Page 65 of The Bookbinder's Guide to Love

“So you agree I’m right,” Liberty teased.

Wes took Sera and led her away from the group, so she didn’t hear Merle’s response. Those two were always dancing around each other, and at first Sera hadn’t been sure she wanted Liberty and Merle to hook up because... Well, a man would ruin the balance they’d always had, but now she wasn’t sure. Wes was making her look at everything in a different way.

Not unlike the way Ford had.

Wes stopped her in the doorway that led to the back room. “I have had several erotic fantasies about making love on that overstuffed couch during the workday. But it would feel cliché now that we know they’re expecting us to.”

“Maybe. Are you saying your gift is in your pants?”

He shook his head, smiling at her, and her heart tightened. She loved his smile. It didn’t happen all that often, and when it did, he looked so open and so caring. She could almost forget that life had her bumping along between so many people and places.

“Later. Here you go,” he said, turning and grabbing a flat package wrapped in craft paper with the wordsFor Serawritten on it.

She took it. Felt that sting of tears in her eyes. Wes was the second man to give her a gift and the first lover to do so. She hoped she wasn’t being silly by letting that make her care more deeply for him.

But she couldn’t stop it.

She held the package in her hands until he cleared his throat.

“Are you going to open it?”

She nodded, not sure she trusted her voice not to crack. She slid her finger between the paper in the back, loosening the tape until she pulled the wrapping off and tossed it on the bench behind him. She looked down.

The red-and-gold art deco cover ofMansfield Parkby Jane Austen. She carefully opened it, gasping when she saw it was a first printing from Thompson, one of her favorite historic publishers. It had been meticulously restored.

She’d mentioned a few weeks ago that she’d been trying to collect first editions of all of Jane Austen’s books.

She pictured Wes at the kitchen table in Ford’s old house, working the cover, repairing the gold leaf, which would have been patchy by this time. His long fingers carefully using the tweezers to pick up the leaf and then patiently place it on the worn-out patches.

She loved the way his lips parted when he leaned over to work on something that required a delicate touch.

This was something she hadn’t expected. “Thank you.”

She threw herself into his arms and hugged him tightly. He couldn’t know how much this meant to her.

“I was working on it before I came here...before Grandpa’s death. I had someone offer to buy it, but I held on to it instead,” he said, putting his finger under her chin and tipping her head back. He rested his forehead against hers. “Maybe something was telling me to save it for you.”

“Maybe,” she said. She wanted to believe that. To believe, like Liberty did, that something larger was at work in the universe directing them to where they needed to be.

She’d seen it with Ford and her friendship with him. So why was she so afraid to trust the signs with Wes?

Fear and nothing else kept her from allowing herself to believe that the universe was pushing them together. Because there were too many signs around her that Wes was right for her and for her life.

Except she’d never believed there was one person meant for her. She’d seen enough heartbreak in her life to know the chances of this working out were thin.

But she wanted it to. So badly.

“Thank you so much,” she said.

“You’re very welcome,” he said. “Was I out of line with what I said?”

Every time she started to feel safe and secure in their relationship, he seemed to push her the tiniest bit further.

The leading lady in her, the one who’d boldly been wearing all the clothes she’d previously kept tucked away in her closet. The one who took chances and was embracing the life she’d always wanted but was afraid was out of reach. That woman knew there was only one answer she could give him.

No more hedging.

No more just writing about the things she wanted in her life.

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