Chapter Six #2
He chuckled and dragged his ball cap off his head to cut his fingers through his hair. “I might have gotten carried away at the buffet.”
“I see that.”
“I didn’t know what you liked, so I brought you…options.” His stare snapped to hers, creating a thrum of awareness that hovered between them. The last time he was this close to her, he was lowering his lips to her forehead. He could still feel the smoothness of her skin and smell her shampoo.
It only made him want to taste her plump lips.
“Thank you, Gabe.”
He dipped his head in an awkward nod. Slowly, she sank to the floor in front of the stool and surveyed the fare.
“Ooh, is that an apple cinnamon muffin?”
“Best ever. Had one myself this morning.” He watched her closely, taking note of what she reached for first. It was the coffee. Luckily, he was smart enough to add cream and sugar packets to the tray. She dumped in a little of both and used the spoon to stir it.
When she took a sip, he had to tear his stare away from her lips on the rim.
Even if he hadn’t been alone so long, he’d still be drawn to Felicity. The woman was special.
“Tell me why you never opened the boxes.” He sank to the floor across from her, back resting against the sofa. She’d tided up, folding the blankets and sheets at one corner.
“I received them before I realized how much trouble the shop was in. I thought people would travel the extra distance to Willowbrook and the closed exit wouldn’t matter much.
But it did. After I crunched numbers and saw how bad things were, I realized even if I added the books I didn’t want for my collection to the inventory, no one would come in to buy them.
” She gave a little shrug. “It was a little depressing.”
The words dropped heavy in his chest. Hearing her admit it—and the way her voice frayed on “depressing”—lit a torch inside him.
She took a breath, meeting his gaze. “I’m glad you’re here for this. You can keep me accountable for finally going through the boxes.”
“I can do that.” His voice came out rougher than intended.
She picked up a fork and looked over the tray. “You weren’t kidding about options.”
“Figured it was safer to bring everything. You can pick and choose.”
“It’s very kind of you.”
A kernel of pleasure unfurled in his chest.
She stabbed a piece of sausage and closed her lips around it. He watched her chew, watched the way her throat worked as she swallowed. He dragged his gaze away and fixed it on the boxes again. Several stickers were plastered to them, declaring they were heavy.
For a few minutes, neither spoke. She tried a little of everything, making appreciative noises under her breath when she hit the hashbrowns. Each small sound permeated his head and filed itself away in an important place.
When she’d eaten enough that some color had returned to her cheeks, she wiped her lips on a napkin. “I didn’t just run off and open the bookstore one day, you know.”
Her statement surprised him. “I can’t imagine it’s a business you just throw together.”
Her lips quirked at each corner in the slightest smile, and he found himself filling his lungs too much.
“I planned for a long time with my financial advisor. We went over my savings, projections and inventory turnover.” She huffed a breath. “What we didn’t plan for was the exit closing for construction.”
“You did everything right, Felicity. Sometimes life doesn’t follow the rules.”
She tipped her head, contemplating him for a long moment. “You’re right. My binders full of projections and spreadsheets of best-and-worst-case scenarios did not follow the rules.”
“But you made it work before the construction happened.”
She nodded. “I knew it wouldn’t make me rich, but all I wanted was enough to pay the bills and let me live in this little world of stories and paper and ink.” Her mouth curved, soft and so sad that he inched closer to her before he realized what he was doing.
“Tell me more.”
“I had kids’ story hours. Crafts with Honor as a guest where we’d make dragons or paper crowns. A middle grade book club that the local teachers endorsed. A paranormal romance club that met once a month and argued passionately about vampires versus shifters.”
He smiled, the image forming easily in his mind. Felicity in the middle of her shop, hands moving as she talked, those blue eyes bright with the love of a subject she was so passionate about.
“Sounds like you did everything right.”
“I thought I was doing enough to keep the store afloat despite the low traffic. I made window displays twice a month. Ran social media. I partnered with a local author and the school. I tried to bring in tourists with themed weekends. But nothing brought in enough business.” She shrugged as if she’d gone through this over and over in her head but the answer all pointed to the same place—the CLOSED sign on her door.
“Now the shop’s a wreck.” She issued a little watery laugh and nodded toward the tray. “Finish that bacon, Marine. Then we can get to the part where you hold me accountable for sorting through those boxes.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, unable to help the way the corner of his mouth lifted. He plucked up the bacon strip and bit into it.
Her cheeks flushed, and her expression turned from soft to shy in a way that did ridiculous things to his insides.
As he polished off the bacon, she watched him with those big eyes. And all he could think about was how damn much he wanted to lean in and taste her lips…kiss her slow and thorough…until that sweet rasp of hers turned into the whisper of his name.
* * * * *
Even after Felicity finished the last bite, the warm fullness in her stomach didn’t lessen the reality waiting for her. The boxes symbolized something sad, lined up like little tombstones, something she had to face.
Really, she should be thrilled to open them. With Gabe sitting beside her, avoiding them suddenly felt childish.
She drew a deep breath to calm her nerves, aware of how closely Gabe watched her. He perched on the edge of the cushion as if he was about to jump up and save her from the cardboard if it posed a threat.
Or maybe save her from herself.
Gabe carried strength the way other men carried wallets—naturally, without thinking about it. The way he stood, the way he watched the room, even the relaxed shift of his shoulders… Everything about him said protector, even if she didn’t need protecting from anything except her own doubts.
And he was ridiculously attractive.
She hadn’t dated in a long time. Her interest in people sparked rarely, barely. But here she was, sitting beside a man who was all quiet heat and kindness, pretending she wasn’t aware of him down to her bones.
It was terrible timing. Her life was too unstable, too uncertain, for her to even think about wanting someone.
But wanting him was the exact thing she was trying—and failing—not to admit.
She pushed to her feet. “I guess it’s time for me to stop procrastinating.”
He stood too and reached into his pocket, producing a small knife. He held it out to her, and she clasped her fingers around it, even more aware the metal was warm from being carried next to his body.
“You know how to open it?”
She nodded, turning the knife over in her hand. The metal was scratched with use, a tool a man like Gabe slipped into his pocket without thinking.
He stayed close—not crowding. But she felt him there. And she caught his scent too, clean and woodsy. Not the pine she first thought—but like cedar from an old-fashioned hope chest. Her heart leaped, and not from the anticipation of opening the boxes of books.
Gathering her wits, she slipped to her knees in front of the nearest one and slit the packing tape with the blade. The sound crackled in the quiet library.
“Even though I’m not in my own bookstore when I open these, at least I’m doing it in a library.”
He made a muted sound of agreement.
She lifted the flaps and stared down at stacks of books wrapped in brown archival paper and nestled in old packing straw. The books she remembered ordering from the estate auction months ago.
Her breath loosened in her chest as she unwrapped the first two—an anthology of women’s travel writing from the 1800s and a beautifully bound botanical guide with hand-tinted plates. She stroked a fingertip over the embossed covers.
The second box held more surprises. She opened it slowly, revealing a stack of volumes she’d forgotten she bid on. The leather bindings gleamed in the sun despite their age.
“Greek tragedies in translation!” She looked to Gabe, feeling like a child on Christmas day. “And a three-volume set of early American poetry.”
“These look like they’re worth a lot. If you were to sell them, would it keep your shop afloat until the exit opens?”
She hugged the book to her like a mother shielding her child. “I thought I could sell some…but they’re all fabulous. I need to put them in my personal collection!”
The corner of his lips tilted in a smile he was trying to hide. Then he gave in and let the grin stretch over his handsome face. “Then I guess the only sad part is you only have one box left.”
When she opened the third box, her stomach dipped in surprise at the envelope right on top.
She knew that wax seal. A deep red circle with the indented quill shape. She hadn’t seen it in years.
“This is from Henry.” Her whisper came out hot.
Gabe eyed her. “Henry?”
“My dear friend.”
“Dear? Should I be jealous?” His tone was light, teasing, but the question still rolled through her like a spark she wasn’t prepared for.
She didn’t know whether to laugh at his question or groan at the deep worry flooding into her veins. Jealous? That would suggest Gabe cared about her. “He’s seventy.”
“Oh. Then probably not.”
Inside the box, cotton gloves lay on top.
A choked laugh escaped her.
“What is it?” Gabe leaned closer to see.
“An inside joke. They’re good for handling older books.”
“Inside joke?”
“Yeah.” She tugged the gloves on. “He used to tease me because I came to an auction—the place we first met—with a pair of gloves in my pocket.”
She lifted the seal carefully, and it gave a satisfying snap as it broke. She eased out the letter.
Henry’s looping script hit her straight in the chest. She unfolded it carefully. Each line tightened her throat a little more until it ached.
Dearest Felicity,
Ever since my health began to fail, I’ve been making my peace with things.
None of the doctors can tell me why I’m declining, but I’ve stopped searching for answers.
Very early on I knew the Wollstonecraft was yours as much as mine.
Even now, as I write this, I want to be sure your dream stays alive.
Remember that you were always the heart of this place.
Your friend,
Henry
314
Her eyes stung, and the room swam in her peripheral vision.
She reached deeper and found a volume wrapped in cloth.
No. It can’t be.
But she knew it was.
Her breath hitched as she peeled back the fabric.
A copy of A Vindication of the Rights of Woman: With Strictures on Political and Moral Subjects.
The book that started her and Henry’s friendship.
“Oh god.” Her voice fractured. “No.”
Gabe shifted in that protective way as if prepared to shield her from the world. “Felicity?”
Her grip tightened. “He wouldn’t have sent this unless—” Her voice broke, and she bowed her head. “He’s dead. There’s no other reason he’d part with it.”
He wanted her to have it. Wanted to make sure her dream stayed alive.
“I got into a bidding war with Henry over this book.” She turned it over in her hands, vision blurring in and out with the tears clinging to her lashes.
“He won, of course. But he invited me to his house to see his private library, and I completely geeked out. He was so amused by my enthusiasm, and we never stopped talking about books.”
Gabe touched the back of her hand. “I’m sorry, Felicity.”
She shook her head hard. “It’s life. It’s shocking. But it’s my own fault—he sent this months ago. I would have known sooner if I’d just opened the box.”
She rocked a little, sitting with the discovery and clutching the book to her chest. “It feels like a case out of an old mystery movie.”
His gaze locked with hers. “The cousin in the study with—”
“The dagger,” she finished with a grimace.
“I’m sure it’s nothing so nefarious, Felicity. Just a note to a friend and a book you cherish as much as he did.”
Her throat tightened again. When she reached for another book, her fingers trembled.
“It’s a…journal. Henry’s journal.”
Gabe’s long fingers closed around hers.
They froze, breaths mingling in the quiet of the library, but the space between them was charged with an electric current.
“I’m okay.” Her voice barely a whisper.
“I know.” But he didn’t move away.
Neither did she.
Heat curled low in her stomach. The slow burn between them wasn’t something she could ignore anymore. It was gathering speed, gathering heat.
The fuse between them was no longer unlit.
It was unmistakably burning.
.