Nine
ALLIE
In the distance, the resort comes into view, and my heart drops. Maybe he’s changed his mind. Not into the book thing after all. My breath hitches in my throat.
He eyes me, arching a brow.
“Not ready to deal with…you know, yet,” I excuse.
“Not here for him,” he murmurs.
We park, and he offers me my coat. Then, we walk in silence, side by side. So close I can feel the heat pouring off the Carhartt-clad cowboy, smell his pine scent. But never touching. He shoves his hands in his pockets. Hat slung low against the slight chill in the afternoon breeze.
When we bypass the hotel for the village, relief washes over me. Quaint shops and cobblestone squares greet us. One opens on a big trampoline area with bungee cords where kids bounce and play. We pass a pizza place, garlic and tomato smells wafting. An art store. Countless clothing stores.
More than one group of snowbunnies eyes him hungrily. My throat thickens, mouth going dry. I glare until I catch myself.
What are you doing, Allie?
Up ahead, through a smattering of snow flurries, an adorable little Swiss chalet-looking structure squats, a rustic hand-painted sign with pretty floral stencils, proclaims, Fable & Fern.
My eyes sting as he slides ahead, opening the door for me to pass through. Row upon rows of books crowd in like a big bookish hug. Vanilla and cinnamon fill the air, pure enchantment. My eyes rise, taking in the simple two-story structure, shelves stacked from floor to ceiling.
In one corner, a small cafe with a few tables for two sits. And near that, a large stone hearth with inviting leather chairs. A blaze crackles and glows. “This place is…” I can’t find the right words. “Perfect, absolutely perfect.”
“Good.” He beams.
As my senses orient, the reader takes over. Soon, I’m darting between shelves, fingering spines reverently but grabbing nothing.
I lift a worn paperback from the shelf, thumb tracing the spine.
“I always imagine how this would sound out loud,” I murmur.
He tilts his head. “Out loud?”
“Yeah. Narrating it. Where you breathe. Where you slow down. Where silence does half the work.”
Austin studies me without speaking. His eyes follow me as I scour shelf after shelf.
Finally, he asks, “Nothing you like here?”
I laugh, blindsided by the absurdity of his question.
“Not at all,” I stammer, eyes darting around the store, almost too much to absorb. “It’s just… I don’t know where to start, and I doubt you want to carry all of it for me.”
“Don’t mind,” he says with a shrug.
My face heats, shame crawling up my spine. “They’re pricey, too. You know.”
“Get what you want. My treat.”
“No,” I gasp. “I couldn’t possibly.”
“It’s a date,” he reminds, like it’s no big thing. “And I’m old-fashioned.”
“But—”
“My pleasure.”
