“You’re a fan?”
“I live and breathe Miranda Lockhart. I can’t wait to meet her.”
He raised a brow at the display. “That’s a lot of fuss,” he said.
From the look on Beckett’s face, I assumed he thought romance novels were a waste of paper. “You probably like mysteries or true crime?”
His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I read a bit of everything,” he said. “I like romance too.” He gestured at the hearts falling from the ceiling.
My insides did a little jig at the suggestion in his tone, but I did my best to ignore it. “Romance is great between the pages, but not so much in real life.”
Beckett’s eyes narrowed on me. “You don’t really believe that?”
“I really do. Love is just make believe—the creation of an imaginative mind. Kind of like alternate realms in a science-fiction novel, love is a tool writers use to tell a story.”
Beckett made a strangled sound. “That’s… blasphemous.”
I laughed at his dramatic reaction. “It’s true.”
Beckett looked offended. “You adoreWuthering Heights, but you don’t believe in love?”
“Romance is different in books,” I said. “There’s always a happy ending. And besides, guys like Heathcliff don’t really exist.”
Beckett took a step closer. The way he looked at me made me feel as if he could see all the way inside me. I felt exposed, and I clutched the book tighter to my chest.
“Go out with me,” he said. “I’ll show you Heathcliff.”
I should have laughed at the cheesy line, but my throat was too tight for any sound to escape. I shook my head instead.
Beckett’s eyebrows drew together, and his eyes flicked to my left hand. “Are you married?”
“No.”
“Serious boyfriend?”
I bit my lip. “No.”Not for a very long time.
Beckett’s eyes lingered on the small diamond stud in my right nostril. One dark eyebrow ticked up. “Serious girlfriend?”
I shook my head. “You think I’m a lesbian because I have a nose ring?”
His eyes crinkled in the corners. “Are you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no. I’m not gay. I just think romance is for books.”
Beckett’s mouth curved in a half smile that had one dimple popping. “I’m officially making it my mission to prove you wrong.”
My heart raced, and my belly performed a gymnastics routine. “No thanks,” I said. “I’m not interested.”
Beckett studied me, and my cheeks flamed bright pink. I was the world’s worst liar. My face gave everything away. My mind was definitely on board with dating Beckett. As were other parts of my body. But my heart, the most important part, was not into it. My heart was terrified.
Don’t do it,my heart advised. Each pulsing throb in my head reminded me of the ache I’d endured. The pain I didn’t want to repeat. It was so much safer not to get involved with a man.
“We could be friends,” I suggested.
The heat in Beckett’s eyes dimmed. “I don’t do friends. I’m too busy.”
My blood stopped rushing, my heart immediately calming. I’d listened to the right body part. I’d made the right decision.
