I looked up at the children’s loft where Summer sat on a beanbag surrounded by books. She seemed happy there.Who wouldn’t be?
Beckett followed my glance. “I should go,” he said. “I promised to help her pick out the perfect book.” He glanced around the store, taking in the elaborate display tables and the reading corners tucked at the ends of the aisles. He blew out a breath. “We might be here all day.”
I laughed. “I can’t think of a better way to spend my time.”
Beckett’s eyes dropped to my inked sleeves, scanning every inch of my exposed skin. “You like to read?”
I raised both eyebrows. “Who doesn’t?”
Beckett’s mouth moved in a brief smile when he realized I was teasing him. “Not everybody.”
“Really? I don’t see any of those people.” I made a show of glancing around the crowded aisles. Hyperbole’s was a magical place, vibrating with energy.
Beckett glanced around the bustling bookshop, then up at Summer. “I like this place. If you have a minute, maybe you can show me around?”
Heat crawled up my chest at the look in his eyes. The image of him lying on the weight bench, muscles gleaming as he pumped iron, flashed before my eyes. A man who looked like him and liked to read? Beckett was honestly too good to be true. A warning bell blasted in my head, but I ignored it. He was so tall that I had to tilt my head back to fix my curious eyes on him.
“I thought you grew up here,” I said.
Green fire sparked in his eyes. “How’d you know that?”
I was no good at lying, so I didn’t even try. “I Googled you.”
One dark eyebrow raised, bringing my heart rate with it. “Why’d you do that?”
I crossed my arms over the book at my chest, remembering the origin of my anger. “I wanted to see who’d yelled at me.”
His mouth thinned. “I didn’t yell at you.”
His eyes were so gorgeous. And he smelled yummy. It was hard to remember what had made me so mad the first time we’d met. Then, I recalled the way he’d told me to find the door behind me. “You were rude,” I mustered.
“That’s not the same as yelling.”
“Close enough.”
He smiled—a genuine smile that reached his amazing green-brown eyes, and made my belly shimmy in a little happy dance. His mouth in full smile mode was so distracting that I nearly plowed over a lady crouched in front of the self-help shelf. I apologized and forced myself to focus on reality. This wasn’t one of my romance novels where a gorgeous man swept a woman off her feet at their first meeting. This was real life, and I had books to gather. I started off toward non-fiction.
Beckett caught up to me in one determined stride. Did I mention he was tall? Those long legs only needed one step to my three.
“How about that tour?” he asked.
I smothered a sigh. He was entirely too distracting. That mouth. Those eyes. That scent, like a walk through the forest on a rainy day.
“This is the local section.” I kept my tone professional as we strolled through the aisles. “We have signed copies by resident authors and books on hiking trails and other Blue Ridge Mountains attractions.” I was all business as I led Beckett around the store. “Hyperbole’s is the best bookshop in the world, and I’m not just saying that because I work here.”
We stopped at the end of the aisle to let a mother pushing her stroller walk by.
Beckett reached out and took my elbow as I started to walk again. “What would I find out about you if I Googled you, Lacey Donovan?”
My name on his lips sent a shiver through me. “Nothing at all.” The breathless quality of my voice surprised me. “I don’t do social media.”
Beckett’s dark brows slashed together. “Not at all?”
“Only my book reviews for the BRBC.”
But Beckett wasn’t listening. He was looking at the romance section where an employee stood on a ladder hanging paper-mâché hearts from the ceiling. There was a life-size cardboard cutout of Miranda Lockhart with her arms looped around the neck of a very attractive shirtless man. She was wearing a man’s white dress-shirt, her signature scarlet lipstick, and nothing else. The dark-haired man wore only a pair of plaid pajamas, and his face was covered in kiss marks that matched Miranda’s lipstick. Behind the cutout, a ten-foot-tall Eiffel Tower constructed of gold mylar stretched to the ceiling. It was so big and bright, Beckett had to shade his eyes.
“Miranda Lockhart is coming next month to promote her latest book,” I said, laughing at his pained expression.
