She turned with wide eyes and met his amused gaze.
“Careful,” he said, nodding at her hand. She had loosened her grip on the paint roller, and the blue paint had gone into the green.
“Thanks,” she replied.
“Course.” He gave her an easy smile, then let go of her elbow. He stepped to her side, leaning against a bookshelf. “So how was your New Year’s?”
“It was good!” she replied. “I was at Millie’s. Her kids and Motu were bouncing off the walls, but that’s nothing new. How was yours?”
“Also good,” he said. “We just hung out at home. My dad had it off, so the four of us were together for the first time for a while, which was nice.”
“Aw,” she said, setting her paint roller down into the tray. “How’s Sharptooth doing? Better?”
He nodded. “All healed,” he said. “That friend of yours knows what she’s doing.”
She smiled. “I’ll be sure to let her know you said that.”
She felt more normal now, though he was still so handsome that a part of her chest felt like it would ache permanently.
Had he always been this handsome? How hadn’t she noticed before?
Surely she’d known he was good-looking in an objective way, the way models were beautiful, but today, there seemed to be an extra quality to him, as if he was the only star in the night sky. She couldn’t look away. She didn’t want to.
She watched him go as he walked around with his notebook, as if confirming things he had written down.He tapped his lips with the end of his pen, and she tried desperately not to stare at his mouth.
They fell into a comfortable silence and, as she finished off the last paint sample, she found herself glancing over at him. She liked the focused expression on his face.
A tendril of hair fell in front of his brow, and he pushed it back, but when she glanced back a few moments later, there it was again. She felt suddenly fond of that tendril, for some reason. Probably because she was losing her mind.
But it seemed she wasn’t the only one. She could feel him glancing over at her when she wasn’t looking, and every few moments, they locked gazes across the room. Each time they did, a thrill shot through her like a bolt of electricity, energy fizzing through her.
Motu continued playing, and when Emmeline glanced over next, she saw the baby dragon was bothering Luke, who was absent-mindedly petting him with his free hand. Her heart warmed.
Turning back to the paint swatches, she took pictures of each on her phone. Done with that, she closed the paint tins, but left out the trays so they could dry.
Then, she went to the bookshelves, unable to resist browsing in the shop empty of other patrons. She ambled through the rows of shelves, losing herself to the quiet of the books. It had been a long time since she had gone through the bookshop simply for the sake of enjoyment, reading through titles, searching for a new read.
She spotted a familiar title on the top shelf, and reached up onto her tiptoes to pull it out. She could just barely reach it, but there was no stool nearby, so she stretched, finallygrabbing the edge. It slid out, landing in her hands, and she smiled.
Letters to Milenaby Franz Kafka, the cover read, and she touched a hand over the words. Of course, she had read it dozens of times; each time she found herself connecting to a new passage.
Now, she flipped it open to a random part, paging through until she reached a passage she knew well. It was where Kafka wrote about how he wished the world was ending tomorrow. Then, he could take the next train, arrive at Milena’s doorstep in Vienna and tell her to come with him; that they would love each other without scruples or fear or restraint. All because the world was ending.
It always made her heart squeeze, and for some reason, tears filled her eyes. She read the passage again, and in doing so, she didn’t hear Luke come up toward her. It was only when she closed the book that she saw him leaning against the end of the shelf, watching her.
Hastily blinking, she pushed away her tears, giving him a shy smile.
“It’s too easy to get distracted when surrounded by so many books,” she said. He gave her a soft smile, walking over.
The space between the two shelves felt small then, as if they were in a private alcove. Her gaze went to his mouth. The first time they kissed was like this, in the narrow lane of bookshelves, surrounded by the scent of ink and paper.
Her heartbeat quickened, and she turned away from him, facing the shelf. Rising on her tiptoes, she lifted her arm to put the book back.
The top shelf was still too high, and before she could reach, she felt Luke come up behind her. His hand covered hers on the spine. Taking the book from her grasp, he slid it into place on the shelf.
He held his hand over hers, holding it against the bookshelf above her head and, slowly, she turned. Backed up against the shelf, she faced him. Desire beat through her as he leaned in, and she inhaled the scent of cypress and spruce, so deliciously wintry that she wanted to take a bite out of him.
Her heart hammered against her chest, wild and frantic as she looked up at him. His lids lowered as his gaze dropped to her mouth. Her breathing grew shallow.
