Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
ALLIE
In the distance, the resort comes into view, and my heart drops. Maybe he’s changed his mind. Not into the book thing after all. My breath hitches in my throat.
He eyes me, arching a brow.
“Not ready to deal with… you know, yet,” I excuse.
“Not here for him,” he murmurs.
We park, and he offers me my coat. Then, we walk in silence, side by side. So close I can feel the heat pouring off the Carhartt-clad cowboy, smell his pine scent. But never touching. He shoves his hands in his pockets. Hat slung low against the slight chill in the afternoon breeze.
When we bypass the hotel for the village, relief washes over me. Quaint shops and cobblestone squares greet us. One opens on a big trampoline area with bungee cords where kids bounce and play. We pass a pizza place, garlic and tomato smells wafting. An art store. Countless clothing stores.
More than one group of snowbunnies eyes him hungrily. My throat thickens, mouth going dry. I glare until I catch myself.
What are you doing, Allie?
Up ahead, through a smattering of snow flurries, an adorable little Swiss chalet-looking structure squats, a rustic hand-painted sign with pretty floral stencils, proclaims, Fable & Fern.
My eyes sting as he slides ahead, opening the door for me to pass through. Row upon rows of books crowd in like a big bookish hug. Vanilla and cinnamon fill the air, pure enchantment. My eyes rise, taking in the simple two-story structure, shelves stacked from floor to ceiling.
In one corner, a small cafe with a few tables for two sits. And near that, a large stone hearth with inviting leather chairs. A blaze crackles and glows. “This place is…” I can’t find the right words. “Perfect, absolutely perfect.”
“Good.” He beams.
As my senses orient, the reader takes over. Soon, I’m darting between shelves, fingering spines reverently but grabbing nothing.
I lift a worn paperback from the shelf, thumb tracing the spine.
“I always imagine how this would sound out loud,” I murmur.
He tilts his head. “Out loud?”
“Yeah. Narrating it. Where you breathe. Where you slow down. Where silence does half the work.”
Austin studies me without speaking. His eyes follow me as I scour shelf after shelf.
Finally, he asks, “Nothing you like here?”
I laugh, blindsided by the absurdity of his question.
“Not at all,” I stammer, eyes darting around the store, almost too much to absorb. “It’s just… I don’t know where to start, and I doubt you want to carry all of it for me.”
“Don’t mind,” he says with a shrug.
My face heats, shame crawling up my spine. “They’re pricey, too. You know.”
“Get what you want. My treat.”
“No,” I gasp. “I couldn’t possibly.”
“It’s a date,” he reminds, like it’s no big thing. “And I’m old-fashioned.”
“But—”
“My pleasure.”
I don’t know how much time passes. Only that my feet ache, and so do my arms, filled to the brim. Austin’s are full, too, gentle eyes watchful.
“Drink?” he asks, leading us to two big leather chairs facing the fire.
“Yes, please,” I say plopping down, a stack of books resting on my knees. He deposits the rest on a nearby coffee table. “But let me pay. It’s the least I can do.”
“Old-fashioned,” he repeats, not controlling or stubborn. Satisfied, like he’s enjoying this.
“In that case, I’d love a Moroccan mint tea,” I say, smile thanking him.
He returns ten minutes later with two mugs, and a pretty barista, eyeing him thirstily from a distance.
“Do you ever get tired of it?” I ask, as he takes the seat next to me.
He arches a brow.
“Of every woman in this place checking you out.”
He grimaces, puzzled.
“Wait, are you telling me you don’t notice?” I hiss, leaning closer to him. The barista shoots daggers my way. I feel triumphant despite myself. And despite our dating arrangement.
Austin shrugs. “Only pay attention to what interests me.”
My cheeks heat, his eyes hovering on my face for a moment longer than he needs to.
Suddenly, he looks away, grabbing the book on the top of the pile, the one I showed him before—The Alpha’s Curvy Omega.
“Let me give this narrating thing a try,” he says, almost more to himself.
He flips it open, clears his throat, and starts reading—low, steady, unselfconscious.
Then, he stops.
His ears go red.
His eyes widen.
“…Damn,” he mutters.
I laugh nervously. “You didn’t make it a whole page, did you?”
He shuts the book. Hard.
“That should come with a warning label.”
I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lips. “Giving up so fast, Austin? You sound like you’d make a good narrator.”
He shrugs, resting his hands on his legs, body relaxed, face open.
I wait for the lecture that never comes.
Might as well get it over with. “Indecent reading material. I know. But…” My eyes cast toward the dark patterned carpet, burnished with firelight.
“Read what you like, Allie.”
Five words, like chains breaking.
“Not really much that upsets you.”
“Why should it?” he shrugs. “You’re your own person.”
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
I stare at my hands, letting the words soak in.
“Why do you like reading them?” he asks.
I freeze, unsure how to respond. Never thought too much about it before.
I grab my mug, cradling it in my hands. “Maybe it’s the idea of finding someone who won’t let you go no matter what. Who wants you no matter what.”
He listens without commentary. Not bored but intensely, as if he’s remembering everything I say. It breeds self-consciousness and addiction all at once.
Like I could get used to being heard, seen this way.
I blabber on and on. He never looks away, checks his phone or makes an excuse.
“I’ve got to stop,” I say, finally. “I’m talking your ear off.”
“Don’t have to do anything,” he replies, voice steady and strong. “I’m a better listener anyway.”
“A talker and a listener,” I chuckle. “Makes sense.”
He nods.
The barista appears, hovering over our table. Seriously? What does she want?
“We’re closing in ten more minutes. Can I help you take your books to the register?” She says it to Austin, as if he’s the only person in the store.
“We’re fine,” I butt in, voice steely.
Her eyes round, large and innocent. “Oh—I didn’t realize you were together.”
Please.
Austin nods once. Final.
Yet, her eyes and smile still linger too long, though he doesn’t acknowledge it, gathering piles in his arms once more.
“She was practically drooling over you,” I observe after she leaves.
Austin’s forehead wrinkles. “That bother you?”
Jealous? I huff. “God, no.”
He doesn’t ask more, doesn’t pry. But something ugly and unfamiliar still coils low in my chest. I remind myself this is why I could never be with a man this good-looking. It would drive me wild, and not in a good way.
But something scares me more than this thought…
The way he never returns the barista’s stare. Or the snow bunnies’ before that. Never notices. Just keeps his gaze steady on me.