ONE
LILY
I printed twenty flyers—twenty-three, actually, before the ancient printer in the corner of the library smudged the words Hot Girls Read Book Club so badly, they were practically illegible.
Six fifty-eight.
The first meeting starts at seven.
The community room looks exactly how I’d imagined it would. A large blonde maple table shines under the overhead lights, surrounded by matching wooden chairs that I dragged from smaller tables in the main library space.
Name tags, small notebooks, and pens sit in front of each.
Ten open seats feel ambitious for a first meeting, but we’ll see how it goes. The last thing I want is for someone to show up and there not be a seat available.
How embarrassing for me as a host.
Coffee in a cardboard catering box from the café down the street sits next to a pile of store-bought cookies I transferred onto a plate to make them look homemade.
I readjust the little sign I spent way too long making at the center of the table, making sure the letters face the doorway.
HOT GIRLS READ BOOK CLUB
A book club for romance readers.
A place to talk about how much we LOVE love.
A room full of women across all ages, sitting around, bonding over our favorite tropes and becoming friends in the process.
My stomach twists while I wait.
I don’t actually know if anybody is coming tonight. There’s exactly one like on my Facebook event post, but that’s from my mom down in Florida. There are no comments or RSVPS from anyone here in town. So basically, there’s been no response at all.
I stare at my hands, working my fingers against the stubborn ink stain that just won’t budge.
Maybe I made a mistake moving here.
Maybe John was right about me, because it’s been three months, and I still have no friends.
Maybe starting a book club in a small town where I know absolutely no one—
The door swings open.
My eyes flick up slowly, unsure how to respond to who—no, what—I’m seeing in the doorway.
He’s tall, like, almost-has-to-duck-through-the-frame kind of tall and broad-shouldered, wearing grease-stained coveralls and work boots that have seen better days.
His dark hair is swept back away from his forehead, revealing salt-and-pepper strands at his temples.
Deep brown eyes travel around the room in confusion.
Not what I was expecting, but everyone is allowed to like romance, and who am I to say large, burly, blue-collar men can’t get lost a good rom-com in their free time?
I jump to my feet and cross the room.
“Oh my God, hi! You came!”
The man before me rears his head back a touch as I close the distance between us. His mouth parts like he’s about to say something, but I’m too excited that someone actually showed up and don’t give him a chance to speak.
“You have no idea how happy I am right now.”
He drags one of his large hands over his jaw.
“You’re here for the book club, right?”
He hesitates for a beat too long, eyes squinting like he’s trying to figure out how to respond before his lips twitch into a sideways smirk.
“…Sure.”
I clap my hands, bouncing slightly on my toes, looping an arm through his and almost dragging him toward the table. Without thinking, I pull out his chair for him.
He quirks an eyebrow at me.
“Never had a woman pull out my chair before.”
My cheeks heat as his deep voice rumbles through me.
“Ha! What can I say? I’m just a gentleman like that,” I say with a flourished bow. I turn quickly, widening my eyes. Even I’m mortified by how awkward I am.
Be cool.
I slide into my chair, gently pushing the tray of cookies toward him. It’s almost comical, seeing the small cookie engulfed by his massive hand.
“We should do introductions,” I say, giving him what I hope is a friendly smile.
He pauses, making a show of looking around the empty room and the vacant chairs surrounding the table. I swallow hard, also taking it in.
“It’s just us.” He scowls.
“I know, but we just met, and I really like knowing my friends’ names.”
“Friends?” His eyebrows shoot up.
Embarrassment flares again, but I shove it down quickly.
“Of course, you came to my book club, therefore we’re friends now,” I start, smoothing my hands over my hair, tightening the messy knot at the top of my head.
“My name is Lily Caldwell. I moved here for the open librarian job a couple of months ago. I’m thirty-two, and I’ve loved romance books since I was a teenager.
My favorite authors right now are Ali Hazelwood and B.K. Borison. Your turn.”
He watches me carefully, eyes roaming over my face, and I get the distinct impression that he’s really listening to my words. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, not used to this level of attention.
He clears his throat. “Jax. Jax Mason.”
I blink, holding my smile in place, waiting for him to continue. When he doesn’t, I fold my hands together on top of the table in front of me.
“Okay then, Jax. What else can you tell me? Where are you from, what do you do?”
“I—uh… grew up here? Bellewood, born and raised. I own the garage down on Main.” He sits up a little taller at that, pride surrounding his business clear in his expression.
“Well, I love that! Welcome, Jax. It’s so nice to meet you. Let’s get started, shall we?” I pull out my copy of Deep End by Ali Hazelwood, opening to my first tabbed page.
For the next twenty minutes, I ramble on and on about how much I love the characters and plot.
How I appreciate Ali’s attention to detail, consent, and trust between her characters.
How she’s one of my all-time favorites because her romance arcs always parallel the rest of the plot in terms of growth and development.
All the while, Jax chews quietly, cookie after cookie, nodding periodically and humming a noise of agreement every so often. He doesn’t interrupt, but he does pay attention, and that—unfortunately for him—encourages me to keep going.
I could talk about how much I stan this author until his eyes glazed over, but I finally pause to breathe once I’ve gotten my feelings out in the open.
“Sorry. I do that, sometimes,” I confess, dipping my head and tucking the loose strands of hair that have escaped my bun behind my ears.
“Do what?”
“Talk non-stop when I’m nervous.”
He shrugs, biting into another cookie.
“Doesn’t bother me none.”
“No?”
“Means I don’t have to.”
His words have me dragging my eyes up to meet his gaze. He doesn’t smile, but there’s something comforting in the way he’s looking at me. John hated it when I’d run off on a tangent, but Jax genuinely looks unbothered.
“What did you think of chapter sixty-five?”
He stares at me, unmoving, and I can’t tell if he’s processing the question or searching for the right words to say. The people-pleaser in me immediately rises to fill the silence.
“Oh God, you hated it. That’s okay. A lot of people hate third-act conflicts. Actually, I kind of hate them too sometimes because—”
“No.” He blurts.
I pause, squinting my eyes. “No?”
“I liked it.”
“…Oh.”
“It made sense.”
Then, it’s my turn to stare at him. The third-act conflict in Deep End makes sense to him? Huh. I thought, for sure, he’d push back on Scarlett fleeing from Lukas after their secret relationship was revealed. Hell, even I wanted to scream at her, but this man saw her struggle and understood it.
More than that, he validated it.
His eyes hold mine for another second before he flicks his gaze to the clock on the wall for the time.
Eight o’clock.
Time somehow evaporated, but you know what they say: Time flies when you’re having fun. And that’s exactly what this was—fun.
“Well, I successfully did almost all of the talking,” I sigh, pushing back and standing from my chair. “See you in two weeks?”
My question sounds almost desperate, and I cringe, hoping he doesn’t read too far into it. He looks hesitant, and I brace myself for the excuses, the rejection.
“Yeah.” He jerks his chin.
“Really? Okay, here…” I lean across the table, scrawling the title and author of the indie book I chose for the next meeting in the little notebook in front of him. “This is the book for the next meeting. It should be a pretty quick read.”
He glances down at the notebook, slowly picking it up and reading what I wrote. The corners of his mouth tip up as he turns to leave without uttering another word.
I wrap my arms around myself, smiling at his back as he walks through the doorway, pausing for a brief moment and tossing a glance over his shoulder.
“Nice meeting you, too. Lily.”