Chapter 25 Bookmobiles And Vinyl Dreams
Bookmobiles And Vinyl Dreams
~ROWAN~
Romance is apparently a competitive sport, and I'm losing to twins who think setting things on fire counts as courtship.
"Look at the truck," I tell Hazel, trying not to sound as nervous as I feel. The October afternoon light is perfect—golden hour they call it, though every hour with her feels golden and I'm becoming the kind of sap who thinks things like that.
She turns from where Luna's food truck just disappeared, and her face does this thing—confusion, recognition, then pure wonder—that makes every hour of planning worth it.
"That's not a food truck," she breathes.
"No."
"That's a bookmobile!"
The truck sits twenty feet away, painted deep purple with gold lettering: "Riverside Roaming Reads.
" Someone—definitely not me because I have dignity—has decorated it with pumpkin garlands and tiny battery-powered fairy lights that twinkle even in daylight.
And beyond it, visible now that Luna's truck has moved, is the picnic setup that took me three hours and two YouTube tutorials to arrange.
Please let this be romantic and not creepy. There's such a fine line.
"Rowan, is this—did you—" She stops walking, actually stops dead, taking it all in. The quilts layered on the grass, the wooden crate serving as a table, the mason jars with wildflowers that I definitely didn't pick myself at 6 AM this morning while Jenkins laughed at me.
"It's a whole library on wheels," she whispers, like she's afraid speaking louder will make it disappear.
I chuckle, but it comes out nervous. "I've been trying to think of a way to be romantic. I'm not as forthcoming as Luca or Levi—"
"You're romantic!"
"I'm cautious," I correct. "The guys at the station said I'd lose pitifully if I didn't think of something creative.
And you mentioned last night that you wanted to check out bookstores.
That you wanted to start reading again on your days off but haven't had the chance, just been buying books for others to enjoy during their coffee breaks. "
Her eyes go wide. "You were listening to that?"
"I listen to everything you say."
"But I was just rambling! I had two glasses of wine and was going on about fictional murders and cozy mysteries and how I used to read a book a day before—" She stops, swallows hard. "You actually listened."
"Of course I listened."
"Alphas don't... I mean, Korrin never..." Her eyes are getting glossy, and she's blinking rapidly. "Having Alphas who actually hear me is so validating. I'm just not used to it."
She turns slightly away, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve. "Sorry, I'm not really date pretty right now—"
"Stop." I put a finger gently on her lips, cutting off whatever self-deprecating thing she's about to say. Our eyes meet, hers still wet with unshed tears, and something in my chest cracks open.
"You're so fucking stunning it makes it hard to think," I tell her, voice rougher than intended.
Her face goes pink, but I'm not done.
"Sometimes I get lost just watching you from across the bakery.
The way you move when you're decorating cakes, like you're conducting an orchestra, only you can hear.
The flour in your hair that you never notice.
That little furrow between your eyebrows when you're concentrating.
" I step closer, and her vanilla-cinnamon scent wraps around me.
"I'm only taking things slow for your sake. If it were my way..."
"What?" Her voice is barely a whisper. "What would you do?"
Everything. I'd do everything. Mark you, claim you, make sure everyone in a fifty-mile radius knew you were ours.
"More intimate things," I say carefully. "But for your reassurance, you could wear a blanket and make me hard any day."
Her entire face goes scarlet. "Rowan!"
I chuckle, the tension breaking slightly.
"Can I kiss your cheek?"
She giggles—actually giggles, and the sound goes straight to my chest.
"Yes."
I lean down, press my lips to her cheek, and her skin is silk-warm under my mouth.
She smells like vanilla frosting and coffee and mine.
"You didn't have to ask," she says as I pull back, taking her hand. "Since I've already kissed Levi and Luca."
I freeze mid-step.
The world stops. The birds stop singing. Possibly my heart stops.
"What?" I turn slowly, like sudden movements might make this worse. "Repeat that."
She blinks, all innocence. "I said you didn't have to ask since I already kissed—"
"Both of them?"
"Well, yes?"
"I'm going to kill the twins."
"Murder is illegal, even in small towns."
"Only if you're caught. Like in those cozy mystery books."
She laughs, bright and surprised.
"Those books exaggerate the obvious! We all know who the killer is by chapter three, but somehow the amateur detective doesn't figure it out until—"
I kiss her.
Not gentle, not careful, not the slow, considerate courtship I keep telling myself she needs.
I kiss her like she's water and I've been crawling through the desert for months.
I kiss her because if I don't, if I have to listen to her talk about the twins and their stupidly charming faces and even stupider kisses one more second, I'll combust on the spot.
Self-control is for people with less at stake.
I want her, and in this moment, I want her to know it.
She stiffens in surprise, and just as I'm about to curse myself for moving too fast, her arms wind around my neck and she kisses me back.
It's not a polite, exploratory little peck, either.
It's needy, mouth open to mine, her fingers curling into the fabric of my uniform like she's afraid I'll disappear if she lets go.
Her lips taste like maple and vanilla, sweet and a little daring, and every time she breathes I get a lungful of her, sugar-dusted pumpkin and something bright and alive underneath. I lose my goddamn mind.
She moans, barely a sound, but I feel it vibrate through her body.
I tighten my hold at her waist, lifting her clean off the ground until she's on her toes against me.
It's instinct, pack impulse, every Alpha urge I've ever tried to keep civil.
I want to press her to everything I am, show her exactly where she fits.
She digs her fingers into the back of my neck and kisses me deeper, tongue brushing mine.
All I can think is mine, mine, mine, and some buried part of me is terrified I'll never get enough.
The whole world blurs around us. The bookmobile, the fairgrounds, the knowing looks from the people walking by.
I don't care. It's just me and Hazel, the warmth of her pressed full against the length of my body, the perfect give of her mouth, the way she smells like autumn and home and hopeless longing.
I slide my hand from her waist to the nape of her neck, threading my fingers through her hair.
She shivers, arches a little closer, and that's it. I'm gone.
I slow it down, just barely, nipping at her bottom lip, trying to remember how to breathe.
She gasps, and I can't help grinning into the kiss, because I've wanted to fluster her like this since the day we met.
Hell, since way before I was supposed to want anything.
I try to remind myself that we're in public, that I'm a grown man, a whole-ass fire lieutenant with a reputation for being calm and collected. But all those years of discipline are fried. Hazel Holloway is in my arms and she’s kissing me like her life depends on it, and I'd give her anything she asked for, right then and there.
She pulls back, just an inch, and I chase her lips automatically. Can't help it. She laughs, breathless, a low, incredulous sound that makes me want to go back in for more. Instead I rest my forehead against hers, both of us sucking air like we've run a marathon.
"Wow," she manages, one hand still tangled in my shirt. "That was—um—"
"Yeah," I say, voice hoarse. My hands are shaking a little, which explains why I'm gripping her so tight. I force myself to let go, though every instinct is screaming not to. "Sorry. That was probably not—"
She shakes her head with a little squeak, cheeks flushed and lips red and absolutely kissable. "Are you kidding? That was—" She stops herself, searching for a word, though I can read every thought on her face. She looks hungry and dazed and a little terrified, which is exactly how I feel.
I want to say something clever, something smooth, but all I can do is look at her and marvel that this is real. That she's real. That she kissed me back. My heart is pounding so loud, I’m sure she can hear it.
She licks her lips, still catching her breath. "So, um. Are you going to murder your friends now, or—?"
I groan and drag a hand through my hair, trying to regain composure. "They've got it coming. But I might owe them one, too. If they hadn't pushed me—" I stop, take a long, shaky breath. "I'm sorry if I was too much."
Hazel blinks, surprised. "Rowan. I can handle 'too much.' Actually, for once, I'd prefer it."
The words settle somewhere deep, in a place I've kept locked up for too long.
I want to believe her. I want to give in to every reckless, selfish thing I've ever wanted to do to her.
But she's still looking at me with those enormous brown eyes, like she can't quite trust this is happening.
Like maybe, any minute now, the world will snap her back to reality.
"Okay," I say. My voice is thick. "I'm only going to ask this once, and you have to be honest. Did you want that?"
She scoffs, incredulous, and then her lips twist into this mischievous little smirk that takes me out at the knees. "You think I let just anyone tongue me in public?"
I burst out laughing, not even trying to hold it back. The release of tension is so complete, I almost feel dizzy. I want to scoop her up and spin her around, but instead I settle for catching her hand and lacing our fingers together, grounding both of us.