Page 10 of An Unexpected Kind of Love

Delighted, he laughs and the sound fills me. “I wish!”

“Sorry. I’m just making things worse. I’ll stop talking. Every time I talk, I make it worse.”

“That would be a shame, if you stopped talking. We keep bumping into each other today,” he says in a soft drawl. “Third time’s lucky, I think. The universe is telling us something. Like, to pay attention to each other.”

My face still burns. Apparently my tongue’s plastered to the roof of my mouth.

“Like fate, maybe,” he says.

That brings an immediate scowl. “I don’t believe in fate. Things just happen. For no reason.”

He laughs, seemingly unfazed by my brusque response, and pulls on his T-shirt, which skims over a fine chest. It’s a shame to cover up such a physique, but the shirt still leaves little to the imagination. By comparison, I’m still rumpled and probably liberally covered in cat fur after I dressed in the dark this morning.

“How about we try again?” He tilts his head. The light catches reddish hints in his hair. “Like, make proper introductions?”

“You took my card.” There are goose bumps on my arms for no good reason. “Earlier. You must know my name.”

“It’s true, I did. I do. Aubrey Barnes.”

The way he says my name is like honey rolling off his tongue. Like it’s something to be savored.

Like my name is something special.

“And you really don’t know mine?” He smiles. It’s devastating, to be honest.

I shake my head.

“Usually everyone else is at an advantage. I’ve got to say it makes for a nice change.”

“Are you famous?” I ask.

That grin again. Nothing held back. It’s overwhelming to have that unleashed, like I’m the only other person in the universe.

“Not really. Not Timothée Chalamet famous, no way. I’m like a C-lister. But I’m a triple-threat, I’ll have you know. Everyone on set knows who I am, anyway.”

“I don’t even know what that means…and I still don’t know your name.” My voice is a whisper.

He steps closer, an arm’s reach away. So near I could touch him. And God help me, I want to touch him. Badly. His face, his lips, his hair.

Everywhere.

“I’m Blake Sinclair. I act and sing and dance.”

Even in this light, his wintry eyes grip me.

“Aubrey Barnes.” Somehow, I manage to say my name without stammering. It feels important to say my name in return, even if he knows it already. To retain my name as mine, a reclamation in our strange introduction where he has the upper hand. And, oh God help me, that’s a thrilling prospect. Thank heavens for one small mercy. My mouth is dry. “Bookseller.”

At last, he reaches out his hand. “It’s good to meet you properly, Aubrey. I also know that you care very much about the sort of books that people buy, and why they buy them.”

I gulp. “Oh…”

Probably he heard about that disaster with the set decorator, then.

I grip his hand in mine. At the touch of his warm skin, I can’t help a shiver that runs the length of my spine. It’s a firm grasp. Not too soft, not too hard.

Some tiny sound gets caught in my throat.

I die. I’m dead. Bury me in this trailer, here and now.

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