Page 141 of Knot Baked Out For This
"That was—" she starts.
"I'll have to make up for being last," I say, licking my lips slowly, tasting her there.
Her face goes impossibly redder.
"Look Mommy, lovebirds!" A kid's voice pierces our bubble, and we both turn to see a small boy pointing at us while his mother tries not to laugh.
Hazel makes a mortified sound and starts dragging me toward the bookmobile. I wave at the kid over my shoulder.
"I'm her prince," I call out. "It's allowed!"
The mom laughs outright then, and Hazel's dragging becomes more insistent.
"You did not just say that!"
"I absolutely did."
"To a child!"
"He needs to learn about true love somehow."
"Oh my god, you're impossible."
"Impossibly romantic, you mean."
She's laughing, though, even as she pulls me up the bookmobile's steps.
Inside is a wonderland of books. Floor-to-ceiling shelves, all secured for travel, organized by genre with helpful handwritten tags. There's a reading nook with pillows, a checkout desk with an ancient librarian who looks like she's been with the truck since books were invented.
"Rowan Cambridge," she says, adjusting her glasses. "Finally brought your girl."
"You know her?" Hazel asks.
"He's been calling every week for a month to arrange this."
"A MONTH?"
I study the mystery section intently. "They had a waiting list."
"You booked a bookmobile a month ago?"
"Maybe."
"We weren't even a pack then!"
"I was optimistic."
"You were presumptuous!"
"Optimistically presumptuous."
She shakes her head, but she's smiling, already running her fingers along book spines like she's greeting old friends. She picks up a cozy mystery with a cat on the cover, then another with a bakery, then a romance that has a cover suggesting clothing is optional.
"That looks educational," I observe.
"It's about Vikings."
"Historically accurate Vikings?"
