Someone get me an ice bath.
“Thank you for coming,” Dorian says, closing the book and handing it back to the woman waiting. She’s in her late-forties with graying hair and hearts in her eyes. She looks as smitten as I am.
Is it pheromones? I’d feel better knowing this is something Dorian is emitting and all people are susceptible to it.
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” she gushes. “Your books are my favorites.”
His eyes soften. “Thank you.”
How can he sound so humble? And sonice? I know he isn’t. Deep down, his heart is marbled with black.
When she walks away, Dorian leans back in his seat, stretching his arms. I can’t help but look at his left hand and find the ring finger totally vacant. Hm. Interesting.
“Do you need anything?” I ask. “Water? A break?”
His brow hitches. Did he catch me checking his hand? “No, I’m good.”
“Listen, the event ends in”—I check my watch—“fifteen minutes, but the line is longer than that. We’ve posted someone at the door to stop more people from joining, but we weren’t anticipating this crowd. Are you intending to leave right at nine? We can offer the rest of the people in line a discount, maybe, or?—”
“No, I’ll stay.”
I blink at him.
“Until the line ends or we run out of books, at least. They came out here for a book. I’m not going to make them wait in line and leave before they get it.”
They came forhim, but okay.
“Especially with such a long line. That was ridiculous,” the next woman says, checking the time on her phone.
I straighten, schooling my face to hide my surprise.
“I mean, I knew your murder mysteries were good,” she continues, “but I didn’t realize all these people thought so too.”
My gaze shifts to Dorian. Murder mysteries?
He sighs. “Do you have a book, Paise?”
“Oh yes, I do.” She flashes him a grin and produces one, then pushes her unruly curly hair behind her shoulder. The man standing beside her shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “I waited in that line. I’m getting a signature.”
“Where’s your receipt?”
“I’ll pay for it after.”
“That’s not the policy,” Dorian argues.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. He obviously knows her. “But just this once.”
“Thanks.” She flashes me a wide smile, then her gaze lingers. “So, areyouthe owner?—”
“That’s enough, Paisley,” Dorian says. “Who do you want me to sign it to?”
She rolls her eyes. “Just sign it to your number one fan.”
He laughs. “You’d have to read them to earn that.”
“I do!”
“Murder mysteries,” he mutters, opening the book and starting to write on the title page.
