Chapter One
Alice Rose Westbrook threw back the remainder of a pumpkin cocoa from Choco-Latte, swiped the back of her arm across her lips, and tossed the cup in a nearby garbage can. When a girl needed courage, milk chocolate with a twist of cinnamon was the way to go. Besides, it was her birthday, so she’d splurged.
She took a right onto Maple Street, loving the fringe on her boots and how it swished attitude through the air with every step she took toward the old library. Something big was going to happen tonight. The knowledge tickled her spine and made her hips sway.
The annual Fall Festival kickoff was next week, but tonight …
Tonight was the library board meeting.
The church-turned-library came into view, the windows glowing with golden light and the promise of a world of discovery behind the double glass doors.
Her phone rang, and she stopped to dig through her dress-up purse to find it. The purse she reserved for church, funerals, andRuss.
Ahem—notRuss, just Russ.
She hit the green button and tucked the phone next to her ear. “Hey, Dean?”
“How’s my favorite older sister on her birthday?”
Alice rolled her eyes. She was older by eight minutes and his only older sister. They had a younger sister who had baked beautiful pink cupcakes for Alice’s birthday, inserted candles, and insisted she make a wish. She’d made a big one this year—but it didn’t involve her brother. “I’d be better if my twin was here to have dinner.”
Dean coughed uncomfortably, and silence stretched out like an old piece of gum.
Alice instantly regretted her choice of words—they sounded so much like Mom. “I didn’t mean to guilt-trip you.” She stopped in front of the library, looking up at the stonework. “I just meant that I miss you.”
“Me too. But we’re doing great things with our product. If this expo wasn’t such a big deal, I’d be there to celebrate our birthday. You know that, right?”
“Right.” She nodded once in affirmation, even though he couldn’t see her. They came from a family with issues, and they each tried to outrun them in their own way. Alice read books to escape. Dean was determined to make a name for himself—or to bring honor back to their family name, whichever happened first. Stacy pretended she was anyone else—going so far as to dye her hair pink so it wasn’t the same color as Dad’s.
Dean continued, “Besides, I figured you and Russ would be at the festival tonight—maybe get lost in a kissing pocket at the corn maze.”
“Russ is myfriend.” Her friend with the dark hair and a scruffy jaw. Her friend who inspired twinges of attraction she so desperately wanted to ignore.
Ignore Russ? Not likely. Was it possible to ignore a Rhett Butler, a Mr. Darcy, or an Edmond Dantès? Never! The classic romantic heroes always called to her. Like sirens perched on the library shelves, their broad shoulders, devil-may-care boldness, flirtatious turns of phrase, and ability to sweep the heroines into their arms left her breathless with wanting.
And yet, they were men made of words. What was a woman to do when Russ Phillips walked off the pages of a Brontë novel and presented himself in Harvest Ranch?
A woman should sashay her way into an introduction. Perhaps offer her hand for a token kiss, or bat her full lashes his way and procure the object of her desire, all the while purring like a kitten. That was what a womanshoulddo.
What did Alice do? She headed right for the friend zone. And her aim was as accurate as Emma’s, Jane’s, and even Juliet’s. She and Russ were thick as thieves and as platonic as pumpkins. Which was fine—until just that morning. Something about waking up a year older made her think crazy things.
“Fine—you’refriends. But he’d be a fool not to snatch you up while he has your attention.”
And vice versa—hence the lipstick and fringe boots. “And the fact that you said that makes you the best brother in the whole world.” She dug back into her purse for lipstick. She had a plan, but she wasn’t about to let her brother in on it. “Listen, I have to run. The library closes in thirty minutes.”
“Happy birthday, sis.”
“Happy birthday, bro.”
They hung up, and she used the back of her phone as a mirror to apply the lipstick. If she timed it right, she could be sitting in a chair, casually reading a book, and looking smart and sexy when the library board meeting ended and Russ came down the grand staircase. That would be the moment that started the rest of her life. On her twenty-fourth birthday, Alice Rose Westbrook was going to become the heroine in her very own romance.
If birthday candles had any magic in them, which she highly suspected they did, then wishing for something more than friendship with Russ was crazy scary, because it would change simplyeverythingabout her existence. Therefore, despite the fact that she’d only decided to change their friend status to friendlier a few hours ago, she’d planned this moment down to the last detail.
In her fantasy, Russ would catch sight of her out of the corner of his eye as he made his way down theTitanic-ish curving staircase, her long honey-colored hair draping over her thin shoulders and her lashes lowered as she read a Brontë or Dickens novel. He’d be so struck by her beauty that he’d just stare as a desire to be near her built within his impressive chest. Finally, when the distance was too much for him, their magnetic attraction would pull him across the room to gently touch her elbow. Bringing her gaze up to his brooding brown eyes would reveal the astonishment and joy of new love. Only a heartbeat would pass before he lowered his lips to brush against hers in a petal-soft caress.
Alice sighed to herself.Ah, Russ.
Her phone beeped a reminder, and she jolted from her daydream—er, strategizing. She should already be in her seat if she had any hope of bringing her imaginings to fruition.
