“You know, when Gramma died we found a bajillion of those, what are they called? Shirt rippers?”
“Bodice rippers,” I supplied.
He snapped and pointed at me. “Yes. Bodice rippers. Some of them even had dirty pictures in them. Dad was all wigged out but I thought it was kinda fun. Gramma was a freak. Who knew?”
“Well, your gramma was awesome, but we already knew that.”
“Exactly,” he said. “So read what you want to read! Shame free.”
“It’s not shame. It’s . . .” I sighed. “I love to read those, but sometimes they have stuff in them that sets me off. Messes me up for days.”
Colt looked perplexed. “What, like dogs dying or something?”
I chewed my lip, searching his face and hoping he’d figure it out. “No. Like what we talked about the other night.”
“Oh!” Colt’s eyes lit up, then he grimaced. “Ohhhh. Sorry. A little slow on the uptake.”
I nodded. “It’s okay. Most give content warnings, but sometimes they miss one and it throws me off.”
“Well, let’s see about this one,” Colt said, picking up another copy ofSeas the Day. He cleared his throat. “‘It’s anchors aweigh with love! She’s overboard, but will he be able to right the ship in choppy waters?’”
“Colt,” I whined.
“What? This sounds good! I love puns.”
I planted him with a look. “Don’t make fun of romance.”
He put a hand up. “I’m not! I’m not. Promise. I wrote a paper on romance as a genre freshman year. It props up the entire publishing industry.” His eyes lit up. “Wait! Let me read them first. I can let you know if anything bad is in them. Ican tape up the bad pages, or just tell you if you shouldn’t read it.”
There it was again: that motivational, always-on-your-side, hockey captain personality. The guy I pushed away violently twice in our lives, and he was still showing up and actively participating in my life. I tried to give him an out.
“That’s very sweet, but I don’t need a fox in the hen house like that.”
He slapped the book to his heart. “These aren’t just for women! I mean, mostly, probably. But other people read them. Even straight men!”
I smiled, remembering a series I’d been eyeballing for a while. “There’s a whole book series to that effect, actually.”
Colton’s face was so hopeful, so sunny. “See? Okay. Do it. Pick anything. Whatever you want. I’ll read it first and do a Violet edit on it.”
Tears pricked the back of my eyes. After everything we’d weathered, everything I put him through, he was still willing to be my cheerleader. To do anything to make me happy. “You’d do that?”
His brows knit. “Of course.” He flicked his chin toward the shelf in front of us. “Pick whatever you want. As many as you want. My treat.”
I studied him, searching those bright eyes for any indication that he was putting himself out for this. Overextending himself. But all I saw was Colton in his most genuine form. I stood straighter and reached for another book. “Let’s see what might be fun to read together.”
“Oh, together?” He sounded a little too excited by the prospect, and his excitement carried me into giddiness.
“If we get two copies, I can be right behind where you’re reading.”
We went on, browsing and comparing notes on whatlooked good. I filled Colt’s arms until an employee brought over a basket for him.
By the time we were ready to check out, we had an overflowing basket of options: a billionaire and his assistant, a college romance, a cowboy romance, a small town series set in Louisiana, and, of course,Seas the Day. Colt thumped the basket up on the counter.
“We should probably get some tote bags too, right?” he asked, following my gaze to the display behind the counter. “Or are you looking at . . .”
“That t-shirt,” I said. It was a pink shirt with bold letters: “BUY ME BOOKS AND TELL ME I’M PRETTY.”
“Two tote bags. And that shirt for her,” Colt said to the cashier.
