Page 78 of Country Charm

She had mentioned getting this cart after seeing my mother’s first-edition shelf. Wanting to make a small addition in her home similar to that effect but not taking up too much room, since she doesn’t have much to spare.

Each of the books in this cart matches the pile in the living room. This cart is full of Cassidy’s best spent time. It’s her most precious pastime, her favorite fictional moments, but she’s updating them with new ones. The thought crosses my mind that she is doing it for the aesthetics, but I think I know her better than that.

She likes how worn her books are. They add character and a personal touch that is specific to her. She doesn’t mind new books if they’re new to her, or if there is something unfamiliar about them. Fresh cover art, a new special edition epilogue, or hardcover versus paperback.

Grabbing three of the books off her cart, I make my way back to the living room to compare the pile on the floor and the books she has tucked away in her room. The wear is apparent from the cover alone, and once the pages startturning, I can smell the difference, too. The glue on the binding of the new books is fresh and scentless, whereas Cassidy’s favorites have the loved old book smell. The pages are bright white and starchy, while her older, well-loved books have a softened feel and a creamy hue. Other than these few characteristics, the books are basically the same.

I don’t see Cassidy caring much for the vanity of her library or books, since they serve her an actual purpose. They’re her life outside of work. They’re her escape from reality. They’re her adventures and memories.

The new books have some purpose, and it’s not my place to figure it out. I start gathering all the books together and putting the originals back in their place.

Once back in her front room, I finish looking through the mysterious pile of repeaters. The last one isGone Girl, which Cassidy and I had recently covered. I flip the book open, and there’s a note on a piece of paper nestled between the first few pages. The writing can be best described as scribble, and I chuckle.

I’m sure this book is in your mother’s library if she likes it. Thought maybe you should have your own and then you can understand what I’m talking about when I go on and on about it. More books to come.

Glitter Girl >_<

I actually hate that I wrote that.

-C. Walker

Much better

Glitter Girl.I like it. It suits her in more ways than she thinks. Plopping down on the couch, I flip through the first few pages before sleep takes me. There has been tension in the air and on my shoulders for the last few days and suddenly, the urge to close my eyes and rest wins.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Hunter

Iwake up to a loud crash and a string of curses. Cassidy is dumping bags onto the floor in a completely unorganized fashion. Once her arms are free, she lets out a heavy breath and places her hands on her hips. Her meadow-green eyes catch the sunlight peeking from the windows behind and over her shelves. Her gaze drags from her mess on the floor over to me, lying on her couch with a book on my chest.

“Hey, stranger,” she drawls in her best southern accent.

“Hey, yourself,” I counter, exaggerating my own. A smile tugs at her lips, but it looks more sad than happy. A smile like that is like a kick in the balls. I would rather see her fuming than how she is now.

Cassidy leaves all her things at the doorway and takes careful steps toward me. She’s wearing jeans that look like they’ve been with her for more than a decade—worn, soft, and comfortable. A simple black band tee, a band I don’t recognize, but I couldn’t care less, because under the logo I notice she’s braless.

The way she moves as she slinks through the space reminds me of a large cat. She’s cautious, meticulous, and calculated. I feel like I should hold my breath between each step. Time feels like it’s moving slower than usual. We haven’t said another word, and I’m not sure what to say next.

Do I apologize again?

“Cassidy,” I start. She’s standing right over me, the light catching the glitter in her hair as the sun beams through. I push up on my elbows and her slender hand pushes my shoulder back down. She lifts a leg and throws it over mine, straddling me on her couch.

Just as I’m about to apologize, she bends forward and her brown hair falls like curtains framing her perfect face. She smells like cotton and fresh soap, but not her own. She must have used whatever they had at the Airbnb. I’m surprised she didn’t pack her own.

“I’m s—” Her plush lips press against mine mid-word; she knows what I’m going to say, and she doesn’t want to hear it. I shouldn’t be surprised. In a lot of ways, Cassidy takes confrontation head-on, but when it comes to a relationship, when it comes to us, she is downright avoidant.

I could easily take over this situation and end what Cassidy has started, but I want to give her this control. Giving her control over this situation buys me some time with her.

I could take off the edge of whatever it is she’s feeling. It could bring her a sense of comfort because she feels most comfortable with our physical interactions.

She slides her tongue out past her lips and coaxes mine to join hers. It doesn’t take much convincing, I willingly open my mouth and invite her in.

Cassidy is greedy and demanding, but somehow gentle and sweet. I meet her stroke for stroke and our tongues dance in an easy sequence. It’s like we’ve been kissing for ages instead of just a month. I think about how easily I could kiss this woman for the rest of my life and feel satisfied.

As if she can pick up on my latent motions, she presses her lips hard to mine before pulling back with my bottom lip captured between her teeth.

My eyes open and I see a fierceness in hers.Pay attention, they say.

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