Page 31 of Billionaire's Bookworm

“My point exactly.” I pulled out a scone and tossed it to Porky, who caught it mid-air. The traitor immediately stopped growling and sat down to enjoy his treat. “See? Even your floofy guard dog approves.”

Emma crossed her arms, but I could tell she was holding back a smile. “You can’t just bribe your way into everything with baked goods.”

“Watch me.” I grabbed her coffee and held it out. “Triple shot oat milk mocha latte, extra hot, no foam, extra chocolate. Just the way you like it.”

She blinked. “How did you?—“

“I pay attention.” More than she knew. More than I probably should. Also, I might have asked Sandy to spill the beans.

Her fingers brushed mine as she took the coffee, and I tried my best to ignore the little zing that shot through me at the contact.Morning wood time is over, James. Cool it.

“Fine,” she sighed, taking a sip and closing her eyes in bliss. “You can stay. But one wrong move, one inappropriate comment—or attempt to kiss me—and you’re out. These are kids, Wade.”

“Says the woman who kissed me back senseless in front of the entire town at the chili cook-off,” I teased.

Her cheeks flushed pink. “That was a failure in good judgement. And you started it.”

“I’m wounded.” I pressed a hand to my chest. “I’ll have you know I’m excellent with children. And perfectly capable of keeping my hands to myself. In public. Most of the time.”

She arched an eyebrow. “That last part is debatable, Playboy. And do tell. When was the last time you actually spent time with a child?”

Before I could answer, the bell chimed again. A woman with two young girls entered, both kids clutching worn picture books to their chests.

“Miss Emma!” the smaller one squealed, rushing forward. She stopped short when she saw me, suddenly shy.

Emma’s whole demeanor transformed, softening into something that made my chest weirdly tight.Damn. Ryker was right. I’ve got it bad.

“Sophie! Hannah! I’m so glad you made it.” She crouched down to their level. “What books did you bring today?”

As the girls eagerly showed off their selections, more families started trickling in. The reading circle Emma had set up quickly filled, and kids spilled onto the nearby bean bags and floor cushions. I counted at least fifteen children, ranging from toddlers to what looked like third or fourth graders.

Silvy appeared from the back room, her usual confident demeanor looking slightly rattled. “The Williams family just called. They’re bringing their twins’wholeplaygroup.”

“What?” Emma’s eyes widened. “That’s another eight kids. We don’t have enough?—“

“I’ll grab more cushions from storage,” I offered, already heading toward what I assumed was the back room.

“Third shelf on the left,” Silvy called after me. “Behind the Christmas decorations.” She shot Emma a knowing look that I pretended not to see, but my lips curved in a satisfied smile.

The storage room was organized chaos, exactly what you’d expect from a bookstore. I found the cushions easily enough, but paused when I spotted something else: a box labeled “Story Props.” Inside were various hats, scarves, and what looked like puppet-making supplies.

A plan started to form and the smile on my face grew wider.

When I returned with the cushions, the store had transformed into controlled mayhem. Parents lined the walls, coffee in hand, while kids jostled for prime spots in the reading circle. Emma stood in the center, looking mildly overwhelmed but maintaining her composure like a champ.

I distributed the cushions, then caught her eye. “Need a hand?”

She hesitated, then offered a slight nod. “Could you... maybe help keep the younger ones engaged while I read? Sometimes they get restless.”

“Leave it to me.” I settled cross-legged on the floor near a cluster of toddlers. Porky, to everyone’s surprise, flopped down beside me with a contented huff. I shot the dog a considering look and he gazed back at me, entirely unperturbed. Maybe my scone bribes were finally making an impact.

Emma picked up the first book – “Where the Wild Things Are” – and began to read. Her voice was perfect for storytelling, rising and falling with the rhythm of the words, bringing Max’s adventure to life.

But I noticed some of the younger kids starting to fidget. Time to put my plan into action.

“Hey,” I whispered to the closest toddler, a little boy with untied shoelaces. “Want to help me find the Wild Things?”

His eyes lit up. I made a show of peering around corners and under cushions, encouraging the other restless ones to join our quiet “hunt.” Soon, I had a small crew of monster-seekers, all staying engaged with the story while burning off energy through our subtle game.

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