Chapter 6 True LoveSomething Like It
True Love or Something Like It
? Needy - Kelsea Ballerini
Callie
Mo leans against the front desk, flipping through a paperback while I finish cataloguing the new inventory that arrived this morning.
“I still think you should let that cowboy take you for the ride of your life,” they whisper.
I slam the book shut and stack it on the return pile from which they stole it. “I think you're overestimating my skills at seduction.”
“Or you're underestimating them. You can’t tell me you aren’t dying to play the role of the sexy librarian who falls for the nerdy cowboy.”
I stand and grip the handles of the returns cart. “Now I'm falling for him? I thought this was just some hypothetical one-night stand.”
They shrug. “The universe works in mysterious ways. You never know when true love is going to find you.”
I snort at the sheer ridiculousness of that statement. True love is for fairytales—princesses in towers and damsels in need of rescue. I’m neither of those things, so I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. If it comes looking, I’ll be over in the non-fiction section.”
As I walk away from the desk, an unexpected voice stops me dead in my tracks. Something else I’ve learned is that the universe has a cunning sense of humor.
“Hey. I'm looking for Callie.”
My breath catches as a flood of unwanted heat curls down my spine. It can’t be. He doesn't even know my real name.
Mo barks out a laugh. “This is too good. She’s in the non-fiction section.”
I turn to shush her, slamming into Jaxon in the process. A cowboy, but not my cowboy. How could I possibly mistake him for someone else? He palms my shoulders to steady me, and that same heat pools low in my belly. Over his shoulder, Mo grins and makes a heart with their hands.
Still reeling from the momentary confusion, I put on my best customer service voice. “Good morning. Can I help you with something?”
I must be losing my mind. There’s no other explanation. The odds of meeting him in Willow Valley are astronomical. Still, I can’t deny the small flicker of hope that maybe someday he’ll find me.
Nobody has ever made me feel the way he does—or did—desired, wanted. It was nice to live in a world of delusion for a while, but it wasn’t real, and I shouldn’t pretend that it was.
So why do I miss him so much?
“Do you have the new M.W. Hartley book?” Jaxon asks.
My brows shoot up. “You read romance?”
“I don’t think librarians are supposed to judge people’s taste in literature, Miss Cooper.”
I shouldn’t like the way he says my last name, all low and gravelly like I’m being chastised, but it’s doing fucked up things to my already heightened libido.
I tug on my ear and avert my gaze, lest Jaxon see the flush I’m certain is creeping into my cheeks as we speak. “I don't, as a rule. I just didn't expect someone like you to be interested in romance.”
He stalks toward me, each step slow and deliberate. I mirror his movements until my back hits the bookshelf.
Bracing himself above my head, he murmurs, “Wanna know what else I’m interested in?”
I shove against his hard chest, but he doesn’t budge.
I’m cornered. If my history is anything to go by, I should be cowering in fear at the precarious position I’ve found myself in, but I'm not. I’m impossibly at ease despite his startling closeness.
Somehow, trapped between Jaxon’s arms and a wall of books, I’ve never felt safer.
It doesn’t make any sense, but then, the way my body reacts to Jaxon has always been nonsensical.
“Personal space?” I deadpan.
“You, Callie baby. Have lunch with me.”
His face drops lower. So close, I can barely make out the subtle ring of gold around his irises, and the faintest worry lines creasing his brow. My eyes dip to his mouth with its perfect cupid’s bow and that plush bottom lip. I’ve never wanted to bite anyone until now.
“You look like you’re about to eat me alive,” he grumbles. “I don’t know whether I should be turned on or terrified.”
My lip twitches against the urge to smile. “Maybe both.”
A sound, somewhere close to a growl, rumbles through his chest. “Is that a yes?”
“What?”
Jaxon laughs. It’s smooth and guttural, and it sends an electric current zapping through me. My body responds like it’s his to command. Jaxon Hayes could melt an iceberg using only his voice, I’m certain of it.
“Miss Cooper, would you do me the honor of joining me for lunch this afternoon?” he asks in a strange accent that is decidedly not British, though I think that might've been his intention.
The smile I’d been trying to hold back slips free. “What the hell was that?”
He points to a book on the shelf directly behind me: A History of Great Britain.
I duck under his arm and return to my cart, shuffling through the books. “I already have lunch plans with Mo.”
Jaxon peers around the shelves. “You sure about that?”
I follow his line of sight to the now-empty desk.
“Mo doesn't seem to think so.”
“That sneaky little bitch.”
Jaxon takes the book from my hand and places it on the shelf.
“Hey! You can’t just move shit around all willy-nilly.” My face falls as I check the numbers.
He crosses his arms over his chest and stares at me smugly. “It’s in the right place, isn’t it?”
“How did you—”
“I’m good with numbers.”
In an effort to distract, I point to the romance section. “The M.W. Hartley book is over there. I have to get back to work.”
“If you won’t go to lunch with me, how about I pick something up for us?”
My stomach chooses that moment to rumble loudly. The sound is hard to miss in the quiet corner of the library.
Jaxon grins. “I’ll take that as a yes. What do you like? My treat.”
Perhaps I should be relieved that he’s offered to pay, but my wounded pride won’t let me. I don't want to owe him anything. I know better than anyone that kindness always comes at a price. Still, I’m not exactly in a position to turn down food, and I doubt Jaxon is going to take no for an answer.
I let out a resigned sigh. “Surprise me.”
Jaxon returns a half hour later, holding a brown paper bag and a drink carrier with way too many drinks for two people. “I hope you like Catalano’s.”
“Never been, but I’m willing to try anything once.”
Something heated flashes in his gaze. “Good to know.”
“Did you invite someone else?”
“What?”
“The drinks.”
“Oh. That. No, I just wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a few different options.”
If he keeps this up, I’m going to end up having Jaxon for lunch.
“Is there somewhere I can set this down?” he asks.
“Right. Sorry. Follow me.”
I lead Jaxon toward the break room, stopping briefly to let Janet know I’m taking my lunch break. She heads to the desk while Jaxon and I settle into two chairs at the small round table.
“I got sweet tea, lemonade, a bottle of water, or soda. Take whatever you want.”
There are few things in life that trip me up: accepting help when it’s offered, the word Worcestershire, visiting new places when I don’t know what the parking situation is like, and making decisions.
I bite down on my bottom lip. “What do you like?”
“Pick two, and I’ll have whatever’s left over,” he says, reaching into the paper bag. “I got my usual, but if you don’t like it, I have a backup plan.”
I grab the bottle of water and the lemonade and set them in front of me.
If the scent wafting from the bag is anything to go by, I’m going to devour whatever it is. He pulls out two brown takeout containers and sets them on the table.
Jaxon’s ‘usual,’ it turns out, is possibly the fanciest grilled cheese I’ve ever eaten.
It’s made with fresh sourdough bread buttered and toasted to perfection, what appears to be three different cheeses, a side of homemade potato chips, and a pickle.
Sure beats the questionable chicken salad sandwich with the bright yellow discount sticker on the container waiting for me in the mini fridge.
Before I touch the sandwich, I pluck the juiciest-looking pickle spear out of the container and take a bite.
“Well?” Jaxon asks. “How is it?”
“Best pickle I've ever had.” I cover my mouth as I speak around the bite.
He stabs the straw into one of the cups. “And the sandwich?”
“Screw the sandwich, I could eat a whole jar of these.” I shove the last bite between my lips and release a quiet, contented hum.
Jaxon laughs. “Here. You can have mine, too. I don’t like pickles.” He picks it up with a toothpick and sets it in my container.
I cover my mouth and say a quiet thank you.
“How is it that you live and work in Willow Valley and haven’t tried the best restaurant in town?” he asks.
“I don’t eat out much.” It’s not a lie, exactly. It’s just not the whole truth. I couldn’t afford places like Catalano’s even if I wanted to. These days, I have to settle for whatever I can find in the discount aisle of the local grocery store.
Jaxon’s lips twitch into a playful grin. I may not know him all that well, but I know enough to predict what’s coming next.
“That’s a shame. I love eating out. It’s one of my favorite pastimes.”
I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. The man thrives on innuendo, and I refuse to feed his ego.
I hold up the pickle and wave it around. “I don't know whether I should be thrilled or disappointed in your obvious lack of taste.”
I hum around another delicious bite. I wasn’t exaggerating—I could easily scarf down an entire jar of pickles if they’re this good.
“You keep making sounds like that, and I'm gonna be tempted to crawl under this table and get a taste of something else.”
My cheeks flame as he shoots right past innuendo into much more dangerous territory.
His mouth closes around his sandwich, and a dull ache settles between my thighs at the threat of his mouth on me instead.
I shift uncomfortably and turn my attention to the rest of the meal, but my thoughts never stray far from the vision of Jaxon Hayes on his knees for me.
Jaxon