Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
“R ory, would you be a dear and move these books for me?”
“Certainly, Mary.”
Rory shifted the large box from the large wooden table to the office in the back.
Here at Quirkes and Connolly they did their best to ensure patrons would feel at home, and this latest shipment from America was blocking sightlines from the door.
Rather than the cosy aesthetic Mary aimed for the boxes made the place look cluttered, cramped and small.
Plus, the books needed her aged boss’s expertise before it could be shelved appropriately.
A tinkle of the overhead door bell indicated a customer had entered, and she hurried to welcome them, to assure that they had everything they might need.
Several more customers later, and she finally had time to do the social media work for the bookstore.
It was good to be busy. Busyness meant less time for wondering about a certain guest who might not be the tanned he-god of Thor proportions she’d come to expect of Aussie actors and hence Aussie men in general, but he’d certainly had something of Thor’s muscle definition.
As soon as he’d left the pool last night, she’d wanted to take a plunge in the sea, to get her body temperature down to something other than steamy.
Aisling had pivoted to study her, one hand on her hip, like a model at London Fashion Week. “And what was that?”
“Nothing,” she’d insisted. And it was nothing. No matter how much her sister might press, there was nothing to say.
“Can we talk about how fine that man is?”
“No.”
“Why not? If I had a man like that strutting around me then I’d be paying attention.”
Oh, she’d been paying attention alright. But not for a million euros would she ever admit that.
“Hmm.” Her sister had eyed her, as they’d finally enjoyed the warm soothing waters of the spa pool. “I think the fact you fell into the pool suggested you were more affected than you want me to believe.”
“Or it suggests I was taken by surprise. Which I was .”
“Okay, okay. What’s with all the aggression?”
“I’m not aggressive.”
Aisling just smiled at her.
“Fine. Believe what you want. I don’t want to think about him.”
“Or how hot he is.”
“Yes. No! And I mean that, no . Don’t go saying things like that. The man is a guest, for goodness sake.”
“A guest with an intriguing ability for putting you out of your usual good mood, it seems. What’s going on?”
Admit to that feeling of lightning through her veins when she’d first met him? No, she still couldn’t do that. “I’m just tired.”
Her sister had snickered. “Not as tired as Aidan, apparently. Seems like that man could sleep anywhere.”
“Could we please not talk about him? It’s been a big day, and I just want to relax and forget it.” And forget him , she’d added silently.
And she’d tried her best, but visions of his stricken face as he moved to help, then him striding from the water in boardshorts—thank goodness he’d worn those and not the other sort!—had woven through her dreams, refusing sleep.
She’d been grateful to not see him at dinner.
Grateful to not see him at breakfast. And she’d be mightily grateful to God if they could avoid each other for the remainder of his stay.
Just one more day, according to the booking.
And she could do that. Ask Aisling to cover the desk while she did something, anything, out of sight.
Which might be immature of her, but the feelings he evoked were unlike anything she’d experienced before, and she didn’t know what to do with them.
So it was just as well she was working here and not there, trying to do her best to avoid him.
“Rory, could you come back here a moment, please?”
“Sure.” She checked on the customers, all of whom were happy browsing, then made her way back to the office where Mary was busily scanning books.
“Would you mind shelving these ones? I’ve already added them to the system so they’re ready to go.”
“Of course.” She picked up the novels and moved to the shelves.
Maeve Binchy was always popular, and Tana French’s books sold well.
Sally Rooney was another newer Irish author who readers enjoyed.
She placed a copy of each author’s books face out, their front cover designed to attract the browsers into pausing and reading the blurb and first pages.
Oh, she loved books. Loved how they could transport a person away into another time or place.
Books made her happy. And even e-books held a similar magic, although it was never quite the same as holding a real book in her hands.
There was something about the smell of fresh pages.
The feel of an embossed cover. The delight in being the first person to crack the spine, which probably sounded like an over-enthusiastic chiropractor, but still.
She smiled at herself, glancing up as the door tinkled hello again.
Then her smile drained away. “You.”
Aidan paused in the door, blinked, then carefully closed it. “Why Miss Aurora. I did not expect to see you here.”
“Nor I you.” She drew close, did her best to not frown. “Can I help you?”
“You work here?” He eyed the books still in her arms. Then smirked. “Or are these books you plan to buy yourself?”
She looked at the covers. Sure enough, the one positioned on top had a man dressed in historic Highlands garb, which seemed to consist of a kilt and not much else. Her cheeks heated. “No.”
“No you don’t work here or that’s not your book of choice?”
“I do work here, sometimes. And no, that is definitely not my reading material of choice.”
“Good to know.”
“Why?”
He shrugged, in that easy-going way of his. “It’s nice to think people don’t need bare chests in their books.”
The heat in her cheeks intensified, even as his comment drew appreciation. “So, is there something I can help you with?”
His mouth curved to the left, then he nodded once and pivoted, glancing around. “I’m happy to browse.”
“Okay, then.”
“Okay, then.”
Was he mocking her? Oh, it was an effort not to frown, to be pleasant, like the helpful nice person she usually was. “Well, if you need a hand, please sing out.”
He chuckled. “You really don’t want to hear that.”
She hesitated. Had she been that rude that he didn’t think she’d help him? “Look, I’m sorry if we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.”
“Huh? No. I just meant you really don’t want to hear me singing.”
“Oh.” Phew. She found a smile, aimed for conciliation. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is. Does anyone do karaoke around here? If so, I can prove it.”
She laughed.
His face brightened. “But I bet you sing well.”
“Why do you say that?” It was true, but how did he know?
“Because your laughter sounds like bells.”
Oh…
Had any man ever said anything quite so lovely to her? If she hadn’t already felt a soul-click with this man, comments like that were enough to tip her over the edge into complete heart and soul connection. She peeked up at him.
His cheeks had pinked. “Yeah, I’m gonna go look over here.”
Aww, poor thing. He was embarrassed. “Let me know if I can help in any way.”
He nodded, disappearing behind a tall row of book-laden shelves.
She shook her head at herself, wondering just what had occurred. Was she that shallow that only one compliment was enough to melt all frost within? And just why was he embarrassed? Comments like his didn’t mean anything—unless, maybe, they did.
Another customer waited at the counter, and she moved there, stealing a glance down the aisle where Aidan squatted, reading the back cover in the historical non-fiction section of their local area. Be still her heart. He was interested in local history? Well, she could definitely help with that.
“Excuse me?”
Come on, focus. She smiled at the elderly female customer. “Hello, Mrs. McGuigan. Sorry about that.”
The church organist grinned. “Ah, I can understand why a young thing like yourself might be interested in checking on a man like him. It’s not every day we see such a fine looker as he in our village.”
“Mrs. McGuigan.” Her cheeks roared back to fire. “Please, keep your voice down.”
But it was too late. For beyond the church organist’s shoulder she could see Aidan had reappeared, his own embarrassment gone as he half-smiled at her, sending butterflies within.
* * *
Funny how in the space of two minutes he could go from feeling like a fool to feeling like a prince.
His earlier comment about her musical-sounding laughter had sent him scuttling to hide, or at least to do what he’d come in here for and find that book on local history he’d seen back at the castle.
He’d soon found that, then another one that looked equally compelling, and had approached the desk to check the pricing as the first book’s price was missing when he’d overheard the grey-haired lady’s comments.
And no, he hadn’t come here to meet a girl, but there was something intriguing about the flame-haired Aurora. He sensed her earlier hostility was gone—maybe she simply had been embarrassed by him—and now she seemed far more open, willing to engage, smiling at him, laughing with him.
Except now she seemed to have reverted back to embarrassment, judging from the colour in her cheeks. So he nodded and shifted down the next aisle. Kids’ books. Yeah, so not his scene. His sister’s kids might appreciate a present though…
He bent to examine them more closely, and soon was smiling at the illustrations of Irish fairy-tales. Was this something little Keira would enjoy? She was supposed to be quite advanced for her age, or so his sister always boasted. Or was that something all parents said?
“Are you happy browsing, sir?”
He glanced up, then straightened as another elderly woman smiled at him. But this one wore a name tag labelled “Mary” so she must work here. “I’m just looking, thanks.”
“Well, if there’s something we can help you with, please let us know. Rory knows her books, for sure and for certain.”