The corner ticked up. “Really,” he said in a flat, but teasing tone as he pretended not to believe me.
I nodded.
Ryan fought his smile. “I don’t think I got the message. Maybe you should try again.” He tapped his cheek.
Without a moment of thought,” I leaned in to kiss his cheek again. As soon as my lips pressed just above his jaw, Ryan turned his head and kissed me square on the mouth.
I laughed as I tipped backward against the shelf, but the books were there to catch me. Ryan kissed me again—softer, slower, and deeper this time. Each stroke of his tongue against mine was languid and lazy.
Paper tumbled to the ground as Ryan dropped the books in his arm and grabbed my hands, pinning them to the shelves.
“The books!” I gasped.
“I’ll buy them,” he growled as he laced our hands together and kissed me again and again.
When we finally broke for air, I was dazed. Ryan Ford was the most potent, addictive drug.
And I wanted more.
Ryan traced the tip of his nose up the bridge of mine. “I already kissed you this morning. And you just gave me more.”
“Yeah. Well, I wanted more.”
My hands fell as he let them go and cupped my cheeks. “How much more do you want?”
I opened my mouth to ask for it, because I believed, in the deepest part of my soul, that he would give it to me.
But I didn’t.
Fear is a mythical beast. It’s a tale. A legend. A fable. It’s the wind rustling through the trees that makes you believe a cryptid is hunting you. It’s the shadow stalking you that keeps you frozen in the corner, without realizing that the shadow is you.
People underestimate the power of stories, just like they underestimate the power of fear.
And what people often fear most, is being unlovable. It’s the tallest tale, but it’s the one that makes you afraid of the dark.
Instead of answering Ryan’s question, I eased onto my tiptoes and kissed his cheek one more time. “Thank you for planning this.”
I dipped back into the romance section and focused on picking the best stories until the shelves no longer buckled under the weight of the books.
I could barely see the checkout counter when Ryan and I headed back to the front of the bookshop.
Thankfully, the owner had been keeping tabs as Ryan brought down each stack, and had the total waiting for us. He had even sorted the books by genre and packed them neatly in spare boxes. My eyes bugged out at the triple digit total. Most of the books were just a dollar or two. But Ryan just handed his card over without a moment of hesitation.
We loaded up the trunk and backseat of my car, and headed for the first Little Free Library.
Homes littered with bikes, balls, and chalk-scribbled driveways surrounded the little nook. We stuffed it full with children’s and middle grade books, and a few adult titles, then headed for the next one.
I slid my hand into Ryan’s as he navigated suburban streets to the next stop. I had already loaded up my arms with romances and thrillers for this one, and was back in the car in a flash.
“We may have gone a little overboard at the bookstore,” I said as I craned around the seat and looked at the mountain of books we still had to distribute.
Ryan found my hand and held it, stroking his thumb across the top in a gentle rhythm. “That’s all right. We’ll have to replenish all of the libraries eventually. We can come back in a few days and see which boxes need to be topped off.”
I rested my head on his shoulder. “This was a really good idea.”
We made the next few stops in companionable silence, simply enjoying a windows-down drive with good music on the radio.
The last three little libraries put a big dent in the book haul. They were large and were completely empty, so we put a little bit of everything in them.
