Chapter 5
I dragged my ass out of bed, my feet hitting the icy floor with all the grace of a drunk sloth at a yoga class. The aroma of fresh coffee was the only thing keeping me from crawling back under the covers and telling the world to fuck off. My apartment above the bookstore, with its mismatched furniture and overflowing bookshelves, was like a cozy little hoarder's wet dream—minus the dead cats and health code violations, thank God.
Clutching my coffee like it was the Holy Grail, I stumbled to the window, watching our quaint little town wake up. It was one of those sickeningly sweet scenes straight out of a Hallmark movie: people walking their dogs, kids playing in the park, and shopkeepers unlocking their doors. This small town had become my refuge, offering the peace and simplicity I'd been craving. Of course, "peace" was relative when everyone knew your business before you did, but hey, it beat the shitshow I'd left behind.
As I got ready for the day, my mind kept wandering back to Jax. There was something about him that got under my skin in a way I wasn't sure I liked—or maybe I liked it way too much. He was this perfect cocktail of rugged and thoughtful, a combination that made me want to dig deeper. But then again, the last time I'd fallen this hard for someone, I ended up with a broken heart and a restraining order. So, you know, progress!
I squeezed into my favorite sweater and jeans, the ones that made me feel both cozy and somewhat fuckable. Glancing in the mirror, I saw someone who was content but curious, eager to see where life would lead next. And someone who desperately needed a better hairbrush, but honestly, who had the energy for that shit?
The bell above the bookstore door jingled like a hyperactive fairy as I unlocked it and flipped the sign to "Open." The familiar scent of old books and polished wood enveloped me like a warm, nerdy hug. This was my happy place, the eye of the storm in the hurricane of my chaotic thoughts. Well, this and the local bar on half-price margarita nights, but that's a story that ends with me dancing on tables.
Customers started trickling in faster than my coffee could kick in. I helped Mrs. Thompson find a new mystery novel (probably to plan her husband's murder), chatted with a young mother about children's books (while silently thanking my IUD), and recommended a few steamy romance novels to an enthusiastic book club member (you're welcome, Karen's husband). It was like being a matchmaker, but with books instead of people—no awkward first dates or potential for restraining orders.
One of my favorite parts of the job was the regulars. They were more than just customers; they were the cast of my personal sitcom. Mr. Peterson came in for his weekly chess book, and we exchanged pleasantries about the latest strategies. He always had that twinkle in his eye, like he knew something I didn't—probably because he was secretly plotting world domination through chess. Or maybe he just really liked fondling his bishop. Hard to say.
Mid-morning, Lila burst in like a glitter bomb in a library. "Hey, boss lady! Ready to conquer the literary world today?" she chirped, her enthusiasm making me wonder if she was mainlining espresso or just really good cocaine.
I snorted, shaking my head. "Lila, if I had a nickel for every time you said that, I could retire and buy my own island. Preferably one without books or overly perky assistants."
Lila grinned, dropping her bag behind the counter with all the grace of a drunk elephant. "Please, you'd miss my sparkling personality too much. Plus, who else would provide you with daily entertainment in the form of near-disasters and questionable life choices?"
"Sparkling is one word for it," I teased, handing her a stack of books. "Think you can manage these without knocking over an entire shelf today? Or should I prepare for another bookvalanche?"
"Hey, that was one time," Lila protested, rolling her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. "And those shelves were just asking to be knocked over. They were looking at me funny."
I chuckled, appreciating her humor. "Just be careful. We can't afford another domino disaster. The last time that happened, I'm pretty sure Shakespeare's ghost gave us the stink eye and called us 'pox-marked strumpets.'"
Lila mock-saluted me, nearly poking her own eye out in the process. "Aye aye, captain. No more book avalanches on my watch. Unless, of course, it's in the name of art. Or chaos. Or both. Or to impress that hot guy from the coffee shop."
As she set to work, I couldn't help but feel grateful for her presence. Lila's energy was infectious, and she had a way of making even the busiest days feel manageable. Plus, her ability to turn any situation into a potential comedy skit was truly a gift. Or a curse, depending on how many customers we scared away.
Just as I was helping a customer find a historical fiction novel (and resisting the urge to make jokes about bodice-ripping and historically inaccurate orgasms), the bell above the door jingled again. I looked up and there was Jax, his presence immediately filling the room like a walking wet dream. My heart did that annoying skip-a-beat thing, but I forced a smile. Great, just what I needed—a walking, talking distraction in the form of a sexy mechanic. As if my life wasn't complicated enough already. But hey, who was I to complain about a little eye candy to spice up my day? Bring on the sexual tension and awkward flirting!
"Hey there, Mr. Grease Lightning," I called out, trying to sound as casual as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. "Come to expand your literary horizons beyond 'The Idiot's Guide to Carburetors'?"
Jax flashed that million-dollar grin, his eyes sparkling like he'd just discovered the world's dirtiest limerick. "Thought I'd check out those steamy novels you keep raving about. Gotta spice up my bedtime reading, you know? Maybe pick up a few... techniques."
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw my own brain. "Right. Because nothing says 'sexy mechanic' like a dog-eared copy of 'The Duke's Throbbing Crankshaft.' What's next? Sonnets about spark plugs?"
He leaned on the counter, looking like sex on a stick dipped in motor oil. "Don't knock it 'til you've tried it, sweetheart. 'Ode to a Lug Nut' could be the next big thing. Got any recommendations? Preferably with lots of... detailed instructions."
I pointed to the back of the store, trying not to picture Jax and 'detailed instructions' in the same mental image. "Romance section's that way, Casanova. Try not to swoon too hard. I'd hate to explain to the EMTs why there's an unconscious grease monkey sprawled out next to 'Passion's Burning Gasket.'"
As Jax sauntered off, I tried to focus on work, but my eyes kept magnetizing to his ass like it was the North Pole and I was a compass gone haywire. There was something about him that drew me in like a moth to a flame-thrower. Resistance was futile, and I was one 'accidental' touch away from spontaneous combustion.
Lila nudged me, her face screaming 'I know what you're thinking and I approve.' "He's hot. He reads. And I bet he's good with his hands. You know, for... adjusting things."
"Christ on a cracker, Lila," I hissed, my face burning hotter than an overworked engine. "We're running a respectable smut shop here. Sort of."
"I'm just saying," Lila winked, subtle as a neon sign in a nunnery. "You could do worse. Have you seen the dating pool around here? It's more like a dating puddle. A very shallow, somewhat slimy dating puddle."
The morning rush fizzled out, leaving the store quieter than a library full of mimes. I was at the counter, pretending to organize new arrivals and definitely not stealing glances at Jax, when he swaggered up with a book in hand.
"Find something to tickle your fancy?" I asked, aiming for nonchalant and landing somewhere between 'mildly constipated' and 'desperately horny.'
"Yeah, actually," he said, holding up a book on classic car restoration. "Thought I'd brush up on my skills. You know, in case I need to woo a lady with my extensive knowledge of vintage tail pipes."
I cocked an eyebrow, fighting a smirk. "Oh, is that your go-to move? Impressive. I bet the ladies just melt when you start talking about pistons and drive shafts."
Jax leaned in, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that made my knees weaker than wet toilet paper. "You'd be surprised. There's something very... sensual about a classic car's inner workings. All those parts, moving together in perfect harmony..."
I felt my cheeks flame hotter than an exhaust pipe, clearing my throat like I was trying to dislodge my own foot. "Well, if you're looking to expand your repertoire, maybe check out our poetry section. I hear 'Ode to a Lug Nut' is all the rage these days."
He chuckled, his eyes locked on mine like heat-seeking missiles. "Maybe I will. But only if you promise me a private reading later. You know, for educational purposes."
I rolled my eyes, but couldn't stop the smile tugging at my lips. "In your dreams, grease monkey. Now, are you buying that book, or just here to disrupt my perfectly organized shop with your terrible pickup lines?"
"Can't it be both?" Jax asked, grinning wider than a Cheshire cat on catnip. "I'm an excellent multitasker. I can disrupt your shop, use terrible pickup lines, and buy a book all at once. It's a gift, really."
I shook my head, suppressing a laugh. "You're impossible, you know that? Fine, hand it over. Let's get you checked out before you cause any more chaos in my carefully curated literary bordello."
As I rang up his purchase, his fingers brushed mine when he handed over his credit card. The jolt of electricity that shot through me could've jump-started a dead battery. I had to resist the urge to fan myself like a Southern belle with the vapors.
As Jax left, book in hand and swagger in full force, I felt a flutter of excitement in my stomach that had nothing to do with the questionable sushi I'd had for lunch. This was either going to be the start of something amazing or the beginning of a hilarious disaster. Knowing my luck, probably both.
I watched him go, admiring the view and mentally kicking myself for it. Here I was, a grown-ass woman, acting like a teenager with her first crush. But damn if Jax didn't make me feel alive in a way I hadn't in years. It was like he'd revved up my engine, and now I was idling, waiting to see where this ride would take me.
Lila sidled up, grinning like she'd just won the lottery. "So, when's the wedding?"
I snorted, giving her a playful shove. "Please. We're not even at the 'awkward first date' stage yet. Besides, I'm not sure I'm ready to trade in my comfortable, drama-free life for a potential rollercoaster of emotions and greasy handprints on my furniture."
"Honey," Lila said, patting my arm, "your life's about as drama-free as a soap opera. Might as well add a hot mechanic to the mix. Spice things up a bit."
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Maybe you're right. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. For all I know, he could be a serial killer with a fetish for bookstore owners."
Lila laughed. "Well, at least you'd go out with a bang. And hey, think of the book sales. 'Local Bookstore Owner Murdered by Sexy Mechanic' - we'd be sold out in minutes."
I couldn't help but laugh along with her. "You're terrible, you know that? But I appreciate the optimism. Now, let's get back to work before our customers think we're running a comedy club instead of a bookstore."
As we returned to our tasks, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted. Like the universe had decided to throw me a curveball, just to keep things interesting. And as much as it terrified me, part of me was excited to see where this would lead. After all, isn't that what all the best stories are about? Taking risks, embracing the unknown, and maybe, just maybe, finding something extraordinary in the process.
But for now, I had books to sell, customers to help, and a business to run. The Jax situation would have to simmer on the back burner for a while. Though, knowing my luck, it would probably boil over and make a mess of everything. But hey, that's life, right? Messy, complicated, and occasionally sprinkled with moments of pure, unadulterated joy. And right now, I was ready for whatever came next - be it love, laughter, or just a really good book recommendation.
As I was arranging new arrivals on the display table, the bell chimed again. I glanced up, expecting a regular, but instead saw an unfamiliar face. A tall, rugged-looking dude who instantly set my spidey senses tingling. Fan-freaking-tastic. Because clearly, my budding romance with Jax wasn't enough drama for the universe.
"Need any help?" I asked, keeping my tone somewhere between 'polite bookstore owner' and 'woman ready to use War and Peace as a weapon.'
He smirked, eyes scanning the store before landing on me. "Just looking around."
Something about this guy screamed 'trouble,' but I pushed the feeling aside. This was a public place, right? I was totally safe. "Let me know if you need anything," I said, mentally adding, 'like directions to the nearest exit, buddy.'
As he wandered through the shelves, I kept my eyes glued to him, pretending to be busy with books. My heart was doing the cha-cha in my chest, unease growing faster than my Tbr pile. To distract myself, I started imagining ridiculous scenarios. Maybe he was a secret agent on a mission to infiltrate small-town bookstores. Or a time traveler, confused by our world of e-books and online ordering. "Excuse me, fair maiden, where might I find the scrolls?"
The bell chimed again, and in walked Jax. Relief washed over me like a tidal wave of 'thank god you're here.' My knight in shining... well, grease-stained armor. Close enough.
"Hey, Jax," I greeted, my voice wobblier than Jell-O in an earthquake.
One look at me, and Jax was on high alert, his eyes narrowing when he spotted Mr. Tall, Dark, and Suspicious. "Everything cool?" he asked, casual as can be, but his body language screamed 'protective boyfriend mode: activated.'
"Just a smidge on edge," I admitted quietly, resisting the urge to dramatically swoon into his arms. Because that would be ridiculous. And probably scare away potential customers. "Bad hair day, you know how it is."
Jax nodded, his jaw tighter than my budget at the end of the month. He sauntered over to the stranger, radiating 'don't mess with my girl' vibes. "Need any help, man?" he asked, polite but firm. I half expected him to start marking his territory like an overzealous chihuahua.
The guy gave Jax a once-over, his smirk fading faster than my willpower in a donut shop. "Just browsing."
"Cool. If you need anything, my girlfriend here can help you out," Jax said, eyes locked on the stranger. I felt a little thrill at 'girlfriend,' followed by annoyance at myself for being so easily affected. What was I, sixteen?
Mr. Mystery muttered something and left, the bell chiming his exit. I exhaled, feeling like I'd just survived some weird, bookstore-based standoff.
"Thanks," I said, voice shaky. "My hero. How can I ever repay you? Perhaps with a dramatic kiss in the rain?"
Jax pulled me into a hug, chuckling at my sarcasm. "Anytime. You okay?"
I nodded, feeling safer than a book in a waterproof case. "Yeah, just... something about him gave me the heebie-jeebies. Maybe it was the mustache. Never trust a man with a mustache, that's what I always say."
Jax frowned, glancing out the window. "If he shows up again, let me know. I'll make sure he doesn't bother you."
"My knight in shining armor," I teased, lightening the mood. "Or should I say, my mechanic in grease-stained overalls?"
"Just doing my job," he laughed, squeezing me tighter. "Protecting damsels in distress and fixing carburetors, all in a day's work."
With Jax around, the rest of the morning was smoother than a freshly oiled engine. We chatted with customers, shared laughs, and snuck in a few kisses when no one was looking. It was perfect, the kind of morning that made me grateful for my life here. And if I occasionally caught myself staring at Jax like a lovesick puppy, well, I could always blame it on a caffeine-induced psychosis.
As lunch approached, Jax's phone buzzed. He checked it, frowning. "Gotta head back to the garage. Xander needs me for something."
"Okay," I said, hiding my disappointment about as well as a kid trying to sneak cookies. "Let me guess, another damsel in distress with a broken-down car?"
He kissed me softly, smirking. "Jealous?"
"Of a car? Please," I scoffed, leaning into his kiss. "I'm much more fun to ride."
Jax's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and heat in his gaze. "I'll be back later, promise," he said, his voice rougher than sandpaper.
As he left, I couldn't help but feel a little smug. Who knew I had it in me to render the smooth-talking mechanic speechless? Score one for the bookworm!
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of customers, coffee, and daydreams about Jax. I helped Mrs. Johnson find the perfect bodice-ripper ("Something with a lot of heaving bosoms, dear"), restocked the self-help section (because apparently, we all need help), and managed to only trip over my own feet twice. A new personal record!
As closing time approached, I found myself both excited and nervous about seeing Jax again. What if he'd changed his mind? What if he'd realized I was just a quirky bookstore owner with a penchant for bad jokes and even worse timing?
But then, just as I was about to lock up, the bell chimed. And there he was, looking like every romance novel hero come to life.
"Told you I'd be back," he said, grinning.
And just like that, all my worries melted away. Because sometimes, life throws you a curveball. And sometimes, that curveball turns out to be exactly what you needed.
"So," I said, trying to keep my cool and probably failing miserably, "about that ride..."
Jax's grin widened. "I thought you'd never ask."
As we left the bookstore together, hand in hand, I couldn't help but feel like I was starting a new chapter. And let me tell you, it was shaping up to be one hell of a page-turner.
"I'll hold you to that," I quipped, watching Jax's fine ass saunter out the door. My eyes lingered longer than socially acceptable, but hey, I'm only human. And that view? Pure art, baby.
Once he was gone, I dove back into my bookish duties, the morning's drama fading like a bad plot twist. Lunchtime rolled around, and I decided to treat myself to some grub at the cozy café next door. Their sandwiches were to die for, and the coffee? Let's just say it could wake the dead – perfect for us sleep-deprived bookworms.
As I munched on my turkey sandwich, I people-watched through the window like a creeper. My mind wandered to how much my life had changed since moving here. I'd come to this quirky town looking for a fresh start, running from a past messier than my reading nook during a book binge.
And then, like some romance novel cliché, Jax had waltzed into my life. All brooding good looks and hidden depths, he was like Mr. Darcy meets a Hemsworth brother. At first, I'd been determined to keep him at arm's length. Getting involved with anyone – especially someone as potentially complicated as Jax – seemed about as smart as using "Fifty Shades of Grey" as a relationship guide.
But somehow, the sneaky bastard had wormed his way past my defenses. With his dry humor, unexpected kindness, and abs you could grate cheese on, he'd made me start to believe that maybe, just maybe, I could have my own happily ever after. Or at least a really steamy middle chapter.
Heading back to the store, I found myself grinning like an idiot. It was a giddy, schoolgirl kind of feeling that I thought I'd outgrown along with my boy band obsession and glitter eyeshadow phase. But here I was, practically skipping down the street like I was starring in my own personal rom-com. All I needed was some upbeat pop music and a montage of me trying on quirky outfits.
The afternoon flew by in a whirlwind of customers, book recommendations, and not-so-subtle phone checks. I helped a frazzled mom find the perfect bedtime story (hint: anything with a dragon usually works), debated The Great Gatsby with a pretentious college kid (no, the green light is not a metaphor for weed), and only rolled my eyes once when an old dude insisted that "they don't write 'em like they used to." Yeah, thank god for that, or we'd still be reading about women fainting at the sight of an ankle.
As closing time crept closer, I got antsier than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Jax had promised to come back, but I hadn't heard squat all afternoon. The rational part of my brain said he was probably just busy fixing cars and being all sexy and competent. But the insecure part – you know, the one that still cringes at middle school memories – wondered if he'd changed his mind about us.
Just as I was about to flip the "Open" sign to "Closed" (and maybe cry into a pint of ice cream), the bell chimed. I looked up, hope and anxiety doing the tango in my chest, to see Jax standing there like some grease-monkey Adonis.
"Hey," he said, crossing the room in a few long strides. "Sorry I'm late. The garage was crazier than a squirrel on espresso."
I shrugged, aiming for nonchalant but probably hitting somewhere around "desperate for your attention." "No biggie. I was starting to think you'd found a hotter damsel to rescue. Maybe one with a sports car instead of a bookstore."
He chuckled, pulling me into his arms. "Never. You're all the excitement I can handle. Plus, I'm pretty sure you could take me in a fight if I tried to bail."
As I melted into his embrace, breathing in the scent of motor oil and man, I felt more at peace than a cat in a sunbeam. This was where I belonged – in this quirky town, in this bookstore that had become my home, and in the arms of this man who'd somehow become as essential to me as coffee and sarcasm.
"So," I said, pulling back to look up at him. "What's the plan, Stan? Dinner? Or we could head upstairs, order in, maybe see where the evening takes us?" I waggled my eyebrows like a cartoon villain, channeling my inner romance novel heroine.
Jax grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Well, I did promise to bring my best book puns. How about we start with those and see what develops?"
I groaned dramatically, even as a thrill of anticipation zipped through me. "Oh god, what have I gotten myself into? Is it too late to trade you in for a nice, quiet librarian?"
As we locked up and headed upstairs, hand in hand, I felt like I was living in one of my beloved stories. It wasn't perfect – real life never is – but it was ours. And as Jax pulled me close for a kiss that made my toes curl and my brain short-circuit, I decided that sometimes, reality was even better than fiction. Especially when reality came with abs like his.
"You know," I murmured against Jax's lips, "I half expect Mr. Darcy to pop out from behind my bookshelf and challenge you to a duel for my hand."
Jax pulled back, eyebrow raised. "Darcy? Please. I could take him with one hand tied behind my back."
I snorted. "Oh really? And what would your weapon of choice be? A wrench?"
"Nah," he grinned, leaning in close. "I'd distract him with my charm and good looks. Then I'd hit him with a dad joke so bad he'd run away screaming."
I laughed, wrapping my arms around his neck. "My hero. Saving damsels with bad puns and even worse pickup lines."
As we stumbled towards the bedroom, laughing and kissing, I couldn't help but think that this – this messy, imperfect, wonderful thing we had – was better than any story I could ever read. And I, for one, couldn't wait to see how our next chapter unfolded.
Jax chuckled, his warm breath tickling my neck. "I'd take him down with my killer charm and these guns," he flexed dramatically.
"Oh please," I snorted, "your 'charm' couldn't even convince Mrs. Thompson that Fifty Shades wasn't appropriate for her sweet, innocent granddaughter."
"Hey now, that disaster was all you, babe. I just stood there looking pretty."
I rolled my eyes but couldn't fight the smile tugging at my lips. "You're ridiculous."
"Ridiculously handsome, you mean," Jax winked, pulling me closer.
We stumbled through my apartment door, and I silently high-fived past-me for tidying up earlier. Not that Jax would care about stray socks or the leaning tower of smutty novels on my nightstand, but a girl's gotta have standards, right?
"Make yourself at home," I waved vaguely at my tiny living space. "I'll grab drinks. Wine? Beer? Tequila for when the reality of dating a bookworm hits you?"
Jax laughed, plopping onto my well-loved couch. "Wine sounds great. And FYI, I find your book nerd status incredibly hot."
"Oh yeah?" I called from the kitchen, hunting for clean glasses. "Nothing gets your motor running like the smell of old books and the constant threat of paper cuts?"
"Absolutely," Jax replied, his voice suddenly closer. I turned to find him leaning against the doorframe, eyes dark with desire. "Especially when the bookseller is as sexy as you."
I felt heat creep up my neck, but I'll be damned if I let him see how much his words affected me. "Flattery will get you everywhere, smooth talker. But it won't magically produce wine glasses."
Jax grinned, moving to help me search. "Challenge accepted. I bet I can find them in under a minute."
"Oh, it's on," I smirked, crossing my arms to watch the show.
Jax's confident smile wavered as he opened cabinet after cabinet, finding everything but wine glasses. I bit my lip to keep from laughing as he grew increasingly flustered.
"Okay, I surrender," he admitted after the promised minute. "Where are these elusive glasses hiding?"
I reached behind him, brushing against his chest as I pulled open a drawer he'd missed. "Right here, genius."
"In a drawer?" Jax looked bewildered. "Who keeps wine glasses in a drawer?"
"Someone with limited cabinet space and a knack for unconventional storage," I replied, setting the glasses on the counter. "Now, are you gonna keep questioning my organizational skills, or are you gonna pour us some wine?"
Jax held up his hands in surrender, reaching for the bottle. "Far be it from me to argue with the queen of hidden glassware."
As he poured, I couldn't help but admire how his muscles moved under his shirt. It was unfair, really, how attractive he was. Like a romance novel hero come to life, but with a better sense of humor and way less brooding.
"See something you like?" Jax teased, catching me staring.
"Just making sure you don't spill," I quipped, accepting the glass he offered. "I'd hate for you to ruin that shirt. It's doing wonders for your... assets."
Jax's eyebrows shot up, a mischievous glint in his eye. "My assets, huh? Care to elaborate on that?"
I took a sip of wine, pretending to consider. "Well, there's your sparkling personality, your quick wit, your ability to reach the top shelf without risking life and limb..."
"All very important qualities," Jax nodded solemnly.
"Oh, absolutely," I agreed. "Essential, really. I don't know how I survived before meeting a man who could grab the fancy crackers without needing a stepladder."
Jax set down his glass, moving closer until I was trapped between him and the counter. "And here I thought you kept me around for my rugged good looks and charm."
"Nope, sorry," I said, my breath catching as his hands settled on my hips. "It's all about the cracker-reaching abilities."
"Is that so?" Jax murmured, his lips inches from mine. "And here I thought it was my devastating wit and killer dance moves."
I snorted, trying to ignore the way my heart was doing the cha-cha in my chest. "Your dance moves? Please. I've seen drunk uncles at weddings with more rhythm."
"Ouch," Jax clutched his chest in mock pain. "You wound me, woman. I'll have you know I once won a dance-off at my cousin's bar mitzvah."
"Against who? The potted plants?"
Jax's eyes narrowed playfully. "That's it. I'm going to have to prove my skills to you."
Before I could protest, he grabbed my hand and spun me around the tiny kitchen. I squealed, nearly knocking over our wine glasses as he dipped me dramatically.
"Okay, okay!" I laughed breathlessly as he pulled me back up. "I take it back. You've got moves, Travolta."
Jax grinned triumphantly, keeping me close. "And don't you forget it, baby."
As we swayed together in my cramped kitchen, surrounded by mismatched dishes and the faint smell of last night's takeout, I couldn't help but think how perfectly imperfect this moment was. It wasn't the grand romance of my novels, with moonlit balconies and dramatic declarations of love. But it was real, and messy, and ours.
"You know," I murmured, resting my head on Jax's chest, "if this were one of my books, this would be the part where one of us says something incredibly romantic and profound."
Jax chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Well, in that case... I'm really glad you keep your wine glasses in such a weird place."
I pulled back, raising an eyebrow. "That's your idea of romantic and profound?"
"Hey, if you hadn't hidden them so well, I wouldn't have had an excuse to get all up in your personal space," he winked. "So really, your quirky organization skills are the real MVP here."
I couldn't help but laugh. "You're such a dork."
"Yeah, but I'm your dork," Jax said softly, his eyes suddenly serious. "If you'll have me, that is."
My heart did a little flip. "Well," I pretended to consider, "I suppose I could use someone to reach the high shelves and provide witty banter. You're hired."
Jax's smile could have lit up the whole damn city. "Best job I've ever had."
As he leaned in to kiss me, I silently thanked whatever cosmic force had brought this ridiculous, wonderful man into my life. It might not be the stuff of fairy tales, but it was better. It was real, and it was ours.