Chapter 9 #2
She threw me a mysterious smile over her shoulder, half mischief, half promise.
“You’re not alone in this, Jade. Grandma Liz said you’d have access to whatever you need—helping hands, budget, company.
Everything. She meant it.” Then, with exquisite casualness, she added, “Has Luther been useful yet?”
I nearly dropped my notebook and then scrambled to clutch it tightly to my chest, as if it were a shield.
“Luther? Useful? Absolutely not.” My voice cracked, embarrassingly.
“I mean...he’s...he...no!” How could I express that a man who was possibly a friend to her had been an utter thorn in my side so far?
Not to mention fatally handsome and sinfully tempting while he was at it.
Gwen’s grin grew sharp and delighted. “Oh?” I could see the gears spinning behind her eyes, as if she knew exactly what I’d been thinking.
What I’d been trying to cover. I should tell her the things he’d said to me yesterday, but somehow those already did not feel true anymore.
Besides, it wasn’t my nature to rat on people and their flaws; I was no gossip.
Heat rushed up my neck. “No. Just...no.” The thought of gossip made me remember my strange bat delusion for some reason, and I very roughly shoved that memory away. That was an even harder no than thinking about Luther’s lean body, silk shirt, and glacial eyes.
“He does have that broody thing going for him,” she said lightly, wandering toward a warped bookshelf as if merely chatting about the weather.
Her hand brushed lovingly over the twisted wood, as if promising that she’d smooth it out, fix it.
If only I could fix my life the way Gwen fixed cabinets—that would be helpful.
“He is not broody,” I said, far too quickly.
“He’s arrogant and extremely unhelpful. And…
” I trailed off as I caught the look on her face.
That had been extremely rude, and word traveled in a town this size.
I was pretty sure I trusted Gwen, but what if she told her boyfriend what I’d said, and he told Luther. ..
“And handsome?” Gwen supplied innocently, probably entirely oblivious to my sudden worries.
My face caught fire, heating in a way it hadn’t since high school.
Handsome? His face flashed before my mind’s eye, confirming instantly that he was breathtakingly handsome.
He had the face and body of a cover model.
If he’d opened that silk shirt, would there be delicious muscles beneath?
Oh God, now what was I thinking? This was getting worse and worse, and Gwen was witness to my unraveling.
“I didn’t say that,” I rushed out. When I brought her with me, I thought I was doing it to stop the delusions, the weird, talking-bat imaginings.
I didn’t think she’d so keenly pick at this weird thing between me and the far-too-sexy, mysterious general store owner next door to the library.
Her brow arched slowly, a question mark and accusation in one.
“You didn’t need to.” I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it again.
Because what was I supposed to say? That the man looked like he’d been carved by some old-world sculptor who had a fondness for devastating cheekbones and cold blue eyes?
That my stomach did weird, swoopy things whenever he stepped too close?
I wasn’t about to admit any of that out loud.
With a quiet sigh, Gwen touched my elbow, her teasing softening.
“He’s a good man. Odd, but good. And don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul you think he’s pretty.
” The last, she quipped with a smile so mischievous that I couldn’t help but snort a laugh in response.
Pretty? That was far too feminine and soft a word, but I supposed some people would call him pretty, too.
“I don’t think,” I objected, purely on principle at this point. If she knew about his bullying tactics yesterday, would she still say that? “He’s not... Ugh.” I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Maybe I do—a little—but it’s not going anywhere.”
“Why not?” she immediately shot back, but she was letting up, because she’d stepped farther into the library and had begun assessing the woodwork with keen eyes.
Well, for starters, my life was a tangle of old wounds and self-preservation instincts.
I didn’t trust myself to pick good men anymore, not after David the dickhead with the one-track mind.
Besides, I had one job here, one goal, one purpose, and none of them involved icy eyes, tailored suits, or the way my pulse misbehaved around him. I swallowed. “Trust me. It’s not.”
Gwen only smiled in that gentle, knowing way women used when they’d already drawn their own conclusions.
Surprisingly, I didn’t mind; I hadn’t talked like this with another woman since college.
I made a private note to call my old roommate tonight.
I missed that easy connection, and perhaps, instead of a shrink, she could be the one to screw my head on straight.
We swept the library systematically, moving through shelf after shelf.
The musty air, the dim light, the relics peeking out between stacks of books, it all felt strangely intimate, like discovering someone’s neglected treasure trove.
By the time the afternoon sun dipped lower, I had completed my first full inventory of the downstairs shelves.
“It’s a lot,” I said, rubbing my wrist, “but not impossible.”
“It’s a wonderland,” Gwen replied, gesturing at a shelf of old atlases. “This place just needs love.” She tucked her own list into her back pocket. “We’ll compare notes tonight over dinner. I’ll bring the tape measure; you bring the wine.”
Her warmth seeped into me like sunlight.
“Deal.” When was the last time I’d shared a bottle with a friend—hung out, chatted, and, heck, even discussed boys and failed dates?
If I’d had Maggie with me when I started dating my jerk of a boss, I probably never would have tanked my career with that one knee-jerk reaction.
Hanging out with Gwen would hopefully keep me from making a mistake while in town, a mistake called Luther.
We stepped outside together, the heavy door thudding shut behind us. I locked it carefully, sliding the key back into my bag with a small sense of triumph. One full floor done, and I’d gone a whole afternoon without hallucinogenic mold or talking bats—progress.
That kind of thinking could only spell trouble. When we turned to head toward the B&B, Gwen suddenly nudged me with her elbow. “Oh look,” she murmured, far too pleased, “the broody librarian-hater is at it again.” I nearly choked at her description. What now? But I obediently followed her gaze.
Luther stood inside the General Store behind the wide front window. He’d clearly been facing our direction because, the second our eyes met, he pivoted sharply away—too sharply—like someone caught sneaking a peek. My heartbeat did a little stupid flutter, entirely too pleased by that.
Gwen let out a low, delighted hum, clearly noticing the same thing I had. She nudged my arm with her elbow a second time, but not to get my attention, but just to invite me in on the secret. “Someone’s got an admirer.”
I recoiled, and the horror on my face must have been very obvious. “What? No. Absolutely not.” Okay, perhaps it wasn’t horror, perhaps it was that damn blush from earlier catching me by surprise again.
“Mmm-hmm,” she sing-songed, guiding me across the street by linking her arm through mine. Today, Luther was not the only one who appeared to be at their store window, staring. I caught movement at the pristine but ever-so-quiet diner, and some shadows shifted by the window of the repair shop, too.
“He was not watching me,” I insisted. Just like the rest of the town wasn’t watching, either. I couldn’t help but feel a little unwelcome and unwanted when those eyes felt so hostile. “He was plotting. Strategizing. Figuring out how to get rid of me in record time.”
Gwen laughed, loud and warm. “If that’s his plotting face, honey, you’re in trouble.
” I groaned, but couldn’t help smiling as she looped her arm through mine.
Maybe Luther wasn’t plotting, and perhaps Gwen wasn’t entirely wrong, but I wasn’t ready to unpack that yet.
Not when my heart still hadn’t quite learned how to behave around him.