Chapter 3
Jo
Adam smiled gamely at what had to be my hundredth question of the hour.
“I wouldn’t use QuickClot in that scenario, no. I’d do a tourniquet and then?—”
“Ohhh, and then you’d use the?—”
“Exactly.” He nodded, an expression I was reading as pride but which had to be relief I was finally understanding. His brow furrowed then. “Are you sure these are romances, though? This is a lot of blood for a romance, no?”
I laughed. “Oh, you sweet summer child. Depending on the subgenre, there’s not nearly enough blood.” His eyes widened, and I burst out with a cackle. “Not any books I write, of course. But there’s always a little intensity. And this one features a medic, as you know, so there’s a bit more in the medical vein.”
His lips twitched.
“It’s okay. You can be delighted by my excellent pun.” His reluctant smile made my heart flip, which I studiously ignored. “Anyway, thank you for your help.”
“You know I’m always happy to help, and I’m glad we found a time to do this.”
He stretched out his long legs and ran his hand along the back of my couch. I’d been considering getting a full-sized sofa so I could have get-togethers more often and actually have more than two seats here, but I usually hosted book club in the reading room downstairs at the shop. I was fleetingly both delighted by the lack of space at present and exhausted by his nearness.
Because in truth, the man smelled so good. He had this fresh, clean scent that was a little woodsy, like he’d showered in an icy waterfall with Irish Spring and then hiked through a pine forest. It was on par with a margarita on an empty stomach in terms of the intoxicating effects.
Okay, so that was not helpful thinking.
“I really appreciate it. Lunch should be here soon, and then I’ll let you be free.” We both knew he had better things to do, but he’d set the time, so I had to trust he was okay being here.
And already, I did trust him. He’d given me a gift, even if he hadn’t meant to. He’d widened my writing world by one hundred percent, and even though I’d drawn a thick line around what I was allowed to feel for him as a person, the pure relief and pleasure of sharing this part of my world with him had made said line perilously wiggly.
He’d kept my secret, and he’d answered every question I’d peppered him with over the last few months. Small things about what kind of weapon a special ops guy would use in a certain situation to bigger things like help on tactical ideas.
Before Adam’s help, I’d gleaned details from the other Saint Security personnel by being a little snoop and listening in on their conversations, sometimes even daring to ask a question if I felt it was general enough it wouldn’t seem weird for me to be asking, but having him as a resource had been incredible.
And now, writing this hero who happened to be a medic and happened to have a touch of a Southern accent… well, having the real deal right here with me was nothing short of magic. I could gather more real-life details here in my living room, adjusting them enough so he wouldn’t see right through me.
“You really didn’t have to buy me lunch, you know that, right?” he said.
I closed my laptop and stood, needing a little space and lapping up the way the words came out, his buy a little loose and flat like “bah” and his brows pinching. “You think I’d have you come here and give me an hour of your time for nothing? Not happening.”
“It wouldn’t be for nothing,” he said, standing by one of my bookshelves and perusing the titles.
“Yeah? You charging me the hourly Saint Security consulting fee?” I joked, checking the food-delivery app.
When I looked up, he was frowning at me.
“No, Jo. I wouldn’t be charging you, because you’re my friend.”
I swallowed reflexively and a weird laugh snuck out. “Right. Of course. But it’s a lot to ask.”
“No, it’s not.”
With a huff, I moved to the door. “Will you grab silverware and plates from the kitchen? I’ll be right back.”
I hustled out the door and down the stairs, then around the hallway to the exit of the building, which spit me out between the bookstore and Scoop. Javier’s youngest son had just started delivering for Guac and he was adorable, so I always made sure to tip him generously. He deserved a bonus for coming when he did and saving me from any more awkwardness in the wake of Adam’s friend comment. Why had it thrown me? It shouldn’t have. My crush had jumped into a zombie book and had taken on the life of the undead, crawling out of its place in the hole very much without my permission.
“Thanks, Jo.”
“Sure thing, Robby. Did you pick up your coding book yet?” He’d ordered some super-advanced book on coding and something else I didn’t understand, but when I’d worked yesterday, they’d still been waiting.
“I’ll grab it after my shift today. Don’t worry, I didn’t forget.” He winked at me, the little charmer, and took off at a jog. The restaurant was only a street over, so apparently, he hadn’t even bothered with his bike today.
“Have a good one!” I said, waving after him, then turning back to my building. Food in hand, I climbed the stairs slowly and couldn’t keep my mind from sliding back into the memory of Adam finding me writing at work. Is this what made us friends?
It had been a normal Sunday afternoon at the bookstore, my first fall after graduate school, and I’d been alone with my books and my words for an hour. Sundays could be quiet, and all the more so in the shoulder season between major tourist times, or so my dad had noticed since opening a few years ago.
This provided a perfect stretch to get some words written on my novel, particularly because I only ever wrote when I was alone. Since no one knew my pseudonym, I wanted to keep it this way and took every precaution.
I’d started out writing in grad school as a way to pass the time and to placate myself. I’d set out on a course to become a communications director for a non-profit or do something that would be impactful, but the further into my master’s program I got, the less interested I became. And so, after hours of studying and writing for my coursework, I’d turned to romance as an outlet.
Honestly, Bruce Camden had inspired me to write at least two books. I’d met him when my dad had moved here, and he’d been so stunningly beautiful and charismatic and capable, and then I’d learned he’d been a special operations soldier and it just felt a little like that moment when we all discovered Henry Cavill is actually kind and both a dog person and a genuine computer nerd. It was patently unfair and yet, the stuff of dreams.
Something about him, and even simply the existence of these burly, gorgeous men retiring and starting a business together to keep other people safe after literally giving their youth to that very end was deeply, grippingly romantic in my mind.
Granted, Wilder Saint, Bruce’s partner in the business, was already married, so I hadn’t gotten moony-eyed over him, thank goodness. Especially considering he later became my stepbrother after my dad married his mom, but still, he had an air of romance hero about him I knew his wife, Sarah, greatly appreciated.
Since leaving grad school, I’d found solace in my writing even more, and I’d made zero progress on figuring out what great use of my master’s degree I was going to pursue. How to handle the wrecking ball realization that I had no interest in finding a job in my field? Write a new chapter! How to face the reality that abandoning the plan I’d made with my sister and the justification for my move I’d given my mother would hurt my family? Another chapter! There were people who needed me—fictional, for sure, but the need was real.
How to face the vast unknown of my own life—professional and personal? Why, ma’am, ye shall write yet another chapter.
The plan to come back to Silverton, help my dad through the summer tourist season and maybe stay on through one winter ski season before starting a full-time job in Salt Lake City, felt less and less appealing.
A job doing what? The answer wouldn’t be in another chapter of my current work in progress, but it kept me from spiraling.
Staying snuggled here in this cozy bookstore and surrounding myself with friends and the comforts of this small town while I wrote book heroes and romances into existence… that sounded downright perfect. Especially when paired with the true joy of being partial owner in a local coffee shop and, well, small-town life suited me more than I ever could’ve imagined.
I’d never figured out how to use the small inheritance I’d gotten when my grandmother had passed away during high school, but investing in Ethan’s business in my favorite small town had just made sense. Dad had refused to let me invest in the bookstore when he’d started, so I still had some left.
I’d earmarked it to start my life in Salt Lake—security deposit on a place, savings for rainy days, that sort of thing. As I had initially settled here, it’d given me a safety net if writing dried up or didn’t progress the way I’d hoped. It’d also provided the escape hatch from having to get a full-time job, even though I’d been working at All Booked Up regularly enough that I could live frugally on the income and no one would wonder how else I was making money.
My thoughts had veered to the fact I might’ve subconsciously used most of the money in Ethan’s venture to remove this safety net from my life. In a way, if I didn’t have the funds to get a place in Salt Lake, well, then I couldn’t in good conscience make a go of life there, right? Almost like a reverse self-sabotage. Instead of keeping myself from success, I was metaphorically pulling the rug from beneath myself in order to guarantee I followed my real dreams… or something like that.
“What are you working on?”
I’d nearly jumped out of my skull at the sound of Adam’s voice behind me.
“Whoa, sorry. Didn’t meant to startle you. I figured you would’ve heard me come in.” He’d nodded toward the door where, yes, hung a cheery little bell to alert me whenever someone entered.
I’d fallen into my thoughts, into the book world and the solace of words, then my own cesspool of internal thoughts about the future, and I hadn’t heard him. Hand over my racing heart and panic receding now that my brain had registered it was him and not—well, not anyone else, I’d turned to face him fully. “I’m sorry. I think I was in my own world.”
His blue eyes had swept around the empty store, though something about the way his brow had dipped made me think he sensed how shaken I was despite my feeble attempt to hide it. He’d watched with a frown for a few seconds, like he was looking and really seeing me, all of what was going on inside, putting it all together… then when he had seemed satisfied with whatever picture he’d come up with, the frown had lifted, and he’d inhaled as if his lungs had needed it.
“I can see how this is a perfect place to world hop,” he’d said.
My heart had flipped, and before I’d thought better of it, I’d agreed. “Yeah, it’s pretty perfect.”
He’d lifted his chin toward my laptop. “So what are you writing?”
I’d slammed the lid shut. “Nothing exciting. Just… work stuff.”
I’d refused to cringe or roll my eyes at how poorly evasive that had sounded and staunchly ignored the little flicker in my mind asking, “What if you just told him?”
I’d had the thought of telling someone about this on and off since feeling the lack of drive to do much else. My sweet friend Dove would have been the perfect person to share all of this with, and I didn’t actually think anyone I knew here would criticize me for writing romance novels. Or, if they did, did I really want them in my life? Likely not.
And yet… the thought of revealing how I spent my time, how I’d shifted my focus from becoming someone impressive and impactful to something so… frivolous, had me frozen. My heart sank even considering it.
My heart absolutely shriveled thinking about Elizabeth, my sister, who was the most formidable person I knew, and how she’d feel about me choosing something small and unnecessary like writing romance instead of changing the world like she did. If anything kept my mouth shut about all of this, it was dreading her finding out and hearing the disappointment in her voice.
“Oh, right,” Adam had said, a small smile covering any awkwardness he might’ve felt. “Well, I just stopped in to get these.” He’d handed me a pile of books.
I’d scanned them and admired the titles—two World War II histories, something on a more recent conflict, and a hiking guide for Northern Utah.
“Are you a big hiker?” I’d asked, reminding myself the only person currently obsessing about what was on my computer screen was me.
He’d leaned an elbow on the bar-height counter of the check-out desk. “I love it. It’s one big reason why I didn’t hesitate to come out here with the guys.” His gaze had shifted to the windows where we could just see Silver Ridge Peak over the tops of the building across the street. “Hiking in my off-work time is unbeatable here. I ran into Danny Morrison during my first few weeks, and he’s kept me in hiking routes ever since.”
“Ah, Danny’s great. Hiking’s pretty amazing around here. I love it, too, though I am definitely a fair-weather hiker. We’re entering my no-go zone any day now.” The October weather would mean snow and freezing temps making the adventure of hiking less fun.
“Yeah? You don’t like the cold?” He’d tapped his card for payment while I bagged his books in a little paper sack with the All Booked Up logo on front.
“I have basically zero survival skills for cold weather. I don’t mind being outside and being bundled, but there’s nothing like being inside and reading a good book while it’s snowing.” I’d flashed him a wide smile.
He’d chuckled softly. “I shouldn’t be surprised the daughter of a bookstore owner would be a bookworm.”
Tell him. Tell him how much of a little nerd you are.
The thought had whispered into my mind more clearly than it ever had before. Normally, I felt just fine about keeping Josie Wade to myself. She was my secret, my joy, and yes, sometimes my stress. She was a source of triumph at times, and she was also still, in so many ways, the stuff of dreams.
What was it about this guy that made me want to spill my guts? Probably the last vestiges of the crush I hadn’t quite killed based on the way every cell in my body had woken up when I realized it was him standing in front of me.
And so, no. I would not tell this man, however handsome and nice and appealing he may have been, a secret literally no one else in the world knew.
“I am a bookworm indeed, especially if there’s romance involved.” I’d handed him his bag of books. “And it seems you are, too, since I’m fairly certain I saw you in here last month stocking up.”
“Just patronizing my favorite local businesses to stimulate the Silverton economy. Everyone’s gotta do their part, right?” He’d held up his bag in a little farewell. “See you soon, Jo.”
I’d swallowed hard against too many reactions, one of which was, mortifyingly, you can stimulate my economy any day. Thank goodness I did have an internal editor.
“See you, Adam.”
I’d convinced myself to return to the fictional hero in my story who did believe in romance and not dwell on this real-life human being who, devastatingly, didn’t.
If only Jo then could see me now, turning the knob of my door to find Adam setting my table for two with forks and knives, napkins folded into little triangles, then smiling up at me like he was glad I’d returned.
But not for me, or anything romantic. Because I held Guac in my hands.
And also, because we were friends. And as ignorant as I felt asking him a million questions about life as a special operations combat medic, I had a suspicion he actually enjoyed this. He talked a little faster, leaned closer, and his eyes lit up when he recounted details he thought might fit. He’d clearly loved his life as a medic. I wondered how often he got to do medic-related duties at Saint Security.
I set the bag down and let my thoughts loose. “You know, I never would’ve seen this coming, but I have to say, I’m really glad we’re here.”
He grinned at me. “You know? Me, too.”
I shouldn’t have been so pleased by this, but no amount of denying would change how a soul-deep satisfaction wound through me at his words. He liked being with me, too. He was happy he’d come.
And so maybe this was all we’d have—this secret shared between friends—but we could both enjoy it.
I’d made peace with that.
Definitely.
Completely.
Right?