Rachel's cheeks flushed. She turned back to the shelf, pulling out a worn copy of The Hating Game. "Okay, this one. You have to read this one. It's enemies-to-lovers perfection and the banter is—"
She turned to hand Mac the book and found him much closer than expected.
They were in a narrow aisle. Very narrow. Mac's body was inches from hers, one hand braced on the shelf beside her head, his green eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her breath catch.
"Mac?"
"Hmm?" His gaze dropped to her lips.
"What are you doing?"
"Trying to decide if kissing you in a bookstore is romantic or cliché."
Rachel's pulse jumped. "Maybe both?"
"I can live with both." Mac's free hand came up to cup her face, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. "Is this okay?"
"Yes." The word came out breathier than Rachel intended.
Mac kissed her slowly, carefully, like he was savoring every second. His lips were soft and warm and perfect, and when Rachel made a small sound of surprise and pleasure, Mac deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers.
Rachel forgot how to think.
Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer. Mac pressed her gently back against the bookshelf, the books digging into her spine but Rachel didn't care because Mac was kissing her like she was precious and necessary and—
A book fell off the shelf above them, landing on Mac's head with a solid thunk.
They broke apart, both laughing.
"Occupational hazard of bookstore making out," Mac said, rubbing his head and picking up the fallen book. "The Duke's Convenient Bride. Is this a sign?"
"That you should read more historical romance? Absolutely."
"I was thinking it's a sign we should get out of this aisle before more books attack me." But Mac was grinning, his hand finding hers naturally. "Although for the record? Totally worth the head injury."
They browsed for another hour. Rachel showed Mac her favorite authors, explained why certain books mattered, rambled about literary themes and character development. Mac listened to all of it, asked questions, seemed genuinely interested.
When they finally left, Rachel was carrying a bag with twelve new books (she'd shown admirable restraint, truly), and Mac was carrying three books Rachel had insisted he needed to read immediately.
"You know," Mac said as they walked to his truck, "I never thought I'd enjoy book shopping this much."
"Really?"
"Really. Watching you light up over books? That's—" Mac stopped, searching for words. "It's the best thing I've seen all week."
Rachel's chest tightened with something that felt suspiciously like falling.
"Mac?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for wanting to understand my world."
Mac set the books in the truck bed and turned to face her fully. "Rachel, I don't just want to understand your world. I want to be part of it. The books, the library, all of it. Because you're in it."
He said it so simply, like it was obvious, like there was no question.
Rachel stood on her tiptoes and kissed him again, right there in the parking lot, putting into the kiss what she couldn't quite say yet.
