Page 79 of A Novel Love Story

But I didn’t know Junie and Will enough to say all of that—I mean,I knew them intrinsically. I knew what made them tick. But I didn’t know them like I knew a mirror, like I knew Pru.

I gave a self-conscious laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. “I read way too many romance books, I think.”

Junie shook her head, in awe. “You and Anders both—”

Will put a hand on her arm. “Babe, do you hear that?” he asked, and her eyes widened at the sound of a soft hiss coming from … the basement. He cursed under his breath, grabbing a hand towel and a plunger from the hallway bathroom, and darted for the basement door.

Junie gave a weary sigh. “Not again,” she muttered, going to fetch the mop. “If you specialize in fixing inns as well as relationships, let us know? We might have a job for you.”

“I know nothing about plumbing,” I said tragically. “Or exorcisms. Maybe someone took a really big poop, so big it grew a consciousness and now haunts the plumbing? The terrible turducken in hot poo-suit of the great shittening.”

Junie threw her head back in a laugh, and followed Will to go fight the haunted toilet of the Daffodil Inn. And I had to get back to the bookstore before Anders found me missing—again.

The sky was still clear as the afternoon grew later, and I began to worry that rain wouldn’t be coming today at all. Well, at least I wouldn’t be caught in it without an umbrella this time, which was the smallest of blessings. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to scale the trellis in the rain, anyway. Sneaking around was demeaning, to be honest, especially since I hadn’t climbed in or out of a window since I was a teenager, when Pru and I snuck into a midnight showing ofTwilight.

Looking up the trellis, I took a deep breath, and started up the side. The vines were thick, disguising the latticework, so I guessed where to put my feet.I hoped there weren’t snakes in the vines. Were there snakes up in New York?

I didn’t remember.

Then, halfway up the trellis, I lost my footing.

With a scream, I slipped. I squeezed my eyes shut. This was going to hurt. This was going to hurt so—

Someone caught me.

Strong arms held me up and brought me close to an equally solid chest. The first thing I noticed was that he smelled nice—like oak and motor oil. I cracked open an eye.

A man with soot-black hair and eyes just as dark looked down at me. He had an eyebrow piercing, and a thick, short-trimmed black beard that stood out against his pale skin. He was tall, his leather jacket clinging to his broad shoulders, and it struck me just how enthralling he looked, because there was always something new to see. The piece of gray in his hair, the light brush of freckles across his cheeks, the helix in his left ear.

It was Garnet Rivers.

His smile was slow like molasses. “Good thing I caught ya.”

I nodded, breathless, though whether it was from the fall or because he was just so freaking gorgeous, I wasn’t sure.

Garnet Rivers—this wastheGarnet Rivers. The man who rode off into the sunset with Bea. His jaw was sharp, his nose crooked from where it’d been broken in one too many bar fights. You could see the resemblance between him and Ruby; they were fraternal twins, after all. But if he was here, did that mean Bea was back in town too?

“You okay?” he asked, finally setting me on my feet.

I nodded again.

He laughed. It was a deep rumble in his chest. A shiver curled down my spine.

“Hello?” came the voice of Anders, having heard my scream, as he rounded the outside of his bookshop. “Is someone—oh.” He froze in his footsteps, and studied the scene in front of him. There was something foreign in his face. Panic? Anger? It was strange. But as soon as it was there, it was gone again, and he schooled his face into that indifferent mask he always wore. “Garnet,” he greeted. “I heard you might be home.”

“My reputation precedes me.” He held me tight as he gave Anders a once-over. “And who’re you?”

“I own the bookstore,” Anders replied.

“Ah.” Garnet slid his lazy gaze to me, then back to him. “So I guess she’s yours?”

He visibly went rigid. “She’s staying in the loft. As a guest.”

“Huh. What kind of guest uses the window?” he asked, and my cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. I wanted to tell Anders I could explain, but he wasn’t even looking at me anymore.

“The kind who likes to climb trellises. But she can use the front door,” he added, and then promptly turned on his heel and left.

No, wait, I can explain, I wanted to say, but what good would it do?

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