Page 37 of Booked for the Holidays
Part of me wants to let him think I did all this on my own. That I’m thriving and fully capable without his help. But I can’t quite take all the credit.
I turn away and start organizing the bookish sticker carousel, most of which are holiday themed.
Sleigh my TBR.
Merry and Bookish.
Hot Cocoa & Plot Twists.
“I didn’t do it alone,” I admit.
“No?” Liam shifts, leaning one elbow on the counter beside me.
“There’s this small-business forum for Summit County. One of the guys on there talks me through stuff sometimes. PourChoices—that’s his username.” I add, “P-O-U-R. Like pouring wine or whiskey. I don’t actually know his real name.”
Liam’s quiet, but there’s a telltale glint in his eyes. I’m suddenly babbling to fill the silence. “He’s really smart. He helped me figure out my budget, and he listens to me rant about tropes. He’s kind of the real deal.”
“Hmm.” He watches me with an unreadable expression. “Sounds like you’re a fan.”
I squint at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Nothing. Just wondering…” His mouth curves into a maddeningly smug grin. “Do you like him? More than a friend?”
“What?No.” I scoff, maybe too loudly. “First of all, I don’t even know him. Second, what are you talking about?”
“First, Wiley. Now this forum guy. I’m starting to think I’ve got competition.” He playfully arches a brow, but the fierce glint in his eyes gives him away. Just like last night, my body reacts to his overt jealousy by lighting up from the inside out.
I cross my arms to cover my quickly hardening nipples. “I’m not a complete weirdo who has a crush on a guy I’ve never met, Liam.”
His grin grows, but his eyes soften with sincerity. “Good.”
I glare, but it’s not as sharp as I wish it was. The way he’s looking at me is making it harder to be annoyed with him.
“You got it from here?”
“Of course I do, it’s my store.”
He hovers closer, like he wants to say something. To do something. But I clear my throat, and he leans back.
“I’ll see you later.”
“Byeee!” I call to his retreating frame.
TEN
LIAM
After spendingthe afternoon at Juniper’s bookstore, I know I should give her space. Be a courteous houseguest. Shut myself in the guest room and lether have her nightly routine without me in the way. But that’s the thing: I don’t want to be out of her way. I want to be right here. In the soft glow of her living room, warm lamplight spilling across her dog-eared books and half-finished mugs of tea.
She’s in the kitchen, earbuds in and humming along to the holiday playlist she loves. She thinks she hums quietly—she doesn’t. She sings “Last Christmas” loud and off-key. It’s perfect.
“Jesus, Liam!” she screams, her mug of hot cocoa splashing everywhere. “Fuck!”
“Shit, Firefly. I’m sorry.”
“What the hell are you thinking sneaking up on me?”
“I wasn’t sneaking. I was waiting for you to finish your solo.” I grin at how passionate her singing had been a moment ago.
