Page 20 of The Bookbinder's Guide to Love

He liked Sera.

There were no two ways about that. He wanted something from her that no one else could give him. Something that could help him come to terms with his grandfather’s death. The books Grandpa left her were his in his mind. If he couldn’t have them, maybe learning from her would soothe something inside him. So fucking that up seemed dumb. Yet here he was, getting hard watching her play with her hair and stare at him.

She’d probably asked him something he needed to respond to. But he wasn’t going to do it. He didn’t care; right now he was following the path toward sexual fantasy, and once he went there, he’d be giving up the chance to get any information about Grandpa.

It wasn’t Sera who would make it impossible. It would be him. Wes sucked at anything after hooking up. He did okay in the flirting and the teasing and the actual fucking, but once it was over...he had to get away. He had to be the one to leave. He’d been to enough therapists to know he had issues and that pattern wasn’t healthy, but it worked for him. Usually. But with Sera...

“Dude.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m going to pay for my own drink. See you tomorrow,” she said, turning to get her wallet from her purse.

He covered her hand on the table with his. “Please don’t. Sorry. Damn, that seems like all I’m saying to you. Grandpa’s death has me messed up. I don’t know why I’m acting like this.”

She turned her hand under his, her fingers, which were cold, wrapping around his and squeezing.

“That’s fine. I shouldn’t have said ‘Come work for me’ and then ‘I want to kiss you’ right after,” she said. “I know better. Ever since your letter arrived and Ford passed, I’ve been off too.”

Somehow just knowing that neither of them were at their best helped. “I can do French binding and kettle stitches. Whatever you want, I can probably do it.”

“Good,” she said. “Tell me about the last time you talked to Ford. Why is it you weren’t talking?”

He pulled his hand back and shoved it into his hair. A habit he had tried to break, but this day seemed to be one for bringing out all his insecurities and the silly things he did to deal with them.

“Two weeks ago, I got an email asking me if I had time to repair a book,” Wes said. “Just a few lines typed, as if it were a formal business letter, because Grandpa always used proper format in emails and texts.”

“And you said yes?”

He finished his beer, wishing it was whiskey, but getting wildly drunk wasn’t something he was allowing himself to do anymore. “Nope. I didn’t respond.”

She sat up straighter. “Why not?”

“I was mad at him,” he said.

“What for?” she asked.

“Never mind that.” There was no way he was going to tell her about him being an asshole or the stubbornness he and Grandpa had shared. They were essentially strangers, and tonight, there was nothing good that would come from sharing that story. So he was going to keep it to himself. Just tucked away with all the other arrogant moments he regretted. And there were more than a few.

“When was the last time you talked to him?” he asked.

“Last Thursday. He’d loaned me a Victorian Sampler. I thought it was going to be poetry, but it turned out to be erotica. It wasn’t bad either,” she said with a laugh.

“I think I read that volume when I lived with Grandpa. Thin and bound in green?”

“Yes. The gold leaf has faded on the cover. It looks so indiscreet. When Ford gave it to me, I was shocked when I realized what I was reading,” she said.

“Did you like it?” he asked. He’d been surprised at how turned-on he’d been when he’d read it.

She flushed and smiled at him. “After I got over the fact that the people in those black-and-white photos weren’t as proper as I’d always thought...yeah, I did. You?” she asked, her face flushed and confidence in her voice. Inviting him to share his reactions.

“I did. It was quite a sexual awakening,” he said. “What did Grandpa say about it?”

“Just that people aren’t any different today than they’ve ever been. We might have different ways of doing things, but our needs are still the same,” she said. “I think he was right. I mean, that book wasn’t any different than porn on the internet.”

He shook his head as some of the shame that lingered over the fact that he hadn’t answered his grandfather’s email waned. He was starting to see what Ford might have liked about Sera. She was different. She looked at the world in a way that was unique and interesting.

She wasn’t judging him, but then, she didn’t know the entire story. For right now, it was nice to be here in Birch Lake again and not feel like he’d let Grandpa down. And her story about the Victorian Sampler reminded him of his grandfather’s sense of humor. It almost made Wes feel like he was with the old man again.

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