Page 17 of Love, Lacey Donovan
Color bloomed in Summer’s cheeks. “Sorry.”
I reached out and patted her shoulder. “It’s okay, kiddo.” I’d prefer people ask about my tattoos rather than just gawk. “They’re all real. They all have a story.”
Her eyes lit up as they roamed over my arms. “Do you have them all over?”
“Nah.” I shoved up the sleeve of my T-shirt to show the bare flesh of my shoulder. “Just the sleeves.”
Beckett’s green-brown eyes traced the intricate lines of my tattoos, stirring the flame inside me.
“I want to go upstairs,” Summer said, grabbing his hand.
“Go on up. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Don’t take forever,” she whined.
“I won’t.”
Summer skipped off, leaving us alone in the crowded store. I clutched the Brontë novel to my chest as if it would protect me from Beckett’s scrutiny.
“You’re the dog walker,” he accused.
Adrenaline shot through me as his eyes slowly raked over me, lingering on the bookshop name spelled across my chest before jumping back to mine.
“That’s me.”
His lips curved. “I thought you’d be…” His grin widened. “Never mind.” He shook his head.
I should be used to people judging me. They took one look at my tattoos and nose ring and thought they knew what kind of person I was.
“You thought I’d be what?” I blasted him with an icy squint.
“I don’t know.” A laugh bubbled through his words. “A granny?”
I froze. Confusion scrunched my face. “A what?”
He pointed to his glasses. “I don’t wear these when I lift. I couldn’t really see you.” His eyes moved over my hair, then down my body. “Your voice reminded me of this granny librarian we had at school.”
I patted the curls that had escaped my bun. Tucking them back into place, I started walking again. My heart was doing a crazy pitter-patter, and I needed to move in an attempt to keep up. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I told him. “I love libraries.”
“So, you’re Lacey Donovan?”
I shot him a glare. “I think we established that, Mr. Vinroot.”
“It’s Beckett.”
“Okay, Beckett.” His name on my lips tasted sweet. I savored it for a moment, getting lost in those mossy eyes. After a moment, I snapped out of my trance. “How’s Aslan?”
Beckett frowned. “Annoying.”
“But adorable?”
One eyebrow raised over the black frames of his glasses. “That’s debatable,” he said. “Where did he get that name? He’s a lot more like the Cowardly Lion from Wizard of Oz than a C. S. Lewis creature.”
I couldn’t help being impressed that Beckett knewThe Chronicles of Narnia. The reference to Aslan went right over most people’s heads.
“I named him.” I planted my hands on my hips. “You’re not thinking of returning him?”
Beckett shook his head. “He’s not mine to return. Summer is happy, and Peppy adores him.” He lifted his shoulders. “It doesn’t matter what I think. I’m never home anyway.”
