“Nope,” she says, the little liar. She reaches up and tightens her ponytail.
“Suit yourself,” I say with a shrug, but I’m still smiling.
I’m younger than Aurora by five years. And while I never knew I had a thing for older women, it’s becoming rapidly apparent that I do.
Or maybe justthisolder woman. I want to pull her ponytail loose. I want to push her buttons until she turns into the dragon I can see beneath her calm, cool surface.
Do I want to marry her? No. I don’t want to marry anyone, probably ever. My parents’ marriage convinced me of that, and I don’t think a woman exists who could change my mind.
But the fun I could have with Aurora Marigold? The kind of woman with the confidence to brush the lint off her ex’s suit, a woman with nothing but threats and disdain for me, a woman who despite her pride is reasonable and practical enough to request a second job and then take absurd advantage when it’s offered…
I would thoroughly enjoy my time with her. Iwillenjoy it.
We make our way down the row of shops until we reach one with a cheerful display window. The door is white, but the paint is faded and chipped around the edges, giving it a well-loved look. Aurora doesn’t stop or hesitate before pulling on the curled brass handle; the door lurches open, and she slips inside without holding it for me.
The bell jingles overhead as we step into a fairy-like shop full of cozy decor and twinkle lights. There are rows and rows of bookshelves, tall ones against the walls and lower ones in the middle.
“Aurora!” a female voice calls from behind the counter, and a blonde girl steps out and comes to greet us. “Hey! It’s been a while. How’s it going?”
Aurora clears her throat, and I’m intrigued to see a faint flush rising in her neck. “It’s good,” she says, her voice steady despite the pink in her cheeks. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” the girl says cheerfully. Then she looks at me, her gaze climbing all the way up until it meets mine. “Hi,” she says as her eyes widen. She gestures vaguely around the shop. “Can I interest you in a romance novel?”
“Absolutely.”
“No,” Aurora corrects me. “No. Sorry, Jess.” Her voice is firm, and I find my smile widening.
“I’ll just have a look around while you two talk,” I say. “Please don’t mind me.”
“So how’s the book club going?” Jess says to Aurora as I drift away, my eyes dropping to the shelves full of books.
“Uh, it’s fine, I guess?” Aurora says, her voice distracted. I can feel her watching me, but I don’t look at her. I trail my finger over the spines of the novels I pass, checking to see if there’s anything that interests me.
Anything other than the woman whose eyes are drilling holes into the back of my head, that is.
“What are you all reading now?” Jess says. “Jules was in here the other day, but I wasn’t the one who rang her up.”
And I listen as hard as I can. I listen like my life depends on it. Because it seems to me that all the books I see are romances, and if Aurora Marigold is reading romances in her spare time, I want to know. I want to read everything she’s reading, just to get a peek at what’s going on inside her head.
But her answer isn’t what I expect. “We’re actually reading one of Luca’s choices right now,” she says in a normal voice. “And he has better taste than Juliet, so I’m happy.”
Luca…that name rings a bell. He might have been mentioned in the holding cell. A brother, maybe? Or a boyfriend?
Why didn’t I pay more attention while I was half-asleep, half-drunk on that concrete floor?
“Anyway, I actually came to talk to you about an event we’re hosting in the square,” Aurora goes on, and once again her tone shifts into something more businesslike. I weave through the shelves as she and the employee chat for a while, stopping when I find a title that sounds interesting. I pull the book out and hang back until the two of them are done talking, and then I take the novel up to the front.
“I’d like to buy this, please,” I say, holding it out.
Aurora and the girl—Jess?—blink at me. I raise my brows when neither of them respond, and then Jess jumps into action.
“Right,” she says. “Sorry. Yeah. Hang on.”
She hurries to the counter and rounds it, holding out her hand for the book and tapping around at the cash register.
“A Gargoyle’s Love Affair,” Aurora reads in a bland voice as the book is slipped into a plastic bag and then handed to me.
“I can appreciate romance,” I say with a shrug. “And I have some logistical questions I need answered.”
