My mind paints a mental picture of Anton sitting on the couch in The Downer with my feet in his lap. In my vision, I’m listening as his low voice bowls me over with text from a crisp paperback we’ve picked up from Mood Reader on a Sunday afternoon after one of his games. It’s unreal how quickly I can conjure an image like this. It’s torture, actually. Because I can see it so clearly. Anton would read books with me. I know he would. I know he’s perfect for me. But how can I let myself be with him?
This is the mental tug of war I have going on.
I shut it down for now, turning my focus back to Abner and Kelsey. Ab is our only male book club member…so far. I’m holding out hope for more. Romance doesn’t discriminate.
Mia breaks off from the group by the food table, a mug in her hands. She joins me near the front of the bookstore, taking a drink of the steaming liquid.
“I think we’ll get started here shortly.” I do a quick head count. “All our regulars are here, and I’m not expecting anyone else.”
Mia nods.
The jingle bell rings behind me, and Mia and I spin toward the door.
Anton appears out of the snow, his broad shoulders filling the entire space between the door jambs. His gaze locks on me, and he smiles. It’s a smile that’s like my favorite book—beginning, middle, and ending all working together to tell a perfect story. There’s a hint of mischief, a dash of anticipation, and a whole dollop of sweetness in that smile. The sight of it—of him—fills me with the warmth of mulled cider.
“Anton! What are you doing here?”
It’s my night off from you.
Don’t even act like you aren’t happy to see him.
My brain is carrying on a back-and-forth conversation with itself.
Well, duh. But still. This is not helping my effort to not fall for him.
Just go with it.
“I came for book club. I hear it’s the place to be on a Monday night.”
My jaw is hanging half unhinged, but I’m helpless to control it. He asked me about book club yesterday, and I was so grateful to talk about something that wasn’t me owning multiple versions of his jersey that I told him all about it. But…
“I didn’t expect you to come,” I squeak.
“Well, surprise.” He winks at me before turning his gaze and gesturing around the store. “It looks great in here.”
I survey Mood Reader, trying to see it through Anton’s fresh eyes. We’ve got our holiday displays set up, with evergreen wreaths dangling from the shelf lights that are affixed to the tops of each bookcase. On each wreath, Mia and I have tied long red ribbons that dangle down. Above the shop’s front window, icicle lights are hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow on the glass panes. In the display case, we’ve created a Christmas tree out of books, stacking them in all directions, so they’re fanned out like branches. I wound a string of multicolored lights around the spines and tucked the wires between the pages. The result is whimsical and charming and everything I want a bookstore to be. We’ve got cozy and Christmas-y displays on each of our free-standing tables throughout the store, and velvet table runners in different hues of reds and greens serve as a backdrop for the stacks of titles we’re featuring. The gas fireplace along the side wall is festooned with an evergreen swag and snow-white, knit stockings are hung with care. A sign on the mantel encourages our patrons to drop off a pair of new socks in the basket on the hearth. I pitched it to Mia this morning, and we decided we’llcollect socks and donate them to the local community shelter for those who could use them.
“Thank you.” I’m proud of this store, but I remember myself then. Even Mood Reader, where I feel most at home, isn’t mine to claim. It’s another sobering reminder that I have nothing to my name. Not really. “It’s Mia’s place,” I say, and I have to work to keep my tone even. “I just work here.”
I tug my boss and friend forward. To her credit, Mia doesn’t look as starry-eyed as most people do in the presence of a prince and a pro-football player. Then again, maybe she doesn’t know who he is.
“Anton Bates.” Mia steps forward and holds out her hand. “I have you on my fantasy team. You helped me crush my husband this week, and I thank you for that.” She grins. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. We spoke on the phone.”
Anton grins and shakes her hand. “Thanks for having me. Happy to be of assistance with the fantasy team as long as you don’t hold it against me and ban me from book club if I have an off week.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. We’re anti all things book banning around here. Right, Rosie?”
“Uh-huh.” When Anton turns to hang his coat up, I hiss out of the corner of my mouth, “You knew he was coming?”
She cuts me with a look. “He called to make sure it was okay. I said all are welcome. Isn’t that what you’re always saying?”
“Of course.” I frantically tug at the neckline of the ratty crewneck sweater I’m wearing. It saysBookwormacross the chest in faded, varsity letters. Perfect for book club. Maybe not perfect when I’m standing in front of a man who’s so far out of my league he may as well be on another planet.
I give myself a mental shake. I’ve never been self-conscious about my appearance or social standing around Anton before. I’m not going to start now.
He’s not wearing a stocking hat, so there are snowflakes resting on his blond locks, slowly melting and turning strands of his hair darker. He gives his head a small shake, and a curl dips over his brow as he turns back in our direction.
“I hope it’s okay. Me dropping in on you like this.” His eyes are on me, and I feel like I’m a bird he’s watching through binoculars. “I figured you’ve had to follow me around for the past week and a half. It’s about time I spent some time in your space.”
