Chapter 7
Hazel
“Can I help you find something?”
I spin around fast, dropping the book I’ve been holding. My friend and librarian, Zoe Cornish, swoops down and grabs it.
Shit. I knew this would happen.
“Since when do you work Sundays?” I blurt.
“Shanice asked me to switch this week.” Zoe blinks slowly as she studies the cover. Like a perfect professional, she hands it back without saying a word.
But dammit, I need to.
I also need a good explanation for browsing a book called Embracing Your Sexual Needs Through Motherhood and Beyond.
It’s been nearly a week since I threw myself at Luke in the aisles of Baby Emporium. I’ve been keeping my distance since then, but it hasn’t diminished how badly I want him.
Surely there’s a solution here somewhere. I glance at the cover of Embracing Your Sexual Needs Through Motherhood, hoping the answer lies inside somewhere.
Zoe’s still watching with curious eyes, so I stammer my best explanation. “I was just looking for books on the female sexual experience.” And yes, I know I could buy one online. But I wanted to browse before choosing, and no one I know works at the library on Sundays.
Except, apparently, Zoe.
“Oh, hey.” She nods at the cover. “It looks like this one got shelved in the wrong spot. It’s supposed to be with our maternity books, not human sexuality.” There’s a quick little pause as she watches me shuffling my feet. “Or is this what you wanted?”
“No—no, of course not.” I try not to blush as she takes it and tucks the book on the bottom shelf. That’s exactly where I got it.
But I glance to my right and see there’s an empty space right in the middle of a long row of books with more sexual themes.
There’s Come as You Are by Emily Nagoski, PhD, alongside the seventies classic, The Joy of Sex.
There’s even a book called, Becoming Cliterate: Why Orgasm Equality Matters—And How to Get It.
I’m staring at that title when Zoe pops up again. “That one was a Consumer Book of the Year award winner. Really excellent. The Emily Nagoski one is amazing, too. Have you listened to her podcast?”
“I, um—no.” God, I’m embarrassed.
“Hazel, it’s okay.” Zoe places a hand on my arm. “The library’s a safe space, okay? And look, it’s no secret I took a sexual journey of my own. You were there when I set out to ditch my V-card with Cal.”
“I remember.” I envied Zoe’s take-charge mission to shed her virginity with the town’s most kindhearted playboy. “I always wished I could be more like you.”
She laughs so hard she starts coughing. “Oh, God,” she wheezes.
“The most glamorous woman in Cherry Blossom Lake envies the scrawny sick girl covered in scars—no, it’s all good.
Stop making that face, Hazel. You know I’m in remission, so I can joke about it, okay?
And I’m gonna help you find all the best sex books. ”
“Okay.” I’m in this for real now, aren’t I?
“If you want, I can make you an official Vulvarine.” She winks, so I know it’s probably not an entrepreneurial think tank.
“What’s a Vulvarine?”
“Our unofficial women’s support group for stuff like this.” She smiles. “We got the idea from a Brooke Braham book. My mom, Cassidy, Lucy—we started it, but the female fellowship extends to anyone who needs it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I can’t imagine forming a vulva-themed group with my mother.
“Cute top, by the way.”
“Thanks.” I’ve taken to wearing loose, flowy clothing since I’m starting to show. Lucky for me, that’s in style now. “It’s a Pietro Brunelli.”
“Well it looks great on you.” Zoe shifts back to librarian mode. “Okay then—lay it on me. Tell me what you’re looking for in a sex book.”
God, this is mortifying. “Well, um . . . I guess I’ve been feeling sorta . . .”
“Curious?”
“Yes.” That’s only part of it. “Also really, um…well…”
“Horny?”
Heat floods my cheeks, but I nod. “Yes.”
“Don’t be embarrassed, hon.”
“I’m not.” I totally am. But it’s also the truth that pregnancy hormones have spiked my libido. I’ve read that can happen, and I’d like to learn more.
And I’d really like to stop fantasizing about Luke.
“You’ve come to the right place.” Her open-hearted smile sets me at ease. “Seriously, I’ve got you, girl.”
“Thanks.”
She turns to the section with books on sexual health. “For starters, I highly recommend this one, this one, and this one.” She taps a few spines, and I take note of the titles. “I can give you more insights on each of them or just let you browse privately on your own.”
That sounds like a good place to start. “How about I ask if I have any questions.”
“Perfect. I’m here until four.” Beaming, she rubs her hands together. “How about fiction?”
“Fiction?”
Zoe’s sweet smile takes on a saucy quality.
“Many women find that reading erotic romance can be a great way to channel sexual energy. And the solo-play sex toys on the market now—whooo!” She feigns like she’s fanning herself, but she’s not even blushing.
“Hayley sells one at Mischievous Mermaid called Lip Service—it’ll blow your mind, girl.
No joke. When Cal’s working long hours at the pub, I grab that and a one-handed read from one of my favorite erotic romance authors.
It’s a great way to spend a lonely night at home, you know? ”
I’m blushing so deeply I probably blend right in with the crimson-hued carpet. But also—
“Maybe I’ll look into toys.” I can’t believe I’m considering it. “And I suppose erotic romance might be nice to read on vacation.”
“That’s right,” she exclaims. “Erika said you’re going to Croatia to visit your mom?”
“Just for a week.” I’m still a bit stunned to be doing it. “I haven’t seen her for a year, and it’s probably my last chance for a while.”
“Oh yeah?” She’s leading me toward the fiction section of the library. “How come?”
Crap. “She’s super busy. It’s tough to find time to fly out there, you know?”
“I hear ya.” Zoe chuckles. “Sometimes I wish my mom lived overseas instead of three blocks away.”
“Your mom is great.” I don’t know Ruby Brooks well, but I doubt she left her daughters to learn about sex at the library. “Okay, who are some of your favorite erotic romance authors?”
“Oh, wow—so many.” We’ve reached the other side of the library now, and even though Zoe’s at least eight inches shorter than me, I have to hustle to keep up.
“I’m a huge fan of Sara Cate,” she says.
“She writes really sex-positive stuff with plenty of kink and taboo. Her Salacious Players Club series makes me swoon. Nikki Sloane is another great one—I’ve binged her Nashville Neighborhood series at least fifty times.
Want me to point out some titles that’ll leave you fanning yourself? ”
As much as I don’t want that, I find myself nodding.
Because deep down, I kinda do want it.
Not nearly as much as I want Luke, which is a terrible idea. Seeing him that day at the prison just hammered home why we can’t get involved. Not beyond navigating this pregnancy and a platonic co-parenting arrangement.
But those things aren’t sexy, and they can’t be.
Which is why I let Zoe guide me to the section marked “Romance and Erotica.”
“Here,” she says, pulling one off the shelf. “This is the first book in the Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club series.”
“Series?” Blinking, I take in the cover.
It’s perfectly tasteful but promises sinful sexiness within.
Skimming the back, I see it’s about a woman enjoying a sexual adventure with her best friend’s older brother.
“There’s more than one book about a jilted bride flying to a fantasy sex resort to have her sexual desires fulfilled? ”
“Oh, honey.” Zoe grins, handing me two more books. “Trust me—you’re gonna want to read them all.”
It’s been four days since Molly and I touched down in Croatia. My mother stands stoic in the hallway outside her third guest room, one hand resting on an ornate marble pillar. Her Dolce & Gabbana painted-silk kaftan ripples on a breeze from the overhead fan.
“I trust you have everything you need?” She poses the question with the warmth of a hotel concierge. “How are the pillows?”
“They’re perfect,” I assure her.
“And the sheets?”
“Decadent.” They are, that’s the truth. “Nothing quite like European flax linen.”
“So true.”
Drawing a breath, I rein in the urge to embrace her. I ache for a hug, but I know how that goes. I tried it when she met us at the airport. Molly stepped graciously aside as I wrapped my arms around my mother. Mom stiffened like I’d just licked her ear.
“Good night, Mom,” I offer instead.
“Good night, Hazel.”
“Thank you for the lovely afternoon. Molly asked me to thank you again for the incredible lunch.” She went to bed an hour ago, but here I am still hoping to connect with my mother.
“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” Mom’s gaze drifts to the window of her elegant villa perched on a cliff overlooking the sea. “A nightcap, perhaps? Our chef makes a magnificent Gemi?t.”
“No thank you.” I don’t know if Gemi?t is a cocktail, a snack, or a type of balloon animal, but it’s not what I need now. “I just need a good night of sleep.”
Her gaze skims my face, then softens. “You look tired.”
“It’s jetlag.” Or maybe the fact that I’m twenty-four weeks pregnant. I still can’t believe my mom hasn’t noticed. “I just need to curl up in bed and fall asleep reading.”
“Oh?” Her tone sounds intrigued, but she pulls out her phone and starts scrolling. I’m not sure if I’ve lost her, though she’s making a good show of listening. “Anything I’d enjoy?”
“Erotic romance.” I wait for her head to snap up. For my mother to set down her phone and scold me. Or maybe she’d giggle. Maybe my mother reads saucy romance, too.
It’s this spark of hope that propels me to push.
“I’m halfway through reading one called The VIP Package.
When we were sitting by the pool earlier, I read this scene where the heroine meets a tall, brooding stranger in the boiler room of the luxury sex resort and it turns out he’s actually the owner of—”