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

Chapter 12

The moment I pushed open the craft store door and entered Knit Wit, a whirl of colors and textures practically leaped off the shelves to greet me. Quilts hung on the walls, each one flaunting a pattern more complex than the last.

“Morning, Paris!” Mrs. Jeffreys stood behind the counter, her glasses perched precariously on the tip of her nose. “Here for more glitter?”

“Probably. I’m on a mission to create an eye-catching sign to advertise a sale in my bookshop. Any pipe cleaners?”

“Just got in a shipment that sparkles brighter than my grandkid’s future.” She pointed at aisle thirteen. “And you’ll need googly eyes.”

“Can’t spell discount without a pair of oversized, lifelike eyeballs.” I gave her a conspiratorial smile, already envisioning my future masterpiece.

Mrs. Jeffreys chortled, shaking her head. “Well, if anyone can pull off an advertisement with googly eyes, it’s you. How are you doing?”

“Thriving on book matching and pastries, as usual.” I pushed a lock of lavender hair out of my face. “I have high hopes this sign will lure in the skeptics who think ‘book club’ is code for ‘cult.’”

“Ah, those poor, ignorant souls. Let me know if you need any help finding anything.”

I sauntered off toward the paint aisle, leaving no craft supply unturned in my quest for signage supremacy.

While scrutinizing a flamboyant shade of pink glitter paint and debating its potential to convey ‘irresistible book sale,’ the door opened.

Dax waltzed inside in a muscle tank and destroyed my Zen. My heart executed a clumsy somersault. His light-brown hair was ruffled as if he’d wrestled with a particularly frisky breeze on the way over.

Our eyes met, and we exchanged shy smiles.

“We seem to have a knack for bumping into each other in the most unexpected places.” I really hoped my voice sounded blasé and not like I’d just inhaled helium.

“It’s like we live in a small town,” Dax joked. “Should we plan a serendipitous meeting at the grocery store next?”

“Knowing our luck, probably a run-in at the town’s annual pie-eating contest.”

“I’ll be sure to wear my stretchy pants. But hey, I’m not complaining.”

“Yeah, me neither.” I shuffled my feet. “What’re you doing here?”

He wore a lopsided smile. “Just thought I’d try to learn glass etching. I need a new hobby.” His voice had a warm, rumbly quality.

“Look at you, going all Renaissance man on me. What’s next, blacksmithing on your days off?”

He rubbed his chin. “I’d rather take up quilting. Make blankets inscribed with quotes from Edgar Allan Poe.”

I grinned. “Ah, a niche market just ripe for the taking.”

The idea of Dax, with his well-toned personal trainer physique, sitting around stitching Nevermore onto a quilt was oddly endearing.

He jerked his chin toward the explosion of crafting supplies in the basket near my feet. “What’s the haul for? Another visual assault on the citizens of Bluebell Bend?”

“Assault is such a strong word. I prefer ‘aggressive invitation to reading.’” I made air quotes with my fingers, then lowered my arms. “I’m creating a sign for a book sale next week.”

Dax nodded. “So, you’re about to unleash a glitter bomb of literary proportions. If anyone can make reading irresistible, it’s you, bookworm.”

“I might just have to pencil you in as my plus-one for the book sale. Just for moral support and eye-candy.”

We laughed. I sensed the attraction ramping up between us—or it was just the residual fumes from the paint aisle.

As Dax crouched to grasp an etching kit on a lower shelf, an eReader made an insidious escape from his jacket pocket, taking a nosedive onto the floor with a soft thud. I glowered at the device—not from the impact, but from what it represented.

The sight of that electronic book imposter sent a twinge of repulsion through me. I had always been on team physical books. I loved turning the crisp pages and inhaling the fragrance of ink and paper that an eReader could never replicate.

Dax dropped to one knee with the swiftness of someone used to squatting heavy weights, his face flushing a shade that matched the burgundy yarn on the nearest display. When he straightened, eReader in hand, he shot me a sheepish grin.

“I’m a secret book hoarder,” he said, brushing off the device.

The aisle thickened with friction that felt uncomfortably close to a book club debate gone south. My fingers itched for the calming feel of a paperback to show my print-only allegiance. In life I had two rules: never fall for a Kindle-wielding scoundrel—especially if he had swoon-worthy biceps, and don’t ever start a conga line at a funeral—don’t ask.

“Ugh. Just when I was starting to like you!” I shot his traitorous contraband a look that could curdle ink. “Why an eReader? I feel like I don’t know you at all! Next thing I know, you’ll be revealing your passion for taxidermy.”

Dax, unfazed, waggled the device at me. “This little gadget holds an entire library. Can your bookshelves do that without collapsing?”

This called for immediate intervention. Dax might be easy on the eyes, but I wasn’t giving in that easily.

My brows arched in mock superiority. “There’s an intimacy in flipping through pages, you know. An appeal that your cold, lifeless screen could never hope to capture.”

“Please, it’s practical. And how very closed-minded of you, bookworm.” He tapped the eReader gently against his palm and drew back his shoulders. “Seems to me like someone’s stuck in the past. You have heard of evolution?”

A scoff escaped me and I stepped back to regain some fragment of high ground amidst aisles of crafting supplies. “Ha! More like a digital devolution. I’ll stick with actual books, thank you very much. They may be old-fashioned, but at least I don’t need a charger to turn the page.”

Dax’s stiff posture relaxed, his argumentative fire dimming to embers. “Maybe so, but it’s the love of reading that counts, right?”

His logic hit me like a well-aimed hardcover. As much as I hated to admit it, Dax had a point. Our bickering, though spirited, was just the surface of our favorite pastime—a shared love for stories, however, they were consumed.

“No, um, eReader can compete with the smell and feel of a well-worn paperback in your hands.”

He shook his head. “You’re cute.”

I frowned. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not. Just stating facts. You’re adorable when you’re passionate about something, even if it’s your undying love for dead trees and ink stains.”

Unable to maintain my stern expression, I fought a smile. Something about Dax’s tenacity made it impossible to stay annoyed with him for long. Like trying to hold a grudge against a puppy—an absurdly handsome puppy with a talent for pushing my buttons.

“You’re hopeless, Dax. I suppose that’s part of your infuriating charm.”

Dax gave a casual shrug. “Honestly, if I read an eBook and it really grabs me, I buy a physical copy. It’s the best of both worlds And I don’t mind paying for it twice.”

I tilted my head. “That’s so sweet, in a nerdy, book-loving sort of way. And I see your point, but I still maintain there’s something magical about holding a physical book in your hands.” I shuffled back a step, my foot bumping my basket. “I know we have our different tastes when it comes to reading material and how we consume our stories, so for now, I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

Dax’s grin only widened in that unfairly attractive way of his. “That’s a diplomatic way to put it.”

“Because I’m a master of tact and grace.” I gave him a curtsy, nearly knocking over a display of embroidery hoops in the process.

“Grace, huh?” His laugh was a sound I’d bottle if I could—rich and luxurious.

My ears burned. “Oh, shut up.”

We both smiled.

“You’re impossible, bookworm. Your love of reading is as charming as it is stubborn. One day you’ll have to let me show you the merits of the digital side, and maybe we can find a middle ground between your books and my convenient swipes.”

His proximity was unsettling, causing my heart to do a little cha-cha in my chest. “Don’t hold your breath, eReader boy.”

We started wandering the aisles of the craft store.

Dax reached for a pack of multicolored, glitter pens. “These would be perfect for your sign. Just remember, with great glitter comes great responsibility.”

Snatching the pens from his hand, I snorted. “I think I can handle it, but thanks for the vote of confidence.” I shook my head. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

He gave me a cute, crooked smile. “Ridiculously charming, you mean?”

“More like ridiculously determined to distract me from my crafting mission. Don’t you have some weights to lift or a treadmill to conquer?”

Dax crossed his arms. “And miss out on the joy of watching you bedazzle? Not a chance.”

“Oh, stop it. Next, you’ll be telling me you secretly enjoy knitting sweaters for kittens.”

Dax took a step closer. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, but I’d love the chance to show you.”

Damn him and his adorableness. He was somehow managing to pierce the armor I’d protectively constructed around my heart. For a second, I allowed myself to imagine what it might be like to let someone in, to share my world with a man who wasn’t confined to the pages of a book.

Then those insidious doubts and fears crept over me, causing an ache in my chest, a dull throb that pulsed in time with my heartbeat. Ever since Julian had broken my heart, I found myself putting up walls, trying to protect myself from getting hurt like that again. It was my way of shielding myself from any future disappointments. Yet even as I hid behind those walls, a part of me still longed for that connection, for someone to really understand me. The thought of trusting again, though? That was just too scary to even consider.

With a salute, he said, “I need to find stencils. Be right back.”

Reaching for a glue gun, I saw it. My heart rate tripled. Lurking in the corner of the shelf was a massive black spider, its spindly legs poised for attack. I let out a yelp, and jumped back nearly rear-ending a display of washi tape in my haste to get away.

“Dax!” My voice rose a few octaves higher than usual. “Help!”

Dax emerged from around the corner. “What’s wrong?”

I pointed a shaky finger at the eight-legged monstrosity. “Spider. P-please get rid of it.”

His eyes widened when he spotted the creature, clearly sympathetic to my display of arachnophobia.

“Whoa, that’s a big one. Okay, stay calm. I’ve got this.”

Dax grabbed a nearby craft magazine, gently coaxing the spider onto the glossy cover. I was equal parts horrified and impressed, as he carefully carried the offending arachnid to the front door and released it outside.

“There you go, little guy. Find a new home, preferably far away from here.” He stepped back inside and shut the door.

My body sagged against the wall. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here.”

Dax dusted off his hands. “Probably screamed bloody murder and scared away all the customers. You might’ve even been banned from the craft store.”

“Hey, I resent that!” I laughed, lightly swatting his arm. “I’ll have you know I’m perfectly capable of handling a spider crisis...as long as it’s from a safe distance and involves a lot of dramatic shrieking.”

“Quite the team we make, huh? The bookworm and the arachnid-whisperer.”

It was true—we did make a good team. I gave his hand a quick squeeze as a gesture of gratitude and camaraderie. The touch of his skin sent a warm prickling up my arm, and I quickly pulled away, hoping he hadn’t noticed my lusty reaction.

We made our way to the checkout counter. A sense of contentment settled over me from the ease of our friendship. Even if we didn’t agree on everything, there was something undeniably special about our relationship. And I wasn’t just saying that because he saved me from a spider.