philosophy, fantasy to romance. As for the stack of Highlander steamy romances? I flipped through the pages a little too long this morning.

Behind thecounter, I lingered, the weight of my thoughts pressing against the silent anticipation of opening the store in five minutes. My fingers found the power button on the tablet, but my mind was lost in the labyrinth of last night.

The vivid taste of that kiss lingered—taking me back to our love affair in Federal Way seven years ago, when I was sure of my future and the fact that he was it.

His touch, the smell of his skin, the sound of his whispered affections all surged back as if carried on a rogue wave crashing into the shore of my quiet life.

And there goes my pussy throbbing for him again.

But beyond this inexplicable physical reaction I had at the mere thought of him, his touch ignited questions that I had buried deep within the corners of my heart.

Why now? Why here? Why did every fiber of my being lean into him despite the chasm of years spent apart? One kiss shouldn’t be able to do so much.

Stories from the past and present tangled together, long-forgotten love letters and stolen kisses resurfacing from the depths of my guarded heart. Lovemaking that had lasted for hours and days as if the world were ending. The past had strolled into my present, uninvited, through a door I thought I’d bolted shut.

The soft ping of my tablet pulled me out of my illicit thoughts.

“Nana Geraldine” flashed across the screen, and I composed myself before swiping to answer the video call. Her beaming face framed by a wide-brimmed sunflower hat was there waiting for me.

“Nana, you’re up early after the big party!”

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