Love on Loan – J.C. Hannigan #4
Beatrice and Jolie continued to bicker about whether the Hartley triplets had added the special love elixir to their brownies. I let my thoughts drift, reliving that night—and the peculiar look in the triplets’ eyes when they’d spoken with me. I’d also had some brownies…
The door chime sounded, alerting us to the arrival of our special guest.
I stood up on unsteady legs to go and greet Atticus. I caught him standing by the library doors as if he was seriously considering turning around and leaving.
His dark blue dress pants were slim fitting, putting his muscular legs on display.
He wore a pale blue button-up shirt under a grey collared cardigan.
A pair of shiny brown loafers offset the blue and complimented his soft brown wool dress jacket.
His dark curls were mussed, and his jaw had more scruff than the last time I’d seen him.
Atticus’s scholarly fashion only endeared me more to him. He looked every bit the part of a writer, and I found myself fantasizing about unbuttoning his cardigan, slowly…button by button, until I could slide my hands underneath and feel the heat of his skin.
“Hello, Mr. Connelly, thank you for joining us tonight.”
My voice seemed to surprise him, and he whirled to face me. “Oh, yeah. No problem. I—” he cut himself off, drawing in a long breath. “I’m happy to be here. And please, call me Atticus.”
I arched a brow, sensing that he wasn’t being entirely honest. “Shall we?”
I led the way to the group, finding them all chatting still about the book. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet Atticus Connelly.”
Atticus dipped his head in greeting, his eyes surveying the group and all the copies of his book. He removed his dress jacket and hung it over a vacant chair, then rolled up his sleeves, exposing his forearms.
“Good evening, everyone. I’m thankful you took the time to read my book.”
“It was amazing !” Jolie declared breathlessly, standing up and offering him her hand. “I’m delighted to meet such a prolific writer.”
“I don’t consider myself a prolific writer—yet. I’ve only got a couple of books out, so far,” Atticus said, smiling in a self-deprecating way as he shook her hand.
Jolie threw back her head and laughed, as if he’d said something extremely hilarious and not just mildly funny.
I tried to school my features, to not reveal how I truly felt about her over-the-top flirtatious display.
She still had a hold on his hand, as if she didn’t plan to let him go anytime soon.
I could admit it—to myself, anyway—that I was jealous. Jolie was gorgeous and single, and unafraid of going after what she wanted. She’d always been that way, while I’d always been, well, the opposite of that. I was single, yes, but I was also quiet, reserved, and uncertain.
Atticus smiled uncomfortably, and my mood boosted a little as he gently pulled his hand away. He seemed uninterested in her advances, and that made me happy. Not that I wished any ill-will towards Jolie, she was a lovely person, but I found that I, too, had a bit of an unrelenting crush on the man.
“Shall we?” he asked the group at large, but his brown eyes found mine. The connection made me feel light-headed, as if I’d forgotten to draw in a breath.
“Yes, of course,” I sat back down in my chair, which just so happened to be right beside Atticus’s.
“So, basically, we were hoping that you could share a little more about your creative process. I know you kind of got into that already at the meet and greet, but a few of our members missed that event.”
“I, for one, would love to hear about your creative process,” Jolie chimed in, batting her lashes from her spot on the couch across from Atticus. Her best friend, Freyja Durand, elbowed her discreetly.
“Right, so. My creative process,” Atticus cleared his throat. “I basically just…write. Every day. I take frequent breaks throughout the day to fuel up, reset my mind and my ideas, and get a little fresh air, but the most crucial part of being a writer is the act of writing.”
“When did you decide you wanted to be a writer?” Gloria asked, her expression warm and open.
“Probably when I was just a kid. I used to type my stories on my grandfather’s typewriter.”
Atticus chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.
I wasn’t the only one who tracked the movement, delighting in how the cords and muscles of his forearm moved.
“Oh! That’s so amazing!” Jolie exclaimed, leaning forward, and twirling her hair with her finger. She was putting her best assets on display, which made me want to wilt. “Your family is from Hartwood Creek, right?”
“Originally, yes. But I grew up in Springwood.”
“Close enough,” Jolie practically purred, earning another exasperated glance from Freyja.
Somehow, I made it through the rest of book club, keeping my smile neutral and the conversation on Atticus’s book. I was all too relieved when the meeting finally came to a close, even if it meant that Jolie took another ten minutes to continue hitting on Atticus by means of her charcuterie board.
“I make them for parties and special occasions,” she was saying, as she slipped Atticus her business card. “Let me know if you ever need my services.”
I think by that point even Freyja was fighting secondhand embarrassment as she all but dragged Jolie out.
Finally, it was just Mindy, Atticus, and me.
“Thank you so much for coming out again tonight, I know the book club really enjoyed having an author in our midst for the evening.” I said as I started tidying up the area.
“There were more people than I thought there would be,” Atticus replied.
“Ah, yes. Our book clubs are popular with our patrons.”
“Sorry to interrupt, boss,” Mindy cut in. “Apparently the sitter needs to head out—mind if I cut out early?” She already had her coat and purse on and was just asking me out of formality. She knew I’d say yes.
“Yeah, sure,” I said, strategically avoiding Atticus’s gaze as Mindy smiled and said her goodbyes.
I didn’t want him to think I’d planned this: after all, the man hadn’t seemed too keen on getting hit on by Jolie all night. But he was free to leave whenever, and I wasn’t even sure why he was lingering. Shouldn’t he have taken off like a bat out of hell by now?
“Can I help?” Atticus asked, seeing me stack the chairs to carry to our supply closet.
“Sure,” I replied, mystified. Atticus picked up the stack of chairs like it weighed nothing, and I led the way to the supply closet at the back of the library.
In short order the library was clean and ready for opening tomorrow. “Well, I just have to lock up now...” I trailed off, still confused on why he was lingering.
“I’ll wait for you outside to walk you to your car,” Atticus said. He disappeared outside before I had a chance to tell him I didn’t have a car. I lived in the apartments above my parents’ bookstore, and normally walked everywhere in town.
I grabbed my coat and purse, shut off the lights, and took a moment to panic-text Mindy about my current predicament before I locked up.
Mindy’s reply came through before I finished typing the security code in.
It’s obvious he’s into you, Arwen! Invite him back to your place to…spread the pages! ;)
I scoffed, shoving the phone back in my pocket with a disbelieving shake of my head—but Atticus was still waiting patiently outside, his hands in his dress jacket pockets.
I double checked that the library was locked securely before I turned to Atticus. “You didn’t need to wait for me. I actually don’t have a car for you to walk me to. But thank you again for coming out.”
“I really did so for selfish reasons,” Atticus admitted, looking adorably bashful. “I…I wanted to see you again. I was hoping you’d like to join me for a drink after.”
“Me?” I repeated, dumbfounded.
“Yes, you,” Atticus’s lips twitched with a smile. The tone of his voice and his words settled around me like honey; sweet and syrupy.
“Why?” I couldn’t help but ask. I kept picturing Jolie—and how on point her outfit and hair looked tonight, and how openly she had been hitting on him. He was interested in me over Jolie? In what world was that even a possibility?
“Well, I suppose because I’m rather attracted to you, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you since our meeting…” It was his turn to trail off, his lips lifting in a bemused smile.
“Okay, well. Huh. That’s unexpected,” I murmured, trying to will myself to stay in the present and not fly into a thousand different thought-holes.
I was susceptible to thought-holes when my anxiety reared up—and having an extremely handsome, intelligent man tell me he was attracted to me and ask me out for drinks definitely kicked open the door for anxiety.
“So?” Atticus arched a brow. “How about that drink?”
“I— Okay,” I found myself saying. I blamed it entirely on his spellbinding eyes, the dark brown of his irises warm and inviting. “Um, The Quarter Lounge is probably open. It’s a bit of a walk, though.”
“Or I could drive us,” Atticus offered, gesturing to his SUV.
“Oh, yeah. Sure,” I felt like I was floating above, watching myself. Atticus opened the door for me, and I climbed in.
“Make sure you text your friend, let them know we’re hanging out,” Atticus said with a knowing smile before closing the door. He must have seen me frantically texting Mindy through the door. Since it wasn’t a bad idea, I sent her a quick update on the situation.
Following my directions, Atticus drove us to The Quarter Lounge. It was pretty busy for a Thursday night, but they did often show sports on the TVs and a lot of folks came in on game nights. “There must be a hockey game on or something,” I muttered.
“I think it’s the world curling championship.” Atticus sent me a curious look. “Not a curling fan?”
“Not really a sports fan,” I admitted with a shrug.
“That’s okay, I’m not either—although I find curling rather fascinating.”