Smitten in the Stacks (For the Love of Austen #2)

Chapter 6

Dax drove through the town’s quiet streets, the world beyond our windows slipping into soft focus like an old Hollywood film reel. Shadows, cast by a full moon, turned familiar landmarks into silhouettes as if our town had suddenly auditioned for a role in a low-budget horror flick. I half-expected to see a group of villagers with pitchforks and torches marching down Main Street, chanting ominously about the dangers of outsiders and the importance of maintaining small town traditions. But the only thing lurking in the gloom was Mrs. Henderson’s Siamese cat, who seemed more interested in chasing moths than joining any sort of town uprising.

I elbowed him on the bicep. “Are you sure this hotel is haunted?”

Dax lifted his right hand. “Scout’s honor. You’ll see for yourself once we get there. Heritage House is located on the outskirts of town and hasn’t been in business since the 1940s.”

The car crept to a stop in front of Heritage House, its headlights briefly catching the tangled ivy smothering its Victorian fa?ade and overgrown gardens. The hotel stood as if plucked from the pages of a Gothic novel, with its ostentatious turrets and gables.

Sending a discreet text to Aunt Margo and Rachel, I informed them of my trip to an abandoned hotel with Dax. Just in case his love for horror turned out to be more Norman Bates than Casper, the Friendly Ghost, at least someone would know where to look for my remains.

Dax got out, his figure momentarily merging with the darkness before he came around to open my door. He offered me his arm with a lopsided grin and I linked my arm with his. We walked up to the hotel entrance, and Dax pulled open the heavy wooden door, revealing a candlelit cobwebbed foyer.

I glanced at him questioningly.

“Thought it’d be more atmospheric if we used candles,” he said, shrugging. “I came by earlier to set it all up. I managed to pull some strings with one of my clients, the guy who owns this place. He’s cool with us checking it out before he brings in the wrecking crew to flatten it and turn it into a park. Gotta love those connections, right?” Dax flashed a confident grin.

“The candles do set the mood, and this place isn’t as creepy as I thought it would be. It’s actually kinda cool and interesting.”

We stepped over the threshold into a massive room with a front desk and seating, the once-lavish décor now dusty and faded. The air was thick with the musty scent of history, the kind that clings to old buildings. The chandelier, dulled by years of neglect, hung solemnly from the ceiling, its crystals catching the faint light and forming eerie reflections on the walls. We passed a grand staircase leading to upper-floors.

“Heritage House has a lot of history. For instance,” Dax said, his voice taking on a theatrical tone, “the original owner of this hotel still wanders the halls. They say he’s searching for someone.”

“And what is this spectral proprietor looking for?”

“His lost love, of course.”

I smiled and it calmed the slight jitters. “Ah, so even ghosts aren’t immune to the allure of romance.”

He chuckled. “Afraid not.”

Dax and I wandered about, the floorboards creaking in the vast, empty space.

He escorted me past the stairs, removing a small flashlight from his coat pocket and flicking it on. “They say he can be heard on nights just like this one, wailing for his beloved, and those who hear his cries are cursed to?—”

“Let me guess. Forever crave chocolate croissants at midnight? Because in that case, I might stick around. A little supernatural pastry addiction never hurt anyone.”

Dax laughed. “I was gonna say ‘be haunted by bad luck,’ but your version’s better.”

“Of course it is,” I teased.

The way he smiled at me caused my heart to do a backflip. Then my chest squeezed. No way could I let myself get swept up in the moment, no matter how charismatic he was.

Because the memory of Julian’s betrayal still haunted me, making me feel insecure and scared whenever I interacted with guys. It was like this bitter aftertaste that just wouldn’t go away, no matter how much time passed. Thinking about it made me feel sick to my stomach, like my insides were tying themselves into knots that might never come undone. The heart wounds had scabbed over, but even the slightest prod could rip them open again, unleashing all that pain and doubt. I had to keep Dax at a distance.

“Let’s go this way.” Dax motioned toward a shadowy corridor branching off from the main hall.

Meandering through the dimly lit passageways, our footsteps were muffled by the age-worn carpet, which had seen more wear and tear than a well-loved teddy bear. I had to admit there was a major creep-factor to this place and I stayed close to Dax, appreciating his protective vibe. Peeling wallpaper clung to the walls, patterns faded yet hinting at past grandeur, like a once-glamorous starlet who had traded in her sequins for a fluffy bathrobe and fuzzy slippers.

I peered inside a bedroom at dusty furniture, draped in tattered cloth. A chill draft swept through the corridor decorated with grandiose mirrors, their surfaces clouded with age. I shuddered and rubbed my arms.

“You cold?” Dax shrugged off his coat and handed it to me.

It was five sizes too big, but I slipped it on and his masculine cologne enveloped me, a heady fusion of citrusy notes and spicy, woody undertones. “Thanks.”

We continued exploring, our conversation echoing through the halls. The flashlight’s beam, shining on the walls painted us in a peek-a-boo of shadows and light.

Glancing at him, I could help thinking again about how different we were. His idea of a good time involved inspecting haunted locales and watching slasher flicks, while mine leaned more towards cozy bookstores and sappy Hallmark movies, but at the end of the day, we were both misfits in our own charming ways. Maybe this shared appreciation for the unusual would be the foundation for a beautiful, albeit somewhat peculiar, friendship.

He bumped my arm with his. “If this were a movie, this is the part where the rugged hero stumbles upon a secret passage behind a bookshelf.”

“Reality is rarely so convenient or cliché.”

“Ah, but that’s the thing about fiction...no limits,” he said, his voice deepening to a quiet rumble. “In those love stories of yours, would the hero have the guts to go in for a kiss, risking the knockback?”

Before I could respond Dax’s hand touched my arm and I froze, his touch electrifying my skin even through the cotton of his zip-up hoodie. He leaned in closer, his lips mere inches from mine. The air between us sizzled with heat and the intensity in his stare had a magnetic pull. His hand lowered, his thumb lightly caressing the curve of my bottom lip, and I nearly melted into a puddle of mushy girl gooeyness.

Moving my trembling hands to his shoulders, I tried to steady myself before my knees gave out. His chest rose and fell unsteadily, and then it hit me like a hardcover to the head—he was just as caught up in the moment as I was.

All I could focus on was the delicious heat of his body, the teasing brush of his fingertips on my flushed skin, and the way my heart threatened to pound right out of my chest. My eyes fluttered closed and I waited for his lips to touch mine. He lowered his head slowly, his minty breath fanning across my parted lips.

A sudden crash thundered through the corridor, causing us to jump apart. Even though the moment had been interrupted, I could feel the lingering heat of his body, the promise of what could have been.

A second later, a tabby sprinted past us in a blur of fur, executing a gravity-defying leap onto a nearby chair before catapulting out of an open window.

I blinked dazedly, trying to reorient myself.

What in the name of Mr. Darcy’s tight breeches just happened?

“You okay, bookworm?”

I let out a nervous giggle. “Um, yeah.” Never mind that he’d almost kissed me.

“Then come with me to the only room that has electricity.”

Dax and I reentered the dining area, a space transformed under Dax’s handiwork. A white sheet hung against the far wall, serving as an impromptu movie screen. The glow from the projector illuminated the room. He’d even unearthed a sofa from somewhere, brushing off years of neglect.

“Prepare yourself for cinematic greatness,” Dax announced, waving an arm towards our setup for the evening.

“Is this the five-star experience you promised?”

“Only the best for my literary sparring partner.” He bowed theatrically, then gestured at a bowl of popcorn and water bottles sitting on a table in front of the sofa. “It’s not a movie without buttery calories. Besides, it’s my cheat day.”

I took a seat, plucking a kernel from the bowl and popping it into my mouth. The crunchy, salty taste was yummy., but it didn’t distract me from that almost kiss.

Holy Heathcliff, I’d been mere seconds away from locking lips with Dax Granger. The same Dax who could charm the pants off a romance novel hero with his crooked grin and teasing quips. Not that I’d been fantasizing about him sans pants. Okay, maybe a little. But could you blame a girl? He was like a walking, talking amalgamation of my fictional boyfriends.

I snuck a glance at Dax as he fiddled with the projector. The flickering light played across his chiseled features, making him look like he’d stepped straight out of a classic Hollywood film. I quickly pushed those lusty thoughts aside.

Get it together, Paris. It was just a movie night with a friend. A very attractive, charming friend who almost kissed you, but still. No need to go all Scarlett O’Hara swooning over here.

I was an overthinker, a planner. I didn’t do spontaneity or risk-taking when it came to my heart. And I certainly didn’t do romance, at least not outside the pages of my beloved books.

He sat on the sofa beside me, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off his body. We nestled into the surprisingly plush sofa cushions, and Dax hit play on the film projector. The opening credits of It’s Alive! flickered to life, with the haunting strains of its score.

“Classic horror at its finest,” he murmured.

I turned to Dax. “The author would be proud.”

“Or she might take offense to the liberties the moviemakers have taken.”

“Perhaps, yet adaptations are a form of flattery, right? A homage to the power of the original tale.”

“Sounds exactly like something a bookworm would say.”

His smile was infectious, and I smiled back. We watched the movie and munched on the popcorn. When the scene where the hero’s lover dies, I clutched onto Dax’s arm, then let go at his smirk.

After a few minutes, Dax turned to me, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “Um, Paris, can I ask you something?”

I nibbled on the popcorn. “Anything.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Currently I’m in a complicated relationship with my Tbr pile.” I smiled, a hint of color rising in my cheeks. “I date on occasion, but nothing serious. You?”

“No, but I’m glad you’re interested.”

I snorted softly. “I’m not, not really. Any serious relationships?”

Dax reclined into the worn fabric of the couch, his gaze fixed on the movie, but his mind clearly elsewhere. “Nah. My addiction to true crime podcasts, fascination with decrepit mansions, and my weird habit of talking to my houseplants, like I’ve got my own Little Shop of Horrors might be too much for some girls.”

“Be serious. Why nothing long-term?”

He sighed. “Well, maybe because I’m afraid they’ll see the real me and bolt. Most girls think I’m all muscle and no brain. And not a guy who reads a lot.”

I was the world’s biggest hypocrite. I kept judging him for his love of horror and healthy lifestyle, while simultaneously lamenting that people often dismissed me as just another quirky cat lady and bibliophile.

“From what I’ve seen, you’re kind, funny, and surprisingly insightful.” My heart softened. “And have you seen you? You’re hot. And I mean that in a totally objective, aesthetic appreciation kind of way, of course.”

“Appreciate the compliments.” His voice was low, raspy.

“Any girl would be lucky to have you. And if they can’t handle the real you, than they’re not worth your time.”

He flashed a grin. “Guess we’re too much for some people, huh? And you’re right. It’s about finding someone who wants the whole package.”

Grabbing another handful of popcorn, I smiled. “Are you going to help me finish this buttery goodness?”

Dax laughed, reaching over to pluck a piece from the bowl. “Happy to oblige, bookworm.”

The movie played on, the story tragic and spine-chilling. I was acutely aware of Dax beside me, our arms brushing with each shift, each shared glance a spark igniting a quiet fire in my chest. The muscles expanding his fitted T-shirt were more action hero than the studious boy-next-door types I usually swooned over.

My traitorous heart was betraying me, thumping hard. Because somehow, Dax was the most attractive man I’d ever met and also the scariest for that blood-pumping organ.

Sure, I liked Dax and was attracted to him. And yes, deep within me, I yearned to tumble headlong into a love story worthy of a Jane Austen heroine, but my doubts persisted. Dax was the type to leap first and look later, while I was more than likely to overthink myself into a stupor. Besides, I already knew how this story would end, with shattered illusions and a broken heart.

When the movie ended, I stretched my arms. “Well, as much as I’d love to stick around and see if this ghost shows up with a tray of otherworldly éclairs, I should probably head home. Sushi gets cranky if I’m late for her nightly belly rub session.”

“Ah, of course. Can’t keep the lady waiting. I’ll just gather my stuff.”

The boundaries of our friendship had blurred tonight, and the notion of relationships—once so clearly defined in my world—began to rewrite itself in the soft candlelight of a haunted hotel.