Chapter 3
The book club members chatted with Dax like he was a celebrity guest on a reality TV show about book lovers.
Rachel returned and sat beside me. She pulled more goodies from her purse—a plastic bag packed with her infamous snickerdoodle cookies, and the aroma of cinnamon and vanilla wafted through the air.
“All right everyone, let’s dive into this month’s pick: Nautical Nuptials.” I clasped my hands. “I must say, Captain Thorne’s brooding intensity had me at Ahoy.”
Carmen lifted her brows. “Brooding? More like emotionally unavailable.”
“But emotionally available men don’t make for enthralling page-turners.” Aunt Margo’s turquoise bracelets jingled when she lifted the paperback. “His character just needed the right woman to traverse his waters.”
“Which is exactly why I adore romance,” I said. “It’s about finding someone who compliments you both body and soul, not just fitting some formulaic mold.”
Dax snorted. “Give me a thriller or horror story any day of the week—something that gets your heart pumping.”
Not this again. A twinge of defensiveness struck my chest. It was as if he had just dismissed an entire genre—and by extension, a part of me—with a flippant wave of his hand.
“Oh, pish posh! There’s nothing wrong with a little escapism, young man. It spices things up if you know what I mean.” Aunt Margo looked at Dax, and he let out a surprised chuckle.
“Well, there’s more to romance than just the stereotypical bodice-rippers,” I said, my tone softening. “There are quite a few genres that blend romance with other themes. Like Gothic romance, for example. It combines the suspense and thrills of horror with the emotional depth and character development of romance. Or so I’ve heard, I haven’t read much of it myself. And really, when you think about it, a lot of genres can have romantic elements. Suspense, fantasy, even sci-fi. It’s all about the storytelling and how the author brings the characters to life.”
Dax raised an eyebrow. “Huh. Guess I always assumed romance was just, you know, all about the mushy stuff.”
I grabbed one of Rachel’s cookies. “Oh, there’s definitely mushy stuff. There’s also adventure, mystery, and sometimes even danger. It’s a lot more diverse than people give it credit for. You should read one sometime.”
Dax sat back, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that emphasized his biceps. It was like he was flexing without meaning to—or was he? Hard to tell with someone like him. Even though I could appreciate the view, I couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or intrigued by his mere presence.
Dax shook his head. “No thanks. Romance is not for me. It’s just a bunch of unrealistic fairy tales.”
Rachel scoffed. “And horror isn’t? Don’t even get me started on the plot holes. Like anyone could survive half the stuff that happens in horror novels or movies. “
Samuel nodded. “True, and a lot of romance stories rely on tired old tropes. But the best ones have complex characters, genuine emotions, and relationships that feel earned. When it’s done well, Dax, romance can be just as compelling and insightful about the human condition as any other genre.”
Dax let out a short laugh. “I doubt it. How about the romance cliché of misunderstandings and cheesy declarations of undying devotion? How original.”
“As if a masked killer chasing scantily-clad coeds is the height of creativity.” This guy was infuriating. Cute, but infuriating. “Forget it. Clearly, you’re not open to other genres.”
“And you’re not open to admitting that romance is just formulaic fluff,” he countered.
We glared at each other for a moment, the friction rising between us. I had to admit, there was something fun about arguing with someone who was so passionate about their opinions, even if they were dead wrong.
But I wasn’t about to let him win this one. “You know what, Dax? I think you’re just scared.”
He blinked. “Scared? Of what?”
“Of admitting that deep down, underneath all that macho posturing, you might just enjoy a love story.”
Dax’s jaw dropped. “I...what? No. Absolutely not.”
I grinned. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”
He shook his head, his lips twitching. “You’re cute, you know that?”
Rachel closed her bag of cookies. “If you two are done flirting, can we get back to the book club meeting now?”
Fire swept over my skin and I fought the urge to face my face. “We were not flirting,” I looked at Dax. “If you’re that narrowminded, than by all means, keep reading your genre and leave us to ours.”
Dax lifted his brow. “Better than reading about shirtless pirates.”
Aunt Margo scoffed. “Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport, Dax. Scantily clad bandits can be very enlightening.”
Carmen laughed. “Margo, I think you just enjoy the, ahem—treasure chests.”
Samuel snickered. “Whatever floats your boat—or pirate ship.”
Everyone laughed, then they started debating the book’s love interests.
Dax Granger didn’t belong. I kept repeating it like a mantra. Then I caught him staring at me with a crooked smile and my brain short-circuited, leaving me fumbling for words and praying I didn’t have coffee breath.
Ugh. Dax was here, for better or worse, and I guess I needed to find a way to deal with it.
Dax leaned closer to me. “I like your hair. It’s pretty.”
He gave me this smoldering look—the kind that could make a girl forget the difference between Austen’s prose and a heart monitor’s beeps.
Okay, sure, it might be tempting to get swept up in the excitement of something new and shiny. But I knew better than to fall for a handsome face and a set of abs that could make a Greek god weep with envy. I was a woman of substance, a connoisseur of the written word. I couldn’t be swayed by a charming smile and flirty compliments.
I ruthlessly brushed cookie crumbs from my shirt and joined in on the discussion. “And beyond the lusty serenades by the captain, let’s not dismiss the complexities of relationships, the joys and pains of love.” I glanced at Dax. “You can’t find that theme in any horror novel.”
“How do you know if you’ve never read one?” Dax tilted his head. “Sometimes it’s the dark that makes us reach for the light.”
I had to glance away from his infuriatingly charming face. How did someone manage to be so annoying yet so...visually pleasing?
In books, these encounters were always fraught with romantic tension, the prelude to an inevitable passionate entanglement. Except this was real life, where a bookish girl like me didn’t befriend a beefcake like him.
He didn’t fit into my world. We were complete opposites. I suppose his perfect jawline and wavy, light-brown hair could have given any Harlequin model a run for their money, but he was too...polished, like those pretty boys who spent more time in front of a mirror than in a bookstore. And the guy thrived on horror. Me? I’d rather curl up with romance any day of the week.
I flashed him a tight-lipped smile, hoping it conveyed both politeness and dismissal. “Thanks for sharing your opinions, Dax. Now, who wants to discuss chapter five?”
“Wait…I’ve got an idea.” Dax straightened, his biceps bulging in a distracting way. “How about a reading challenge, Paris? We could do a genre swap. You read two of my favorite horror novels, and I’ll read these...voyages of love.”
“What a delightful notion! Paris, honey, it might do you good to step away from your reading routine,” Aunt Margo said. “You might discover a new genre... or perhaps a new perspective on life and love.”
Samuel patted Dax’s knee. “And Dax, my friend, a little romance never hurt anyone. I quite enjoy reading it myself. In fact, I wager you’ll be quoting Shakespearean sonnets in a graveyard in no time!”
Dax laughed. “We’ll see about that, Samuel. I’m not sure I have the dramatic flair to pull off a graveyard sonnet recital.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I teased. “I can totally picture you, perched atop a tombstone, proclaiming, ‘But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?’”
The image of Dax dramatically reciting limericks among headstones caused a round of laughter. Dax’s eyes crinkled, genuine amusement softening his features.
“Horror novels are like a mental workout. They keep you up late, get your heart racing. Trust me, it’s a rush,” Dax said.
“But seriously. Thanks, but no thanks,” I said firmly. “My appreciation of an adrenaline rush is a last-minute book sale, not a ghostly tale.”
“Oh, don’t be such a book snob, Paris,” Rachel said.
I narrowed my eyes. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It was like my own book club had turned against me, throwing me to the literary wolves—or in this case, the horror-loving gym rat.
As I looked around at the eager faces of my friends, I realized that I was outnumbered. They seemed genuinely excited about the idea of a genre swap.
“Glad the group agrees.” Dax grinned at everyone, as if he’d been born to charm the socks off of unsuspecting book clubbers. “What’s the worst that could happen? You might actually enjoy a different genre.”
I hesitated, considering his proposal, then offered Dax a small, apologetic smile. “It’s not that I’m allergic to trying new things,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I’m just uneasy about reading books that aren’t my literary jam. Romance novels have been my go-to for so long.”
Sushi appeared and gave Dax’s shoes a few delicate sniffs. Dax made the risky move of offering his hand to the furry critic. After another sniff, Sushi rubbed her side against his leg, fur collecting in drifts across his jeans.
Should I offer him a lint roller? Probably. Yet for some inexplicable reason, I remained comfortably planted in my seat, refusing to lift a finger.
If Sushi wanted to fraternize with the enemy, who was I to stand in the way of her newfound allegiance? I’d just sit back and watch as my cat shamelessly sought attention from the man who had so impolitely interrupted our peaceful book club meeting.
Samuel pointed at my cat. “See? Even Sushi thinks it’s a splendid idea.”
I shook my head. “Her judgment is questionable at best. She also thinks chasing dust bunnies is a sport.”
“Oh, come on, Paris. It might be fun,” Dax said.
“Paris, querida,” Carmen cooed from where she sat. “It could be an illuminating experience.”
“Think about it. This reading challenge might just liven up your bookstagram content, too,” Rachel said.
I squirmed in my seat under the weight of their collective stares. For a moment, I felt like a kid who’d stumbled into the wrong birthday party—surrounded by gleeful faces and inside jokes I couldn’t quite grasp. It was as if they were all in on some secret I had yet to uncover, and I was an outsider looking in.
Dax leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I dare you, bookworm.”
Maybe I was being too harsh. I realized I was guilty of the same narrow-mindedness I’d accused Dax of. I was a bookshop owner, and shouldn’t let myself be such a book snob. Sure, Dax and I couldn’t be more different. He probably considered trail mix the fifth essential food group and had never been slain by a fictional character’s death. Cats, coffee, and pastries were the holy trinity of my existence, while he undoubtedly worshiped dumbbells, veggie powders, and curated workout playlists.
That didn’t mean I couldn’t be civil. And this was my bookshop, my book club, and I wasn’t about to let some muscle-bound Adonis throw me off my game. Even if his spicy cologne did make my knees feel a little weak.
Then, something clicked in my brain—a lightbulb moment, if you will. I couldn’t let him get to me.
I’d faced far greater challenges than a few goosebump-inducing novels—like that time I had to rescue Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s pet rat from the top shelf of the sci-fi romance section before Sushi could pounce—a true test of my patience and agility.
If I could make Dax eat his words (and perhaps a slice of humble pie) in the process? Well, that would just be the cherry on top of this delightfully bookish debate.
“You’re right, there’s always room for growth and discovery.” I sighed. “How about we start small? I’ll give your horror recommendations a chance, but something on the milder side to ease me into it. And in return, I’ll pick out a romance novel that I think might appeal to your tastes.”
No way could he get through the first few pages of the story I had in mind, much less the first chapter. This would all be over, he’d quit the book club, and my life could return to its quiet order.
He held out his hand, grinning. “I can work with that, and we might just find some common ground after all.”
I shook his hand, his grip warm and firm. The flutter in my stomach and the tingling in my fingertips were simply a result of the anticipation of the genre swap, and not any sort of chemistry or attraction to Dax. He was a wild card, a plot twist I hadn’t seen coming.
And as much as I hated to admit it, that scared me. I was used to changes happening between the pages of a book, not in my own life.
“To be clear, I’m only doing this to prove romances are superior reads.”
“Of course. Let the genre-defying challenge begin!” Dax replied, a triumphant edge to his voice.