Page 4 of The Nook for Brooks
When I did step around the end of the shelf to see, the light behind the customer made it hard to make out who it was.
At first, I assumed it was Gage, coming to pick up some more customer deliveries.
But then I noticed a pair of scuffed boots that I was certain didn’t belong to him.
Then I saw the shorts, wrapped around a pair of thick muscled thighs. And the linen shirt, loose and open so his chest could breathe. And then I caught a glint of the compass hanging on a silver chain around his neck.
I caught my breath as he moved closer, stepping away from the light outside, his handsome face coming into view.
He had inquisitive brown eyes, a chiseled jaw, and dark hair that seemed determined to defy gravity.
“H-h-hi,” I stammered with all the cool I could muster.
He simply smiled and said, “G’day.”
CODY
There’sa certain kinda magic that comes from walking into a small-town bookshop for the first time. Not the Disney kind of magic with twinkly music and animated chipmunks, but the more subtle kind, like when you pull a shirt out of a suitcase and it still smells like home. This place had that.
It hit me the second I stepped inside—a million neatly-bound pages, a thousand collectible leatherbound editions, and the smell of Mr. Sheen mingling with cedar shelves to keep the wood dust free and sparkling clean… not that I had any idea what the Yankee version of Mr. Sheen was, but you catch my drift. This place smelledgood. If nostalgia had a cologne, this shop could bottle it and charge fifty bucks a spritz.
And then there was the bloke who stepped out from behind one of the shelves to greet me.
He was standing so straight it made my back feel lazy just looking at him. I had to admit he was pretty cute, even if he looked a tad formal. Bow tie, pressed shirt, and every hair gelled into place with precision. His facial expression seemed tight, slightly anxious, like he was confused by my appearance.
Did we know each other? I was pretty certain the answer was no, and yet he was gawking at me like he’d met me before.
“H-h-hi,” he finally managed.
“G’day,” I said with a smile. I felt like my crumpled shorts, dirty boots, and crazy hair were letting the team down. Actually, my boots weren’t too bad—they’d seen more airports than some people see in a lifetime—but my shirt had definitely lost its battle with the Queensland sun over the years. “Nice little place you’ve got here. Smells like… well, books, obviously. But… something else. Wait, I know. Cinnamon tea.”
“You can smell cinnamon tea?”
“Can I?” I asked, suddenly doubting myself.
“Um, yes. I suppose you can. I had a cup earlier this morning. Although that was upstairs. I live upstairs, in the steeple. You can smell that from down here?”
“Sure can. I happen to love cinnamon tea. And books.” The shelf he was standing beside caught my eye and I pointed. “Is that an entire section dedicated to small-town British mysteries where some lovely old lady tracks down a serial killer who likes to collect fingers as trophies?”
The guy straightened his back even more, like that was even possible. “I wasn’t going the call the section quite that… but yes.”
I was already distracted by a shelf to one side. “Travel books! My favorite. You don’t happen to have any books on Patagonia, do you? It’s so bloody hard to find a good book about Patagonia.”
“Of course I do,” he said, like the question wasn’t even worth asking… which made me kinda chuckle on the inside. Cute.
He made his way over to the shelf with almost robotic efficiency. “Right here, between Paraguay and Peru.” He reached for the book without even looking and handed it to me.
“You categorize your books by title, not author?”
“Only when it comes to reference books. Customers looking for reference material will naturally search by subject, not author.”
I gave a casual shrug. “Makes sense.”
“Perfect sense,” he corrected. “I try to keep things in order.”
That made me grin. “And I try to keep things interesting. Sounds like we’re going to get along just fine. The name’s Cody, by the way. Cody Cameron.”
I reached for his hand, and he shook it. “Brooks. Brooks Beresford.”
