Chapter 20
twenty
WILL
Zeke: Can ghosts have, like, venereal diseases?
Phoebe: I’m surprised you can use that word in a sentence. But no. I don’t think so.
Zeke: Ok. Anyway, where’s Will?
Benji: This is the group chat
Will: Holy duck. I’m volunteering at the fall festival all afternoon.
Will: *Duck
Will: *Duck!!
Will: F-U-C-K
The weather is gorgeous on Saturday afternoon as I come rolling down Main Street and whip my truck into a parking spot off one of the side roads.
The sky is clear and blue, and the sun’s shining overhead, but there’s a chilly little bite in the air that reminds you it’s autumn.
We really couldn’t have asked for better weather for the fall crafts festival today.
People are sure to be out and about, enjoying the sunshine.
“Will! Over here!”
I step down from the truck and scan the square to see who’s calling me.
The place isn’t crowded yet, and it only takes a quick glance before I see Nancy, waving excitedly from behind the table she’s already set up on the sidewalk.
Beside her, Lydia’s unloading something from a huge box on the table.
She looks up at me briefly, then goes back to her work without so much as a wave.
I guess the weather isn’t raising her spirits this afternoon like it is mine.
Well, that’s just fine. We’re not besties. Hell, we’re not even friends. We’re two people who gave into our primal urges, had a good time doing so, and are now going our separate ways. End of story. Except I still need to tell her about that final approval from the board.
God.
I shove the thought from my mind and head over to the booth. “Lovely day out today, isn’t it?”
“Oh, just glorious,” Nancy gushes. She claps her hands together and gazes in wonder at the spread of other tables being set up in the square. “Hopefully we get a good turnout.”
Lydia lifts her now empty box from the table and flattens it, setting it down below and out of the way. She turns her attention to the brown paper bundles heaped on the table in front of her, starts sorting them into groups and lining them up.
“So what have we got today, exactly?” I venture, nodding to the packages.
I know it’s some kind of book sale, but no one’s told me anything further than that.
I’m just here as the architect, the face of the project.
The board thought it’d be helpful if people could come by and ask me questions directly about the details of the renovation.
“Blind date with a book,” Lydia says, still not looking up.
“Okay…”
Nancy clucks her tongue, and Lydia sighs, finally sparing me a glance while she continues her work. I’m honestly surprised to see a little patch of color rising in her cheeks. She chews her lip as she talks, looking suddenly shy.
“I wrapped the books in brown paper so no one will see the titles. But they’ve got these cards on the front that give you a few details about the vibe of the book, who the characters may be—that kind of thing.”
“Huh.” I pick up one of the wrapped books and scan the handwritten card stuck to the front. “Spooky. Main character is a little boy. Do not read while snowed in.”
“The Shining,” Lydia says. There’s a small smile on her lips. “Stephen King.”
That gets a chuckle out of me. I place the book back on the table and Lydia swipes it away, adding it to her lineup.
“The books are five dollars apiece,” Nancy says. She’s got a wad of bills fanned out in front of her and is counting through them. “But obviously, it’s a fundraiser, so people are welcome to donate more if they’d like. I suspect we’ll get a number who’d like to contribute checks, too.”
Lydia gives the rows of books one last little shuffle, making sure they’re all lying perfectly arranged, the cards visible beneath the red and white string she’s tied in a bow around each of them. It really looks like a table covered in old-fashioned Christmas presents.
She steps back from the table, flipping her long dark hair over her shoulder.
The delicious vanilla scent that wafts toward me is tempting as shit, and I’ve got the sudden urge to let my mind go in places it shouldn’t right now.
This is a family event. Sporting a boner from behind this table would be one thousand percent unacceptable.
“There,” Lydia announces.
She looks at Nancy, pointing out the groupings of books on the table. “Left side is adult fiction, the middle is young adult, and on the right we’ve got kids. Magic Treehouse, that sort of thing. And with that, I’m going to get coffee. Be back in a few.”
Lydia scoops up her purse from behind the table, turns on her heel, and strides briskly off across the square.
I’ve got half a mind to call after her and ask if she’ll bring me a dark roast, but Nancy didn’t ask for anything and I don’t want to risk waking Lydia’s wrath this morning.
Besides, she’s already halfway down the street.
“Lydia’s coming around,” Nancy remarks.
She plops herself in a folding chair behind the table and looks up at me through her sunglasses. “I figure I’ll wait until the official announcement to tell her the finalized plans are approved and the bids are going, but I think she’s making peace with the whole thing.”
“You think?” I ask. More cars are pulling up, and the square’s slowly beginning to crowd with more people.
“Oh, definitely.” Nancy waves a hand. “She’s barely mentioned a word to me this past week.”
I’m not surprised Lydia hasn’t said anything else to Nancy. She probably figures Nancy’s a lost cause—and doesn’t hold any real power over the situation, anyway. No, if Lydia wanted to change the course of the renovation, she’d go to someone who holds some sway.
And she has. Ahem.
“Well, that’s good. I was thinking, though, that maybe I ought to tell her about the bidding.”
“You?” Nancy looks surprised.
I shrug. “Yeah. I’m the one in the know, I guess. She’ll probably want details.”
Nancy chuckles. “That may be so, but I’d come wearing a suit of armor for that conversation, if I were you. Don’t take this the wrong way, but… let’s just say she’s not your biggest fan.”
“I’m aware.”
Our conversation is cut short by a couple of women who come up to the table and greet Nancy with shrieks and hugs.
I may live in Hawthorne Bay, but I like my distance and hate small talk, so I smile politely and settle back onto one of the folding chairs.
Nancy doesn’t even notice. She’s gesturing to the book bundles, explaining the blind date concept to the women.
If they want to ask about the blueprints for the building, they can have at it. I’m in plain sight.
As Nancy talks, I look around the square, enjoying the nip of the air on my face and taking in the sights.
The little downtown square of Hawthorne Bay is littered with booths, and people stroll leisurely between shops, stopping to admire the window displays strung up with brightly colored leaves and spread with piles of pumpkins.
I’m pretty sure I can smell cinnamon rolls, most likely coming from one of the booths.
“Here.” Lydia appears at my elbow and thrusts a paper cup toward me.
I frown. I’m not her freaking purse. She can set her coffee down on the table while she takes her coat off—oh.
She’s holding two coffees, one in each hand, and carefully avoiding my gaze.
I take the one she’s holding out to me, deliberately letting my fingers brush hers as I do. Her skin is warm, and so is the coffee.
“This is… for me?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“What is it?”
“Drip coffee. Dark roast.”
I take a sip, and it’s dark roast indeed. There’s no sugar, no milk. It’s exactly the way I like it.
“Thanks,” I say. “You didn’t need to do that.”
Lydia shrugs. I think I catch the tiniest of smiles from her before she turns back to the table and joins the conversation Nancy’s having with the small group of people now sifting through the blind date books.
Lydia asks them what they’re in the mood for, and, when the answer is historical romance, she rifles through the rows of bundles and extracts a few different options.
As the would-be readers peruse their choices, discussing among themselves, I can’t take my eyes off Lydia.
She’s so polished, so poised. And apparently also well read, which isn’t much of a surprise given her choice of career.
But underneath that polished exterior, I know there’s a whole other side to this woman smoldering beneath the surface.
She’s like magma, Lydia is. Hot and roiling and fierce.
Uncontainable. She’s a fucking force of nature, and I don’t even think she knows it.
The way she hasn’t backed down about this damn library, always looking me straight in the eye as she plows ahead with her opinion, whether or not it’s going to cost her.
How she looked the other night, gazing back at me with sparks in her eyes, down on all fours in front of me on the sand…
Fuck. Don’t go there, Will. This is a fundraiser, not a dick-raiser.
I move my eyes back to the square, trying to steer my mind back into reality. Across the way, there’s the cinnamon roll booth, and next to it is a table covered with candles and handmade soaps. I sip my coffee, relishing the warmth of the paper cup on my cold hands.
There’s a guy at the candle booth perusing the bars of soap who looks kind of familiar.
He’s got on a ball cap, and the jacket and jeans he’s wearing look absolutely pristine, like he ironed them before leaving the house or something.
I’m about to give up on trying to place the guy when he lifts his cap to run a hand over a thatch of smooth, perfectly coiffed hair—and it hits me.
Well, well, well. If it isn’t Mr. Mediocre Lay himself.