“But instead, you’re standing in front of the card rack looking like you’re diffusing a bomb.”
I glance at him flatly.
“I don’t know what women like.”
That earns me a bark of laughter.
“You slept with the librarian and suddenly forgot how shopping works?”
Heat crawls unexpectedly up the back of my neck.
Because yeah.
Maybe I did.
The second I dropped London off yesterday, I started missing her.
Which is… new.
Annoyingly new.
I scrub one hand over my jaw before abandoning the cards entirely and wandering toward the coffee aisle instead.
That at least feels safer.
London likes coffee.
Correction:
London practically had a religious experience over coffee.
A smile threatens at the memory of her wrapped in my blanket, moaning over espresso like she’d ascended to another plane of existence.
Christ.
I’m grinning in public now.
This woman is ruining me.
“Need help?” Hank asks, leaning against the counter.
I glance between the shelves.
The selection in Swift Mountain General Store isn’t exactly extensive.
Still, I eventually grab:
• locally roasted dark beans
• cinnamon biscotti
• a ridiculously oversized fuzzy pair of reading socks with little books on them
The socks are objectively ridiculous.
London will probably love them.
Then, after another minute of hesitation, I grab a small leather-bound journal from the impulse rack near the register too.
