Page 31 of Embers in Autumn
“We try,” he said, smiling. Then he glanced at me, and hissmile warmed by a few degrees. “I cannot wait for tomorrow night.”
My ears went hot. I took an unnecessary sip of latte to hide my face. “Me either.”
He reached out, almost absent minded, and picked up one of the hardcovers I had stacked near the register. A book with a discreet floral cover. A book that had been set aside with Carol’s others. He flipped it open with his thumb, the way people do when they are not really paying attention, and his eyes fell to the center of the page.
His eyebrows climbed.
Before I could get around the counter, he cleared his throat and began to read.
“‘He towered over her, shadows licking across the stone, his horns tipping forward as he caged her in with one clawed hand. Tell me you want my teeth, little star.’ Is this the type of books you sell?”
“Dean,” I hissed, lunging.
He pivoted away without even looking at me, which meant his voice carried perfectly through the shop.
“‘She tried to be brave. I am not afraid of monsters, she whispered. He laughed. Good. Because I am going to devour you until you forget your own name.’I like the way this guy thinks.”
“Give me that,” I said, trying not to laugh and failing. I grabbed for the book. He held it high. I am not tall. Life is not fair.
In the stacks, Mike looked up and grinned like Christmas had come early.
Dean took two steps back, eyes wicked, and kept going in a tone of mock drama that made my stomach hurt.
“‘He tasted her fear like sugar. He tasted her need like wine. He said open for me, little star, and she—’”
“Dean Bennett,” I said, breathless, “if you read the next line in my shop, I will ban you for life.”
He tipped the book just out of my reach, still reading. “—‘and she opened like a night-blooming flower, ready to receive his massive...’”
I clapped a hand over his mouth on reflex. He laughed against my palm and it was very possible I lost two full years off my life. He looked so pleased with himself. The uniform did not help. His eyes sparkled with a kind of boyish mischief that should have been illegal.
“Excuse me,” a voice cut in, mild and crisp. “Young man.”
We both froze. Slowly, Dean lowered the book. Slowly, we turned.
Carol stood with her hands folded on the head of her cane, which she did not actually need but which she used like punctuation. Her expression was pure society matron, polite and unimpressed. Her blue gaze flicked to the book, then to Dean’s face.
“That is my book,” she said.
Dean’s jaw dropped a fraction. His eyes darted from the discreet floral cover to the elegant woman in pearls, then back again, then back to her. He looked like a man whose mental picture had just fallen out of a window.
“You… this… isyours,” he said, faintly.
“Indeed,” Carol said. “I would appreciate it returned uncreased. I do not tolerate folded corners.”
Mike snorted behind a stack of sports memoirs, then coughed to disguise it. It did not work.
Dean held the book out with both hands like an offering. “Ma’am,” he said. “I am very sorry for the… dramatic reading.”
“Dramatic?” Carol considered. “I would call it enthusiastic. If you wish to audition for the audiobook, I suggest fewer pauses.” She took the book and tucked it into her bag withregal efficiency. Then she patted Dean’s forearm. “You wear the uniform beautifully, dear. Try not to frighten the proprietress with it.”
“I will do my best,” he said, color high on his cheekbones.
I was laughing so hard I had to set my latte down. I wiped my eyes with the heel of my hand and tried to pull myself together. “You two,” I said, pointing at Dean and Mike. “This is a bookshop, not a pub.”
Mike wandered closer, flipping his new book closed. “I didn't do anything,” he said. “I was on my best behaviour.”
Dean leaned his hip against the counter and looked at me over the rim of my cup. The shop melted around the edges. He had the kind of focus that made a small space out of a crowded room. I could feel Carol’s knowing gaze flick between us like a tennis match.
