Chapter 24
We drove in silence. George pulled up the directions on his phone and thankfully didn’t attempt to pull me into conversation as we wove through the streets of a town I’d never been to before.
I’m not even sure if we actually needed anything, or if it was a ploy to get some distance from his brother, but I was glad George got us both out.
The entire morning had collapsed around us.
And a small part of me wished I was back home, back working and not having to deal with all of this shit.
Fallon, able to read my mind in a scary way, had taken me out of that awkward situation with George on top of me, my lust-fuelled brain about to beg him to fuck me on the floor. She’d pulled me into the nearest room, closing the door.
Whatever she read on my face prompted her to cross the room and instead of asking me a million and one questions, she plonked herself on the bed I’d collapsed onto and wrapped her arms around me.
She didn’t ask why I was trembling, or why all the colour had drained from my face.
She knew it wasn’t over being caught in a compromising position.
Any other circumstance that wouldn’t have bothered me in the slightest. But something was happening, and it scared the life out of me.
It twisted my insides whenever George was around.
It felt brutal, chaotic and… terrifying.
Fallon held me, rubbing soft circles up and down my back, and asked me about work. For the next ten minutes, I told her about the dog that had been brought into the clinic. How much it reminded me of Roxy.
After a while, she asked me if I was okay. When I lied and said yes, she didn’t call me out on it.
What neither of us had been expecting when we descended the staircase was to find George and Oliver nose to nose, faces red as they yelled at each other. I’d never seen them share much more than a sarcastic insult.
She couldn’t commit to someone if her last breath depended on it. Oliver’s words clattered around my head. She’s gonna break your fucking heart.
The way he’d said that, as if it wasn’t even a question, but an inevitability made me feel something I hadn’t felt since I was thirteen years old. Small. Insignificant.
‘We’ll just grab some stuff for dinner.’ George’s voice broke through my thoughts. So lost in my head, I hadn’t even realised he’d parked up outside a small grocery store.
I turned my head to him, nodding as I unbuckled.
He didn’t make a move to get out of the car.
Watching me, his lips in a flat line. Fighting the urge to say something.
He swallowed thickly, lifting a hand and trailed a finger down my cheek.
My eyes fluttered closed at the simple contact.
One touch and I was crumbling. Pathetic.
My eyes snapped open. I forced a smile and hopped out of his truck without a word.
A flash of pain crossed his face at my sudden retreat.
The expression was gone as quickly as it came.
As we walked into the store, George reached out to grab my hand.
His large palm engulfed mine, wrapping it up, keeping it warm against the chilly air.
He gave me a look, waiting to see if I’d pull away.
I saw the relief soften his features when I kept mine nestled with his.
Since he was the cook, and I could barely make toast without setting off the smoke alarm, I followed George around, watching him pile the basket high with all kinds of different food.
When we reached the liquor aisle, he grabbed a bottle of tequila, smirking when he saw the smile on my face.
If we were going to get through this weekend, we definitely needed that.
He gave my hand a quick squeeze before he let go to put the bags of shopping in the car.
I was heading around to the passenger side when he came up behind me, stopping me from opening the door.
‘Not yet. We have another stop to make.’ His warm breath tickled the back of my neck.
‘What? Where?’ We didn’t need any more food, and as badly as I didn’t want to head back into the awkwardness of the cabin, I was kind of looking forward to seeing Oliver well and truly scolded.
Fallon’s anger had been rippling off her when George had hauled me away.
If George said that kind of shit about Fallon, he would be on his way to the emergency room by now.
Even though my dearest friend wasn’t quite as violently inclined as I was; I knew she wasn’t about to let that slide.
George only grunted, tucking me into his side and steering us out of the car park and down a beautiful street.
Trees lined the edges of the road. We passed countless stores with cute bunting decorating the windows; chalkboards standing outside with specials or quotes written on them.
It’s like we had stepped onto the set of Gilmore Girls.
The bite in the air made me shiver. George noticed—because he saw everything—and snaked his hand around my waist, pressing me deeper into his body.
I dropped my head to hide how that simple move affected me.
His body heat was enough that a forest would catch on fire. From what I’d seen when he tried on those suits, he was covered head to toe in hair. Like a teddy bear. A large, and occasionally, very dirty teddy bear.
I laughed at the ridiculous image I’d just conjured.
‘What’s funny?’ He looked down, head cocked in confusion.
I shook my head, suppressing another giggle. ‘Nothing. Are you going to tell me where we’re going? Or are we just walking aimlessly? Because if that’s the case, I’m requesting coffee. I’ve only had one this morning, and that is bordering on a hate crime.’
His chest shook with laughter. ‘I’ll get you a coffee after.’
I blew out an exasperated breath. ‘After what?’
He stopped walking suddenly. If I hadn’t been practically attached to his waist, I’d have tumbled forwards. As it was, he gripped me firmly by my hips. Chest to chest, I peered up at him, more than a little confused.
‘Okay, if you’ve lost your mind then you need to tell me now, because—’ he pressed his palms to my head, forcing me to face forward, cutting off my rant. The words died in my throat as I took in the red bricked building he’d brought me to.
Faded white paint was peeling on the window frames. The place looked like it had seen better days—but the lettering etched into the wood above the door was still decipherable. Borrowed Books.
‘It’s supposed to be one of the best second-hand bookstores this side of the country.
’ George muttered from behind me. All coherent thought vanished from my skull.
He’d brought me to a bookstore. Not only that, he’d spent time and researched one.
Knowing how much I’d love it. My feet were glued to the concrete.
‘You want to go in?’ His head dipped down and whispered in my ear. He took my mess of nods with a soft laugh and pushed me gently towards the door. Staying behind me, keeping my back warm against the cold.
A small bell tinkled above the door as we entered, completing the aesthetic of the place perfectly. It was heaven.
My version of it at any rate. Books were littered everywhere.
Climbing high on shelves that nearly reached the ceiling.
They went on for rows and rows, reaching all four corners of the room.
From the outside, it looked small, but it must have been some optical illusion, because the place seemed to go on for days.
I turned around in his hold, feeling the swell of emotion nearly choke me as I went up on my tiptoes, threading a hand around the back of his neck and bringing his lips down to mine.
He swallowed back a surprised inhale, then sunk into the kiss.
His hands flexed on my hips, dragging me impossibly closer.
A throat cleared from behind us. ‘Is there anything I can help you with?’
Still floating from the kiss, I peered over my shoulder at the elderly man who sat behind the counter, his grey hair fizzing around his head, a worn book held carefully in his hands.
‘We’re just gonna have a look around,’ George said, offering the man a polite smile and squeezing my fingers.
We wove through the bookshelves. He let me peruse to my heart's content, never standing too far away, and always somehow keeping some part of our bodies touching.
Second-hand bookstores like this one were often a treasure trove. First editions of romance books that no one looked at twice. As I sauntered down the aisles, picking up anything that caught my eye, George started asking me questions.
Questions about when I first started reading, and my favourite types of romance. I answered them all happily. The weight that had rested on my chest from earlier slowly eased the longer we wound our way through this bookish haven.
‘Have you finished that book?’ I asked, shuffling the six or so books in my arms. George saw my struggle and took them out of my hands. Propping them against his chest. I opened my mouth to protest. He cut me a sharp look.
‘The stalker one?’
I nodded, turning down the last row.
‘I did.’
When he didn’t elaborate, I glanced over my shoulder, eyebrow raised. ‘And? Any thoughts?’
His grin was downright filthy. ‘Several. But I liked it. I mean, the guy still should be committed for some of the shit he did.’
‘He did it all for love.’ I placed a hand to my chest, sighing dramatically.
George was silent for a moment, before saying tentatively, ‘For someone who hates love, that’s all you seem to read about.’
I froze in the middle of picking up another book.
My fingers clutched the paperback, digging into the cover.
I cleared my throat, shrugging. ‘It’s fiction.
People who read thrillers don’t love murder.
’ I walked a little further, keeping my gaze purposefully on the plethora of books, and not on the feeling of George’s intense gaze.
I carried on sauntering through the aisles, adding more and more books to the pile in George’s arms. Whenever I tried to hold them, he’d pluck from my grip and carry it himself. Thankfully, the conversation reverted to easy banter.
After we had searched the entire store, some aisles more than twice, George asked, ‘You good?’ The pile of books in his arms grazed the bottom of his chin. I chewed my bottom lip, surveying the stack. ‘I might have gone overboard.’ He laughed lightly. ‘Ya think?’
I gave an indignant huff. ‘I got excited.’
‘I know, it’s cute,’ he said, words coated in affection. ‘I think there was a section you missed at the back, though.’ He jutted his head over my shoulder to the back of the store. ‘Go check it out while I carry these up.’
I looked over my shoulder with a frown. I’d combed the store pretty well, but I gave him a nod and went in search of the missing section.
Ten minutes later, when I found nothing I hadn’t previously looked at, I weaved my way through the stacks to the elderly man who was leaning back in his chair, book propped up on his lap.
He peered over his glasses at me. ‘Help you with anything, lass?’
My head spun in every direction, my stomach dipping. ‘Uh, yeah, have you seen a tall guy who looks like he should be chopping wood somewhere in the forest?’
The man chortled, placing a hand over his belly. ‘Ay, he’s waiting outside for you.’
Strange. But whatever, maybe he needed the fresh air. I scanned the desk, seeing nothing but the register and the rumpled mystery paperback the owner had been reading. ‘Did he leave a stack of books?’
Something twinkled in the man’s eyes. ‘No.’
What the hell was happening right now? I frowned, feeling like I was watching a silent film with French subtitles.
‘He’s already purchased them.’
My mouth fell open. There were over fifteen books in that stack.
And more than a few of them were rare. That was hundreds of pounds.
Money I had been more than willing to spend because books were my passion, something I loved.
Never in a million years did I ever expect George to buy the whole damn lot.
That’s why he made me look in the back.
Different emotions warred inside my gut. One that screamed the loudest held echoes of my mother’s voice. No good deed comes for free. The other one was so unfamiliar I wasn’t sure I knew the word for it. But it made just as much noise.
‘I’d just accept it, lass. That’s a determined man you’ve got there. Doesn’t seem to be much that’ll stop him from making you happy.’
I forced a polite smile to my lips, to cover the panic this stranger's words had caused. ‘Yeah,’ I said thickly. ‘Thank you.’
‘Have a good day.’ He smiled, offering me a nod, then leaned back in his chair, picking up his book again.
George was standing a few feet from the door, holding two brown paper bags in one hand. The other was holding his phone. Whatever he was reading on it had the lines on his forehead creasing. Hearing me stalk towards him, he lifted his head, shoving his phone into his back pocket.
‘That’s a bit more than the bare fucking minimum, George.’ I eyed the bags in his hand.
He had the absolute gall to smirk like he just pulled off a master plan. He held out his hand, palm upturned, waiting for me to take it.
‘Not to me, it’s not.’