Page 12 of The Bookbinder's Guide to Love

Great. And the cards had pretty much said yes.

“Well, I’m fucked, then. Does it mean there’s more that Sitwell is keeping from me?”

“I’m not sure, but I thought you should know,” Liberty said. “If you want to take the afternoon off, I can handle the shop. I only have one reading left today and that’s not until five, and Merle can help out.”

“Is this a ploy to get me out of here so you can flirt with Merle?”

“If I wanted to flirt with him, I’d do it in front of you,” Liberty said with a laugh and then hugged her.

Sera hugged her friend back, for just a moment letting down the steel wall she kept around her heart, allowing Liberty to comfort her. Then she straightened and nodded. “I think I will take the rest of the afternoon.”

She left the shop, got in her restored ’79 MGB convertible, which was damned cold in winter, and drove through Birch Lake, feeling like she had no destination in mind, but her heart knew otherwise. She turned outside of town and headed up the hill toward Ford’s house. She wasn’t sure what she’d find until she saw a car parked in front of the house.

Wes hated being at his grandfather’s house alone. He needed to do something. He got up and walked to the stairs that led to the attic. Up there he knew that his grandfather had stored old books sometimes. Maybe there was a volume from the 1680s in desperate need of Wes’s hands.

Because his hands needed something to do. His mind was a jumble right now that resembled those curls on Serafina Conte’s head. Those curls he wanted to wrap around his fingers as he leisurely kissed her until neither of them were thinking of books or the past. He wondered if he’d feel that gap between her teeth when he pushed his tongue into her mouth.

Was she really a witch? Was that why he was still thinking about her though he’d left her over an hour ago?

Don’t be an ass.Of course she wasn’t a witch. She just had that witchy vibe. Normally that wasn’t a turn-on. He dealt with a lot of modern “witches” in his online bookstore. Rituals and practices of witchcraft were fairly common today. He couldn’t keep any of the old pamphlets or booklets in stock. They always fetched high prices at auction.

The attic door had an old-fashioned handle with a skeleton key that was kept on a nail on the wall next to it.

He unlocked it, hitting the light switch and hearing the mechanism flicker on before he started up the stairs. It was dusty but not overly so, as if someone had been up here recently. He caught the faint scent of lavender.

Serafina.

Of course. Had she been up here digging around looking for something to steal? Joke was on her—everything up here was junk. Stuff that was broken and in need of repair. Maybe that was why he’d always been more comfortable up here.

There were boot prints in the dust on the floor in a chunky pattern. They stopped in front of a box of photo albums. He pulled the first one up—and then dropped it.

His and Oz’s baby album. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go down that path. The past held no interest for him. Not unless it was an old book he could repair and sell for profit. He pushed the album aside and pulled out two more books.

One was a magazine from 1780 that still had a letter tucked inside. He sat down and read it. It was from one of his ancestors in England who thought this issue ofLadies Householdmight be useful. He set it to one side to bring downstairs later. Then his fingers brushed ripped leather. He ran his finger over it, cursing as he got a splinter from the wood board.

This is what I’m looking for.

He pulled the book from the bottom of the box, ignoring the pain in his finger. The doorbell rang. The tune was one his grandpa had liked as a teenager. Wes walked to the attic window that overlooked the front of the house.

He saw an old convertible with a ragtop sitting next to his car. It looked like one of those old British racing models.

He opened the window. “Be down in a minute.”

A figure stepped back from under the gable that covered the front porch, curly hair flying around her head. She frowned up at him.

Seemed a little time apart hadn’t softened Serafina’s attitude toward him. Fair enough.

It was just...this place. Birch Lake wasn’t full of happy childhood memories, and this house wasn’t either. Something about not getting to talk to his grandfather before he’d died was making him edgy.

He walked out of the attic and downstairs, leaving the old book on a side table in the hallway. He opened the door, noticing she’d put on a wool tweed blazer before coming here. It hugged the curves of her waist, ending at the top of those hips of hers, the ones he really had a hard time not staring at.

He had to stop this attraction he felt for her. It would be so much easier if she wasn’t his type, but Serafina Conte was ticking all his boxes.

“Hello. I thought we were meeting at your shop later,” he said.

“Right. Well, I finished up early, so I’m here to pick up my box of books,” she said.

“I don’t know where it is,” Wes said. “Want to come in and try to find it?”

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