Page 47 of Strictly Pretend

A smile curls at Brooks’ lips. “Isn’t that part of his job?”

“Not really. I can guarantee that at least ninety percent of those books will be useless.” We donate them when they are. But even then they only get charities pennies per book. Nobody wants old books anymore unless they’re collectors. Once upon a time, books were scarce and cherished. Now they’re the literary equivalent of fast food.

“So why does he order them? Is he a hoarder?” Brooks asks.

I take a deep breath. “He’s looking for a very particular book.”

Brooks tips his head to the side, as though he’s intrigued. “What book?”

“It’ll sound stupid,” I tell him. “But it’s really important to Granddad. It’s like his holy grail. Back in the seventies, my Grandma wrote a book of love poetry. It got picked up by this tiny publisher that’s long since gone bust and they ran a really short print run. And when she died, he couldn’t find his copy. He thinks it may have gotten sold by accident. I think it’s more likely that it got thrown out. Either way, he’s determined to find a copy, even though only a hundred were printed almost fifty years ago. So whenever he sees an estate sale or an auction, he scours through it to find out if her book is listed.”

Brooks says nothing, just stares at the road ahead of us. According to his GPS we’re about ten minutes away from theairfield. I didn’t even know there was an airfield here. I guess I never needed to until now.

“Like I said, it’s stupid.”

“It’s not.” He shakes his head. “It’s like his Taj Mahal.”

“Taj Mahal?” I repeat, not quite getting it.

“The beautiful white domed building in Uttar Pradesh. It was built in the seventeenth century by a Mughal emperor to house his wife’s dead body. It cost him millions to build.”

“The Taj Mahal is a tomb? I thought it was a palace.” And now I feel like an idiot. I’m already googling it and he’s right. “How do you know all this?”

“When I was a kid I used to spend a lot of time in my dad’s library. He had these huge encyclopedias. I used to grab one and start reading.”

“For fun?” I ask, teasing him, because I know exactly what he means. I did the same thing in The Vintage Verse when I was a kid. I loved finding out useless facts.

A smile ghosts his lips. “The internet was in its infancy. I had to have my fun offline.”

“I guess he really loved her,” I say.

“Who?”

“The emperor. To build something like that.” I’m staring at the photograph of the iconic building. It’s so beautiful. And I’m stupidly touched that he’s comparing my granddad’s quest to find the poetry book to this.

But he doesn’t respond because we’re pulling through the gates that lead to the airfield. “I’m going to jump in the shower before we take off,” he tells me. “There’s a tiny lounge here. You can get something to eat if you’d like while you wait.”

“Did I tell you I’m petrified of flying?” I ask him.

He pulls into a space in the parking lot and takes his glasses off, turning to look at me. “No.”

I wink at him. “That’s because I’m not. Just wanted to see those pretty eyes of yours.” And they really are pretty, if you like that kind of thing. Even when he’s rolling them at me.

“Come on,” he mutters, releasing his belt. I hit mine at the same time and our arms brush because we’re both leaning in. His skin is so warm it makes me jump.

“Brooks?” I say as he goes to open his door.

“Yeah?”

“This is going to work, right? We won’t look like idiots, will we?” I swallow because for the first time the nerves are really hitting me. It’s too late to back out now without looking like complete assholes. Cassie called me last night to ask what time we’d be landing and to say that her dad arranged for a car to pick us up and drive us straight to the ranch because it’ll be ‘hotter than the gates of hell’ and she wants us to cool down before we join everybody for dinner.

Brooks turns to look at me, those deep blue eyes giving away nothing at all. “Yes, Emma, it’s going to work.”

He sounds sure enough for the both of us. And I’ll take that for now. He leans across me to open the passenger door from the inside, his arm brushing my chest and it makes my breath catch in my throat.

“You okay?” he asks me, like he can feel it too.

“Take your shower,” I tell him as I climb out of his car. “You stink.”

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