Page 9 of The Bookbinder's Guide to Love

“Yes.”

“He’s cute.”

“Was he?”Liar.

“So you thought so too. What did he want?”

Sera wasn’t entirely sure. To insult her, to find out who she was, to make her doubt she deserved the books his grandfather had left her. Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to allow him to win. Not on this. Ford had once remarked that the Sitwells were lost in their bitterness and distrust, and Sera hadn’t understood what he meant. But seeing Wesley helped clarify things.

Wes got as far as the other side of the huge park in the middle of Birch Lake’s town square before he stopped walking and ducked behind the side of a building. He leaned back against the wall. He’d fucked up when he’d pissed her off.

Now the books might never be his. One more screwup when it came to Grandpa.

The January breeze blew around him, making him wish he was back in his shop. God, he almost hated this place. He loved his grandpa, but that relationship had been hard-won. He and Oz were sent up here every summer to work for Grandpa and give his dad a break from parenting.

It had always felt like some sort of punishment to come here. Until he’d gone to college. Then his arrogant ass got a lesson in real life. It had been Grandpa who’d offered him a second chance when he’d lost his scholarship and Dad had stopped paying his tuition.

Grandpa had stepped up, paid for Wes’s education at a local college in exchange for working with him over the summers. And those three summers they’d worked together had been good. But then the arrogant asshole Wes was deep down had stirred to life and fucked things up.

The books meant something. Wes wished he’d taken the time to come up and see Grandpa before he’d died. His father didn’t really care about Grandpa’s estate. He’d put it succinctly in a terse text to Wes and his brother.

There’s nothing I want in Birch Lake.

His father and grandpa had never really gotten along after everything happened with the divorce. Wes didn’t know what was between the two of them and figured he never would.

He left his spot in the alley and started walking up the cobblestoned street closed to car traffic, leading him away from WiCKed Sisters.

Oz would never let Wes live it down if he’d seen him with Serafina. Close up, he noticed that she had a gap between her two front teeth, and her lush mouth was tantalizing.

The part of WiCKed Sisters that she ran had been lined with bookshelves and smelled of paper and leather, which meant the sweet hint of lavender had to have been Serafina’s perfume.

He’d been thinking about sex since he’d seen her. It was her hair, that mass of curls flying around her face, making her seem like she was wild. And then the old-fashioned blouse paired with jeans that were trendy and molded to every one of her curves.

He couldn’t get her out of his mind. She was a mass of contradictions. Was that why Grandpa had been meeting with her? Maybe Wes could use that as an excuse for why he’d blurted out his argumentative statement.

His phone pinged. He was tempted to throw it into the nearest trash can.

He really needed to be back in his own shop, working on repairing the leather-bound editions that had come from a recent estate sale. He thought better when he was repairing damaged books. Life made sense when he was in the past fixing things.

His phone went off again. Oz wasn’t going to stop.

He picked up.

“About damned time.”

He could easily picture his brother sitting in his corner office, insulated from the people below him scurrying on with their lives. Oz had been following in their father’s footsteps practically from birth. He was as methodical and results-based as their father had always been.

“Emergency?” Wes asked.

“Did you get your books back, nerd?” Oz asked.

“Fuck off.”

“So no. Dad told me he let you use our letterhead.”

“Yeah. So?” Even to his own ears he sounded defensive.

“Let’s hope she doesn’t follow up and find out we’re tax attorneys.”

---