Page 76 of The Bookbinder's Guide to Love

Wes couldn’t sleep and wasn’t interested in lying in his bed alone. So he went back downstairs sometime after two. He walked into the living room and over to Grandpa’s bookshelves. He’d been slowly going through the volumes, and he’d thought he’d seen their family copy ofRobinson Crusoe, by Daniel Defoe. Though it had been published in 1719, their family edition had been purchased in the 1800s and had been a gift from father to son. They’d continued the tradition since.

Wes had always thought his dad was the weak link in the father-son lines in their family, but after tonight, hearing the way he’d fought for them, he accepted that his dad emoted like Wes did by burying everything down deep inside. He wanted to read the book again.

He had seen it the night of Grandpa’s funeral but hadn’t been back in here that much. He and Sera had had dinner in here occasionally, but he paid more attention to her than the books when she was in the room.

His dad and he hadn’t talked any more about relationships, but maybe it was because both of them knew they’d have to change to make one work. It was hard to admit things needed to be different. But Wes had slowly been changing since he’d come back to Birch Lake.

“Was this your plan?” he asked the empty room, but he knew he was speaking to Grandpa. He’d always been a little bit tricky, just like Oz. They were good men but they both thought they knew what was best for everyone else and didn’t hesitate to push and manipulate Wes.

Of course, there was no answer. But Wes couldn’t let the thought go. Sera was the perfect woman for him. He hadn’t realized it until this moment, when he thought about Grandpa leading him here. Ford would have known Wes would never be blasé about his grandfather giving away a box of books.

He finished searching the bookshelves and couldn’t findRobinson Crusoeanywhere. He moved into the hallway where there was a glass-enclosed bookcase, which Wes had emptied last week. He’d put those books into a box next to it. Had the book he was looking for been put in there?

He couldn’t find it in there either. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and when he took it out, he saw Sera was video-calling him.

He answered it sitting down on the floor with his back against the wall. He didn’t have his headphones, but his dad usually slept like the dead, so if Wes kept his voice low, he shouldn’t wake the old man.

“Hey, you,” he said when her face popped up on his screen.

“Hey. I have to ask you something,” she said.

From having spent a few nights at her place, he recognized she was in her bed. She was still fully dressed and her hair was flying all around her head. Her eyes were bloodshot, making him wonder if she was drunk.

“Ask away.”

“You look so handsome tonight. I like it when you don’t shave,” she said.

She’d definitely had a bit to drink, and he guessed Liberty had needed that bonding with her friends tonight.

“Thanks. You look sexy as fuck with your hair hanging down around your face. Wish I was there with you,” he said.

“Me too...” She drifted off for a second, looking happy and a little dazed. He wished he was there to hold her.

“Your question?”

“Did you give me that book because you know I loveThe Scarlet Pimpernel, or because you saw the inscription and wanted me to have it?”

He drew his knees up and leaned his head against the bookcase next to him. “Both.”

“Both.”

“Yup,” he said. This was not how he’d imagined this conversation with her. But somehow it was easier this way. He had always bottled up affection. Never wanted to admit to caring for anyone, least of all a woman like Sera. She was everything he wanted and all the things he was afraid to take for himself.

But here on the video call, he could tell her. If she wasn’t ready to hear it, her rejection would sting, but he’d be alone to deal with it.

“Oh, good. I hoped so, but then you didn’t really say when I was coming up with scenarios,” she said.

“Woman, how was I supposed to guess that was what you wanted to know?” he asked her in a teasing tone.

“Read my mind.”

“You’re the witch, not me.”

“I’m not a witch and I can’t read your mind. Heck, I’m not sure I can figure out my own,” she admitted.

“Me either,” he said. That was what had been bothering him. He wanted to tell her how he felt, but he wanted to know how she felt first. And given Sera’s childhood, she wasn’t going to make that move.

He’d have to be the one to do it. He was going to have to find a way to talk to her and tell her how he felt.

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