You didn’t have to do that.
And then:
But you did.
Thank you.
***
The steps of City Hall are flanked by velvet ropes and flashing bulbs. Press badges glint. Reporters bark questions into the wind. And beyond them, a crowd has gathered—fans, donors, curious onlookers. Some hold signs. One has my face drawn on a cardboard cutout. Another just says:“Kiss the librarian again!”
Jesus.
My fingers tighten around Nora’s hand as we climb out of the car.
She’s beside me in a midnight-blue dress that dips at the back and hugs her waist like a secret. Her hair is pinned up, but a few wisps curl at her neck, teasing me like they know how often I’ve kissed that spot in the last forty-eight hours. She looks like every dream I’ve ever had about real love—except more grounded. More dangerous. Because this isn’t a dream, and I’ve got something to lose now.
“You good?” I murmur as I help her out of the car.
She nods, but I feel the tremble in her hand. It’s not fear exactly—just nerves. Determination wrapped in satin.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she says, lips quirking.
The second we step onto the carpet, the crowd lights up.
“Nora!” “Max!” “Over here!” “Are you two officially dating?” “What inspired the charity event?” “Can we get a kiss for the cameras?”
I glance at her. She rolls her eyes. “They’re relentless.”
“You get used to it,” I say. “Or you fake confidence until it looks real.”
We pause at the photo wall—an elegant panel of navy velvet and gold script that readsLiteracy for All: NYC Public Libraries Fundraiser.
I slide my hand to the small of her back, not for the cameras, but for me. To ground both of us.
“They’re not here for me,” she whispers.
“They are now.”
The cameras go wild as I lean in and kiss her cheek.
Click. Click. Click.Nora Davidson, the "groupie librarian," now standing tall in front of every headline.
After the initial blitz, we make our way inside, past the security detail and into the towering marble lobby, where music filters through string lights and champagne trays float like magic.
A volunteer coordinator rushes up. “Ms. Davidson, the author panel’s getting settled. And Mr. Donovan—your bandmate’s looking for you. Something about audio levels?”
Nora glances at me, eyes wide. “Go. I’ll be fine.”
“Sure?”
She gives me that look—the one that always makes my chest tighten. The one that says she might blush when I flirt, but she’s also the bravest woman I know.
“Go be a rockstar,” she says, brushing her fingers across my knuckles. “I’ve got donors to charm.”
I grin, but I don’t leave without one more kiss—this time on herlips. Quick, but full of promise.
“Try not to fall in love with any bestselling authors while I’m gone.”
