Page 29 of Beautiful Beast

“Old money hates new money.”

I laugh because she’s not wrong. “I’m not exactly… typical of old money though.”

“You’re not really typical of humankind.”

“Come on, smartass. I want to show you something.”

She follows me up the stairs, and I manage to make it all the way up to the top without stopping. Buster is so excited to explore a new place that he pushes to the front of our line. I take her to the third door on the right and gesture for her to open it and head inside.

With a quizzical expression on her face, she does. The squeal of absolute glee while she jumps up and down is even more than I expected.

And it thaws one of the frozen places deep inside me.

“You have a library!” Belle exclaims. “Oh, my God, I could spend hours in here.”

With enthusiasm that I’m learning is unique to her – at least when it comes to books – she dashes into the room with Buster right beside her.

My mom loved to read and instilled the same passion in me. It makes me feel close to her, and when time permits, I read everything from the latest New York Times bestsellers to educational non-fiction.

But there are more books on the shelves than I could ever hope to read in a lifetime.

Even though it’s summer and the fireplace isn’t on, Buster makes a beeline for it, spinning in countless circles before laying on the adjacent bear rug. He can apparently make himself at home anywhere, the same as his owner.

Belle runs around the library as though she is unsure where to start. She climbs onto the wooden ladder and slides down an entire wall, giggling the entire way.

“This is the coolest room ever!” she exclaims.

Her excitement makes me smile because this was my mom’s favorite room of the house, too. I’m sure my mom would adore Belle, a thought that sends a sharp pang of sorrow shooting through me.

There is so much she missed out on.

So much that she’s still missing.

“I thought you might like it, Miss Librarian.”

She’s so fixated on the books that she isn’t paying much attention to me, which is welcome. Even though she’s seen my face, I don’t particularly want her scrutinizing it. I still find myself turning away to be sure that if she does look over, it will be at my good side.

Watching her is quickly becoming one of my favorite things to do. In addition to being built like a dream with an ass for days, she’s just so passionate that it’s infectious.

When she returns to me after leisurely browsing the shelves, she has a stack of books in her arms. A glance at the spines reveals they’re all classics.

“I’m going to borrow these, okay?”

“Sure, no problem. I’m surprised you haven’t read them all before.”

“I have read most of them,” she admits. “But I couldn’t resist. Rereading books is like visiting with an old friend. Some stories are so good that you can’t just read them once. And I take something different away every time.”

“Books are a comfort to me, too,” I tell her. “And I’ll probably live to regret saying this next statement, but you can come back whenever you want. For the books.”

“For the books,” she repeats.

We’re staring at each other again, and her gaze keeps bouncing from my eyes to my lips, further tempting me to kiss her.

“But aren’t we going on another date?” she asks, biting her full lower lip.

“This wasn’t a date,” I return.

“It was,” she insists.

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