Falling for Keeps (Falling for Autumn #4)

1. Emma

Emma

Bachelorette parties are the tenth level of the inferno.

Past violence, fraud, and treachery, according to Dante and his journey to rescue his love.

He thinks there should only be nine levels of hell, but I’ve found the tenth, and it involves off-key drunk singing, too many woo-girls, and soggy bar food.

Don’t get me started on the sashes draped over our shoulders. Since we’re a group of rowdy librarians, we can’t sport the typical I’m with the bride gear. No, that would be too normal. Ours say things like First Edition, The Reference Team, and Shelf Support.

My sash? Picture Book Princess.

It’s a step up from The Babysitter, which was evidently going to be my original description for the night.

That was horrible, even if it’s true, since I’m the sober driver this evening.

The silky one sliding down my shoulder now literally makes no sense.

Not even the bride’s is clear. Hers is white and reads Head Librarian.

I don’t know who handed the maid of honor free rein and a Cricut, but they probably didn’t expect our two male librarians to show up at the bar in Burlington sporting Lord of the Library and Keeper of the Stacks.

We don’t even have that many stacks in our tiny, old building in our minuscule town of Autumn Ridge. My library is nothing compared to Burlington’s. We’re lucky if we get the hold request transfers we ask for.

I lean back in the booth against the squeaky, red vinyl seat and watch the bride, my good friend Demi, sing “Any Man of Mine” with my workplace nemesis, Maggie.

I was invited up on stage with them, but singing Shania Twain to a crowd of strangers isn’t really my thing.

Neither is wildly dancing in the dim bar like the rest of the bridal party.

Give me a stack of Dr. Seuss and a horde of under-tens, and I’m in my element.

Okay, maybe Picture Book Princess fits.

Bars late at night with drunk librarians, a soon-to-be bride, and too much smoke filtering in through the door for my asthmatic lungs to be comfortable isn’t what I’d call a good time.

At what point is it socially acceptable for the designated driver to stop taking pictures and videos of the karaoke singers and pull out a book?

Especially when the guy constantly looking at me from the center of the dance floor was a mistake I made last year that I can’t ever undo.

I should never have agreed to attend the librarian conference with Seth.

The vibe and all the books and the new possible programs we’d get out of it went to my head.

I made stupid decisions…like accepting his offer of dinner and making out to the tune of “Careless Whisper” at the after-hours mixer. George Michael really did me dirty.

At least Seth isn’t suffering since we ended things. He’s dancing right now all over the bride’s older sister.

Yeah, this warrants some reading time. I’m halfway through the book club book for this month anyway, and I need to finish it before my autumn responsibilities make it impossible to find time to read.

My glass of ice water is sweating all over the table, so I pick it up to take a sip just as a man slides onto the bench beside me. “Sorry I’m late.”

Water shoots to the back of my throat and promptly goes down the wrong pipe.

He hands me a napkin from the other side of the table. “You alright?”

“Asthma,” I blurt. It’s not our resident Lord of the Library or Keeper of the Stacks, and it’s not the groom. This guy has dark golden hair that glows beneath the pink overhead lights and a—holy mother of all things, it’s Carson Price.

He smiles at me briefly before bringing his drink to his lips and taking a sip, but his eyes linger on my face.

Does Demi even know Carson? She’s too young to have been in school with us, back when he was the starting quarterback of our football team and everyone’s favorite guy.

I knew his sister, but Carson was so far above me on the social scale, I’d bet my second edition Sense and Sensibility he has no idea we’re even from the same small town thirty minutes south of here.

Buying time, I take another sip of water.

Carson leans back against the red pleather seat and lets out a weary sigh. He looks at the door every few seconds, then turns his striking green eyes on me. It’s hard to tell they’re green with all these pink lights, but I remember them from high school. That’s how beautiful they are.

The rest of my water disappears, so I set my glass on the table.

Carson studies my face. “You know, you don’t really look like your brother.”

“We get that a lot.” I wave my hand at my auburn hair. It used to be much brighter, but age has dulled it to more of a red-brown, and I keep it trimmed to my collarbone. I’m the opposite of my younger twin siblings in more ways than one. I push a lock of wavy hair out of my face.

How does he know my brother Dominic well enough to search for resemblances? And why hasn’t Dom told me they’re friends?

“How long have you been in town?” he asks.

This is so weird. Does he not know that I live right across the road from his mother?

The last time I saw this man was from my front window when he came home for Christmas a few years ago with his wife and daughter…

ex-wife, I guess. He looks just as powerful and confident now.

His jaw is sharply angled and covered in a shadow of facial hair I wouldn’t mind running my hand over.

Okay, Emma, slow your roll. The mild crush I carried in high school is long dead.

The only reason I’m feeling the least bit of butterflies is those old feelings knocking on the door and asking to be let back in.

I’m Drew Barrymore in Never Been Kissed and this is my shot at reliving high school differently.

I have no idea what Carson’s connection to Demi is, but he is single, and there’s a reason he’s sitting with me tonight.

I’m not going to look this gift horse in the mouth.

Besides, that’s his job, anyway. The man is a dentist.

Why have I kept tabs on the most popular guy in the grade above mine when high school was more than a decade ago? His mom is my only neighbor. I have no choice.

He’s watching me expectantly, so I smile. “About an hour. We had dinner earlier, so karaoke is the only natural conclusion for our night.”

Carson’s brow puckers. “Where’s Todd, then?”

“Who’s Todd?”

He sits back, observing me through unblinking lush, earthy eyes. Like orbs of rainforest packaged in his angular face. “Are you not…sorry, I thought you were Todd’s sister.”

My stomach sinks. No, he doesn’t recognize me. He has no idea who I am. He’s probably not friends with Dom, either. That year of being office assistants together as a sophomore and junior hasn’t served me whatsoever.

“Nope.”

Carson rubs his short beard, his bright smile flashing in self-deprecation. “He sent me a picture…and you look like her. This is embarrassing.”

Except the way he’s smiling at me like we’re both in on the joke and the confident way he’s leaning in the booth are sending the opposite signals.

I lift my sash an inch. “Bachelorette party.”

His smile actually grows wider. Someone else is taking the stage to sing “Party in the U.S.A.” and everyone from my group is wooing—both men included—like we were offered decent overtime for event work.

Carson follows my gaze to the group of sashed, drunk librarians letting loose. “Context clues. Man, I was blind.” He returns his attention to my eyes, holding them for a beat in a way that makes me feel rooted in place. “Which one’s the bride?”

“Head Librarian,” I say, pointing.

“Good.” He nods. “I don’t want to be that guy hitting on a woman while she celebrates her impending marriage.”

A smile breaks over my lips. I can read between the lines, and it sounds like he’s planning on flirting with me.

This isn’t very me, but I won’t pretend it’s not some kind of fantasy coming to life.

Besides, I’ll probably never see this guy in person again.

The most interaction we’re going to have is me watching from my window as he drives up to have Thanksgiving dinner with his mom.

Even that is rare.

“No fiancé,” I tell him.

“Boyfriend?”

My gaze flicks to the dance floor, where Seth is watching us while he continues to dance with Demi’s sister. Her long dark hair swings as she moves around him. “Nope.”

Carson must clock this. “But that guy wants to be?”

“No, nothing like that. We have some history, but…it’ll never go anywhere.”

“Poor guy.”

I glance up, and Carson is looking down at me. My throat is thick with nerves. Does Carson Price think I’m pretty? Because that’s what he’s implying, and I don’t know what to do with that information. It ties my tongue into knots.

He leans closer, sending me a whiff of cologne that’s hard to describe, except I’m sure there’s some sort of sage or something equally manly and confusing. “So, if your entire party is out on the dance floor, why are you keeping the bench warm?”

“Designated driver.” I shrug, wishing my glass was full so I’d have something to sip.

“Being sober doesn’t mean you can’t have fun. I know plenty of people who don’t drink but still sing.”

My cheeks warm at the very thought. “Karaoke isn’t really my thing. I’m more of a sit-back-in-the-shadows-and-film-my-friends kind of party girl.”

“Funny. I pegged you as a read-in-the-corner type.” He reaches over and taps the paperback on my lap.

Busted. “It’s a work thing.”

“Reading a novel?”

“Preparing for a book club.” My smile is broad, and I find myself leaning toward him. Or is he leaning toward me? Either way, I can feel the distance between us waning, the air thick and palpable with energy. “Do you read?”

“Not really.” He cringes, which is adorable. “Unless you count Dr. Seuss.”

“One of the most talented authors of all time? Of course I count him.”

“And Kevin Henkes,” he says, surprising me. That one might be a typical household children’s novelist, but most men can’t pull his name out of thin air.

“Do you have a favorite of his?” I ask.

“Probably Lilly’s Purple Purse. Or maybe Chrysanthemum.”

“Those are both excellent.”

His arm slides over the back of the bench in a cocky move. “You didn’t believe me, did you?”

“I’m not going to call you a liar.”

“Your face pretty much did.”

My laugh rings out, making his eyes flash. “I was only apprehensive.”

“Fair enough.” Warmth radiates from his arm, and I know I’m living some crazy alternative reality here, but I don’t want it to end.

I was never the girl picked first, never asked to prom by the football quarterback, never noticed by the popular guys as I sat in the corner and read my books.

I was the nerd. He was the jock. We ran in such opposite crowds, it’s no surprise he doesn’t recognize me.

Especially because the dress Demi forced me into is nothing at all like what I typically wear.

This little green number is tighter and shorter and altogether sleeker than anything in my closet.

But I was friends with his sister, so it still stings a little.

Anyway, none of that matters at this moment.

It’s my Cinderella hour. I’m in a tight green dress bestowed on me by my fairy bride-mother, flirting with a man who oozes main character energy.

His strong jaw and particular attention are part of this bubble, and I don’t want it to pop.

Once we step out of the bar, the spell will break—he’ll return to his life and I’ll revert to soft sweaters and worn jeans.

But for right now, I don’t mind having his full attention.

The door opens, and two guys walk in with a stunning redhead. She’s got a killer dress on and carries herself like she knows it. Carson glances at them and lifts his hand in a wave. “My friends are here.”

Of course the bubble would pop immediately. In what universe would he be meeting anyone but a gorgeous model and her entourage? How could he possibly mistake me for her?

Carson hesitates. He looks down at the table, then rubs the back of his neck. “It was nice to talk with you. Sorry about the mix-up.”

“Hey, I get it. All redheads look alike.”

His green eyes glitter as a warm chuckle rumbles from his chest, but he slips from the bench smoothly, taking all feelings of potential with him. “Have a good night.”

“Thanks. You too.”

He walks away, meeting his friends near the door and following them to an empty table on the other side of the bar. He sits facing me, and I pretend to be engrossed in my book. Especially because Seth is heading my way, and I want to redirect him back to Demi’s sister.

The book should be enough to distract me, but it isn’t. Not when I can still feel the heat of Carson’s gaze on my skin. Not when every time I glance up, I find him watching me.