Page 14 of The Bookbinder's Guide to Love

Shewasgrateful, but it was also okay to want something she liked.

“You’re staring into that tea like it’s going to show you the future. I mean it’s a tea bag, so there’s no leaves in the bottom, right?” he asked.

He kept bringing up witchy things. Maybe he’d heard the gossip around town that she, Liberty and Poppy were a coven and had used magic to lure Amber Rapp into their store. Amber hadn’t helped the matter by sharing a similar sentiment with her followers.

“Uh, no. Are you afraid of me?” she asked, because that could totally work in her favor. Since she’d gotten here, she still hadn’t been able to figure out why she’d come. Her gut had gotten her this far and then gone mysteriously quiet.

He threw his head back, laughing in a way that made his entire face light up, and she felt that tingle go through her again.

“No. Are you afraid of me?” he asked.

“Witches aren’t afraid of men,” she said with a wink.

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, which was covered in that cable-knit sweater that fit him very nicely. He playfully glared down his nose at her. “Now?”

This reminded her of Ford making her laugh and joking with her. She just shook her head and took another sip of her tea.

“So you’re not a witch, but everyone thinks your journals will grant a wish. Tell me about that.”

“You could check out Amber Rapp’s socials,” she said. Talking about the journals wasn’t something she wanted to do with him. Everything about the process was so personal, it made her feel vulnerable to think about telling him. And Wesley, no matter how charming he’d been a minute ago, wasn’t her friend. She was pretty sure after the funeral, when he realized she wasn’t giving up anything Ford had left her, she’d never see him again.

Getting personal wasn’t happening.

“I’m not on social media,” he said.

“What? Why not?”

“Just not my thing. I’m more of a real-world kind of person.”

“We all live in the real world—you’re not special,” she pointed out.

“Didn’t mean it that way. Oz calls me a nerd.”

“Are you?” She was curious about who Oz was despite herself. Everything Wesley revealed was just a little more tempting. It wasn’t the way his hands held the mug or the easy way he laughed at himself. But those things didn’t hurt.

“Probably,” he said. “I am much more at home in my workshop repairing old books.”

She groaned.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said, pretending to look at her watch, because how could he like being in a workshop? She wanted to have nothing in common with this man. Not even the connection to Ford since it seemed none of the Sitwell men got along.

But that one fact had made him likable. Sort of. “I should be getting back to the shop. Are we still meeting for a drink or you good now?”

“I’d still like to meet for drinks. I want to know more about Grandpa’s last few years.”

She was tempted to ask him why now, but she caught a hint of sadness on his face and stopped herself. She might not understand his emotions when it came to his grandfather, but it was clearly more complicated than she knew.

“Sure. You can buy one drink and I’ll answer a few questions. Sound good?”

“Thanks,” he said, walking her out to the hallway.

She noticed the ruined old book, which had been in a box in the attic, on the hall table. She’d tried to read it, but the foolscap pages were fragile and she didn’t know medieval French. “Be careful with that.”

“Thanks,” he said dryly. Aside from the moment when he’d lost his temper and accused her of seducing his grandfather, he consistently used sarcasm when he was upset.

“It’s just that I know Ford wanted to have someone repair it,” she said. “He was going to call them this week.”

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