Page 10 of Booked for the Holidays
Have you ever smelled a book so good you questioned your life choices?
But all I manage is a breathless smile.
“I’ve been thinking about your bookshop since we talked earlier,” he says.
“Oh, yeah?” My chaotic brain quiets at the thought of talking about my absolute most favorite thing.
“Jasper mentioned you won’t take on investors.”
I shake my head. “Nope. I want it to be mine. But I’m applying for a local business grant.” The thought twists my stomach. My half-done business plan flashes behind my eyes like a crime scene.
“What’s that face?” he asks, amused.
“It’s the ‘I’m-doomed-and-don’t-want-to-admit-it’ face.” I sigh. “The grant requires a business plan and I’m…stuck.”
His smile does something catastrophic to my insides. “Show it to me.”
I press my lips together, hating the idea of showing him the messy proposal I’m working on. “It’s not finished.”
“Perfect.” He grins. “Let me help.”
“It’s Christmas Eve, Liam. That’s not what you want to be doing.”
“It’s fun for me.” He says it so simply, so easily, that my heart does a traitorous little somersault. “Come on, I want to see it.”
I imagine Liam begging me to see something else, and it makes my legs quiver.
The intensity of his stare has my temperature spiking.
“Okay.” I nod, gesturing toward the stairs. “It’s in my room.”
He motions for me to lead the way. As we ascend the stairs, I send a silent thank you to Cassie for helping me hide the tornado we left behind while getting ready. Still, there’s something mortifying about stepping into my childhood bedroom with Liam.
When we enter, he sits down on my bed, all casual confidence, like the sight of him there doesn’t have my heart skittering against my ribs. I dig the folder from my desk drawer, then drop down beside him. Our knees brush, and I pretend not to notice how his thigh feels solid and warm against mine.
He flips through the pages; brow furrowed in concentration. I can barely look at him. The air fills thick with something I don’t know how to name.
“Juniper, this isn’t terrible,” he murmurs, “but your numbers don’t add up. Where’s your cash flow projection?” He flips a page. “You haven’t accounted for marketing expenses at all.”
“You mean businesses don’t run on optimism and vibes alone?” I say dryly, but my voice wobbles.
He smiles, slow and soft, and it does something catastrophic to my pulse. “They do once a good business plan is in place.”
Overwhelmed, I drop my face into my hands. The nerves. The pressure. The fact that Liam Hargrove is sitting on my bed and I’m trying to pretend that I’m not thinking about how kissable his mouth looks.
A moment later, gentle fingers wrap around my wrist, coaxing my hands away.
“Hey.” His voice is low, the word rough at the edges.
I look up and instantly regret it. He’s so close. His thigh flush against mine. His hand still holding my wrist. His aftershave smells like cedar and cloves, and there’s cinnamon on his breath from the whiskey cider he’s been drinking.
“We’ll figure it out,” he says, voice low and sure. “I’ll help you.”
Something tight and breathless unfurls inside me.
“Okay,” I whisper, already forgetting what we were talking about because all I can see is him and how close his mouth is. Because he’s looking at me like I matter. Like he wants?—
“Juniper.”
