Page 4 of Claimed By the Bookstore Alpha
I sighed. Miranda knew me too well. "But I think he looked at the book. And he didn't throw me out immediately, which is progress."
"Clark Branigan, you are the most optimistic person I know, but even you can't turn every grumpy stranger into a love story."
"I'm not trying to turn him into anything." That was mostly true. "But I think there's more to him than the whole surly loner thing."
"There usually is. The question is whether he wants anyone to see it."
Miranda had a point. His walls weren't just high, they were reinforced with steel and topped with barbed wire. Whateverhad made him so defensive ran deep, and it was going to take more than one conversation to break through.
But I'd noted the way he'd looked at my book and the careful attention he'd paid to the story. And I'd definitely seen that moment when his expression had changed and I imagined him remembering what it felt like to connect with someone.
"I left him a copy of the dragon book.”
"The one about the lonely dragon who learns to share his stories?"
"That's the one."
"Subtle."
I laughed. "I'm not known for my subtlety."
"No, you're persistent and that’s either charming or stalker-ish, depending on the situation."
"Thanks for the pep talk."
"I'm just saying, maybe give the guy some space to process. You came on pretty strong to someone who obviously values his privacy."
She was right, as usual. He struck me as someone who needed time to think things through as opposed to someone who appreciated being pushed into quick decisions. If I wanted any chance of getting to know him better, professionally or otherwise, I needed to let him come to me.
But that didn't mean I couldn't be visible.
I finished my latte and spent another hour working on my laptop near the coffee shop window, supposedly editing my next manuscript but I was enjoying the view of the bookstore. Around four o'clock, I glanced at him through the window, talking to an elderly man. Flynn's demeanor was different than with me. There was no tension in his shoulders and his expression was almost friendly. Had his gruffness with me been personal?
When I finally packed up my laptop and headed home, I made sure to walk past Turning Pages. Flynn was alone again,bent over some paperwork at the counter. As I passed, he looked up and our eyes met through the window.
For a second, neither of us moved. Then he gave me the smallest nod. It wasn’t what I’d call friendly but more of an acknowledgement. I hoped he was thinking about my book or my offer. And if he was, perhaps he’d think about me.
I smiled and kept walking, but that tiny nod felt was a victory.
My apartment was only a few blocks away. It was a small one-bedroom above a bakery that always smelled like fresh bread and cinnamon. It wasn't much, but it was mine, and it was perfect for a writer who needed quiet space to work and dream.
I made dinner and spent the evening working on my next book, but my mind kept drifting back to Flynn. The way he'd held himself so carefully it seemed he was afraid of taking up too much space. The moment when he'd actually smiled, just barely, when I'd called him selective instead of antisocial. And when I left, he’d remembered my name, even though I'd only introduced myself once.
Maybe Miranda was right and I was reading too much into a simple business interaction. Or Flynn was as curious about me as I was about him.
THREE
FLYNN
I hadn't intended to stop at the library. I'd been walking to the post office when the sound of children's laughter drifted through the open doors, followed by a familiar voice doing what could only be described as a dragon impression.
My feet had a mind of their own apparently.
The children's section was packed. Two dozen kids sat cross-legged on the carpet in a perfect semicircle, their faces turned up toward Clark. He was perched on a tiny chair that looked like it might collapse under him at any moment, and holding up a picture book, making his voice rumble and growl as he read about the dragon who collected stories instead of gold.
My dragon. The one Clark had said reminded him of me.
"And the dragon thought to himself," Clark continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that had every child leaning forward, "Maybe... maybe sharing one story wouldn't hurt.”
