Chapter Twenty
‘What?’
Declan leans against the doorjamb of his room, his hair scruffier than I’ve ever seen it.
‘You’ve been invited to a book club,’ I repeat, my voice faltering a little.
He looks and sounds like he’s just woken up from a nap.
For the first time since marching all the way from Candon Books to his door, my resolve wavers and my mind flicks back to the earlier jolt of attraction. ‘Were you asleep?’
Declan covers a yawn with the back of one hand, then leans his arm against the side of his door and rests his head against it.
The bottom of his shirt hitches to reveal stomach and a flash of dark hair and I freeze.
I try to tell myself that I saw him without a shirt earlier today, that this is nothing, but it doesn’t help. Don’t look down, Clarrie.
‘Maybe,’ Declan says. He looks warm and rumpled and he closes his eyes in what is an exceptionally long blink, and of course I automatically look down at the thin strip of exposed skin. My mouth goes dry. ‘I’m not going to a book club,’ he mumbles, opening just one eye to squint at me.
I yank my gaze back up again and clear my throat. ‘That is going to be a problem,’ I tell him. ‘Given that I have already accepted on your behalf.’ His other eye snaps open and his head lifts.
‘You what?’
‘It starts in three hours,’ I add brightly. ‘So there’s plenty of time to wake up.’
‘Clarence,’ Declan growls, becoming more alert by the second. He rubs a hand across his forehead. ‘You promised that I would go to a book club? On my one afternoon off this week?’
‘Technically you also have an afternoon off the day after tomorrow,’ I say. He narrows his eyes at me. ‘It’s for the local bookshop,’ I tell him apologetically. ‘Alex the owner used to be an accountant. They all love your book.’
Declan presses his head back against his arm and lets out a long, slow sigh. ‘Fine,’ he exhales without yelling at me, and my image of him shifts a little further from the arrogant man I thought he was.
Until a smile slowly spreads across his face and my stomach flips again. ‘But if I’m going you’re coming with me.’
Even from outside, we can hear the buzz of noise in the bookshop. I’m wrapped in about six layers because, damn it, Candon is cold at night.
I rub my hands up and down my arms and Declan glances at me, his lips quirking in amusement.
‘Do you want my jumper?’ he asks.
‘Why, are you hoping to show your biceps off to all the people inside the bookshop?’ I grumble, and oh my gosh what have I turned into? ‘How are you not frozen?’
The words are snippy, but instead of snapping back Declan just chuckles softly. ‘I run pretty warm.’
There’s nothing remotely erotic about the way he says it, but a sudden flush of heat rushes through me anyway. Whatever this new awareness of Declan Archer is, it’s not convenient. We’re about to open the door to a room full of people swooning over him. I do not need to add myself to that number.
It’s nice to see him at ease, though, and I wonder why he doesn’t seem as stressed as he did before the previous two events. But before I can ask him he pushes open the door to Candon Books.
All conversation in the bookshop abruptly stops, and about fifteen people’s heads swivel in our direction. They’re all sitting around in a loose circle of chairs.
There’s a beat of silence. I scan the group. I see Sarah, the woman I met earlier, but there’s no sign of Alex.
‘Hello,’ I say, smiling at the room in general. ‘I’m Clarence Brooks, and this is—’
‘Declan Archer,’ a woman whispers reverently from the back of the group and chaos breaks out in the room as every one of the fifteen people suddenly tries to talk at the same time.
Declan looks at me in alarm, and I cough to stop the bubble of mirth rising in my throat.
Alex comes in from the back of the shop, rolling his eyes good-naturedly and clapping his hands sharply three times.
‘Ladies and gentleman,’ he says with warm affection, ‘is this how we treat guests to Candon? He’s a person, not just the author of our favourite book of all time.
’ He strides forward to clasp Declan’s hand.
‘Although you are also that,’ he adds. ‘Thanks for writing a banger of a book. I’m Alex. It’s nice to meet you.’
‘You too, Alex,’ says Declan. He looks around the group, his usual warm crowd smile on his lips. When did I start knowing his smiles? ‘It’s nice to meet all of you,’ he adds.
‘So nice to meet you,’ a man says, looking like he might faint.
A woman reaches out to touch Declan’s arm, then freezes at Alex’s look.
‘All right, everyone,’ Alex says. ‘Move up.’
Everyone in the group obediently picks up their chair and shuffles around to make space in the circle. ‘We have an “everyone in charge of their own chair” policy,’ Alex explains over the general kerfuffle.
Yumi floated the idea of an in-store book club a few months ago. It was just after the most recent electricity bill had come through, and I put her off for weeks. Eventually, she stopped asking.
She would adore an ‘everyone in charge of their own chair’ policy, and I find myself mentally calculating how many chairs would fit in the space at Brooks’ before I realise that, for the first time, I’m considering the possibility of doing it.
Declan coughs and I look sideways to see him holding two chairs. ‘You okay next to me?’ he asks.
I nod and he places the two chairs near Alex’s.
The noise in the room dies down, and Alex claps again. ‘Welcome to book club. We’re honoured to have Declan Archer and Clarrie Brooks here with us tonight. I know everyone is excited. Given the author is with us, we might give our standard first question a miss.’
‘What’s the standard first question?’ asks Declan.
Alex opens his mouth then closes it again.
‘We usually start with “Who here read the book?”’ Sarah pipes up helpfully from the back.
‘ Everyone would have their hand up tonight,’ the man on the other side of Alex reassures Declan, and there’s a chorus of agreement from the group.
Declan leans back slightly in his seat and raises his hands. ‘I don’t want to change the regular flow of the book club,’ he says. ‘It’s totally fine with me if you want to ask the question.’ He doesn’t look at me, but I can hear the laughter in his voice.
Alex looks between Declan and me.
‘Maybe you could tell us what inspired the book instead,’ says Alex tactfully.
At first, I think Declan is going to answer the way he usually does in front of a crowd, with warmth and charisma. But then he looks around the group, his gaze resting briefly on Alex.
‘I was going through a hard time,’ he says softly. ‘Trees have always been a big part of my life – it was a tree that made me believe in love – and I wanted to explore that.’ He doesn’t elaborate, but my heart aches with a feeling I can’t quite name.
‘The silver tree,’ someone whispers.
‘Ohhh,’ the group hums.
Declan’s smile widens, but he doesn’t confirm or deny it.
‘The silver tree?’ I say, and I hear at least three outraged whispers on the other side of the circle.
‘Has she not read the book?’
Despite Alex’s worry, the book club doesn’t crucify me for not having read the book. They pepper Declan with questions for more than an hour, and he good-naturedly answers them.
There’s a warmth in the bookshop that feels like home.
By the time the official tea and biscuit portion of the evening begins I’m so tired that I can barely stand. I make my way over to Alex by the biscuit table.
‘Thank you,’ he says warmly. ‘I can’t tell you how much it means to us to have had you both here tonight.’
‘It’s really a wonderful shop you’ve got here, Alex,’ I tell him honestly.
‘I’ll have to come visit Brooks’ one day,’ he says. ‘And not just because of the dedication.’
I meet his eyes and he winks at me.
‘If we’re still around,’ I tell him. His brow crinkles. ‘If you worked the dedication out, you probably know there are a few things that need fixing.’
‘You’ll fix them,’ he says with such a calm confidence that, for a heartbeat, I might even believe him.
Declan is deep in conversation with someone, and I try to catch his attention twice before he finally looks up. I mime that I’m going to walk back, and he nods, before returning to his conversation.
Outside is even colder than it was when we entered the bookshop, and the sky is crystal clear. Alex’s words and thoughts about the bookshops creep in on me, but once I start walking my lungs are filled with air so crisp it’s hard to think about much else.
And when I finally make it back to the motel I’m so tired that it’s all I can do to take my trousers off and fall into bed.