Coming Swoon (Brunch Bros #4)

Prologue

London, Twelve Years Ago

Peter Parker-Green didn’t know why he picked the bookshop with the blue door, except that maybe it reminded him of the one from Notting Hill. It wasn’t remarkable in the slightest beyond the cheerful door and the tabby cat sleeping in the window, obscuring part of the display. Parts of the gold lettering on the window had peeled off, making it a “Boo s op”, but Peter had time to kill so he went inside. He needed to buy a birthday present for his mother anyway.

The shop was dark, the light disappearing the further back he walked, as overstuffed shelves of used books crowded out the sun filtering in from outside. Used bookshops all had the same smell to him, a unique combination of dust, paper, and old binding glue. The organization was always a bit different, and this one fell into the “non-existent” category, which was actually the best kind. Treasures hid in shops where no one could tell you exactly what the inventory was.

Peter crouched down in front of a shelf. His parents had taught him to start from the bottom and work his way up, since casual browsers were more likely to only look at what was eye level or above. Book thrifting was a family hobby, hunting for specific covers or out-of-print books in the cities they visited. Both of his parents were such voracious readers that their production company specialized in adaptations. And his mother collected Jane Austen novels specifically. Charlotte Parker had enough money that she could have hired someone to find them for her, the way some of their friends had art buyers, but she liked to find them herself or get them as gifts so each one had a memory attached. That was what he was hunting for: an Austen his mom didn’t already own.

A pair of cheap, knock-off Doc Martens caught his peripheral attention. The owner of the boots was stretched up on their tiptoes, reaching for something, but he was fixated on their feet. The heel on the right boot was separating from the sole, and it took every ounce of self-control Peter possessed to not see which of his fingers would fit in the gap. People didn’t like having fingers randomly shoved into their gaps.

Focus. He needed to focus. He tore his eyes away from the derelict boots and trained them firmly on the shelves in front of him. There was something special in this shop. He could feel it. It made the skin on the back of his neck prickle and his toes clench in his shoes.

Peter’s eyes trailed upward, quickly scanning spines, pausing on the ones that were almost too cracked to read. Spine-cracking was a sin, according to his mother. When he spied the red leather spine, with the title engraved in gold letters, his heart quickened. He had seen this edition of Emma before, but never in such good condition. If the rest of it looked like the spine, he’d found a diamond in the rough.

His fingers collided with someone else’s as he reached for the copy of Emma . Electricity shot up his arm and sparks crackled in his blood.

He turned his head to tell the person that he’d seen the book first, but the words evaporated on his tongue like water splashed into a scalding pan.

Peter believed in true love the same way other people believed in religion. Love at first sight was akin to a miracle, a sacred thing that could happen if the soul was open to the possibility.

It was like he’d left his sepia-colored life and stepped into bright, jarring technicolor. Warm brown eyes stared up into his, narrowed and unblinking. The light caught her red hair just right, setting it aglow in a deep, fiery copper. Dozens of gingerish freckles stood out against a rosy pink blush.

So this was it. The moment he’d waited for and dreamed about his entire life. He’d finally met the other half of his soul.

His heart beat truly for the first time and the sound filled his ears. Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump.

“You a big Jane Austen fan, buddy?”

Her snarky tone jolted Peter out of his haze.

“More than a fan,” he said, imbuing all the serious reverence of a priest into his voice. “This isn’t just a book. It’s a sacred text of Our Lady Most Ardently.”

She suppressed her smile, but the amused twitch in the corner of her mouth encouraged him.

“I’m Peter,” he said, and for some unknown, god-forsaken reason added, “Like the rabbit.”

“And I need to get this book and leave,” she said, tugging it off the shelf. She frowned when he didn’t release the hold he’d had on the copy. “A devotee like yourself doesn’t own a copy of Emma ?”

“I do.”

She tried to tug the book away from him, but he gripped it tighter. “If you already own it, why aren’t you letting go?”

“Because it’s not for me. It’s a birthday present for my mother.”

“You’re getting her this for her birthday?” She frowned at him. “Why?”

“Because she collects Austens,” Peter said. “Why do you need this copy so badly?”

“It’s a gift for my sister.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, and she rolled her eyes.

“I want to bring home something special for her, not a Big Ben keychain.”

“I’ll let you have the book,” Peter said, “if you go out with me.”

“A guy that needs to hold a book hostage to get a date? I don’t think so.”

“I guess we’ll have to stand here and get to know each other, then, because I’m not letting go.”

She tugged on the book again, but he didn’t budge.

“I knew I should’ve gone to Waterstones. But no, I saw the blue door and thought, ‘That looks like Hugh Grant’s place in Notting Hill. ’” She frowned, and added under her breath, “Last time I ever watch a rom-com.”

“This is fate. You were going to go to Waterstones, but you came here instead. We reached for the same copy of the same book that’s been out forever for the same reason. We were supposed to meet today.”

“There’s no such thing as fate,” she told him.

An idea lit up his mind like a lightbulb.

“If I can convince you that fate is real, will you go out with me?”

She sighed heavily and shifted her weight onto her right foot. “I can’t wait to hear how you’re going to prove this.”

“Easy. London is a big town. We don’t know anything about each other. If we run into each other again, it’s clearly fate that we’re supposed to get to know each other.” He looked at the book clasped in their hands. He could find his mother something else for her birthday. “You can have the book as a gesture of goodwill.”

She looked at the book, sighed, and let go. “No. You take it. My sister probably wouldn’t appreciate it anyway.” She took a few steps back. “We won’t be seeing each other again, by the way. Fate isn’t real.”

“Maybe you’ll change your mind the next time I see you.”

She shook her head while she rolled her eyes, then turned and made her way to the front of the store. Peter watched her stop to give the store cat some pets before she left, and he let the image sear itself into his brain.

He’d be seeing her again. They were meant to be.