Page 53 of Booked for the Holidays
I fan myself with a floppy paperback, trying to swallow past the desert in my throat. It feels like I’m standing behind a dam that’s about to split wide open. Probably good timing. I need the water.
We both reach for the next stack at the same time. Our hands brush. His touch is warm and sends that buzzy, electric tingle racing up my arm.
Nope. I need a distraction, and fast.
“So,” I say, grabbing the nearest book like I’m studying the synopsis. “Do you miss the city?”
He pauses, looking down at me with a lazy grin. “New York?”
I nod, trying for casual. “Yeah. All that noise. Skyscrapers. Coffee on every corner.”
He shrugs, sliding another book onto the shelf like he’s not aware I’m studying his veins like they’re plot twists. “I love it. It’s home. But...” He glances around my little store. “This doesn’t suck, either.”
Something in my chest tugs. Dangerous. I look away quickly, pretending to straighten a stack of bookmarks.
I tell myself this is exactly why I can’t let him get under my skin again. Because Liam lives in glass towers and endless subways and twenty-four-hour noise. And I live here. In a small town with frosted windows and neighbors who know too much.
“This one looks interesting.” He flips open a page like he might just stand here and read it cover to cover.
“Speaking of books…I want mine back.”
He glances down at me, all innocent trouble. “Oh, the annotated one? That’s for research purposes.”
My eyes narrow. “What do you mean? It’s not like you’re writing a romance novel.”
“No. But I’m trying to understand what you want.” He closes the book gently, like we’re not in a standoff with the weight of a year pressing down on us. “Highlighting, underlining, margin notes…very educational. Especially that scene with the mirror.”
Heat blasts my face. “Liam.”
“What?” He leans closer, and the scent of cedar and crisp snow from our light hanging at the barn earlier clings to his sweater. “I’m just trying to apply myself.”
“You’re impossible,” I mutter, but it’s soft, like a confession.
He smiles, softer still. “I don’t want to mess it up this time.”
That makes something in my chest squeeze painfully tight.
“Last year, I thought I was doing the right thing. But I’ve read the book now, Juniper.” His voice drops lower, honey and regret. “I know better.”
My pulse hammers in my throat. “It’s not a manual, Liam.”
“No,” he murmurs. “But if it were, I think this would be the part where the hero finally shuts up and kisses her.”
He doesn’t move. He’s waiting. He’s always waiting for me to be ready.
I swallow hard. My heart wants to leap. My brain wants to bolt.
“I told myself I wouldn’t let this happen again,” I whisper.
“And I told myself I’d make it up to you.”
His knuckles skim my jaw, tilting my face to him. I realize too late that my hand is already fisted in the front of his sweater, anchoring him to me like I’ve already decided.
“I’ve thought about kissing you a thousand times since that night,” he says. “The candy kiss was fun. But now I want to do it right.”
It’s all I can do not to tilt up and close the space. But something inside me panics at the sweetness, the promise, the risk of it being more than I can handle.
So I grab for the only shield I have left. I force out a laugh that doesn’t sound like me. “It’s just Christmas, you know. The lights, the twinkle…it makes people do reckless things.”
