Page 24 of Lessons in Heartbreak

I smacked his hand away, and he had the audacity to chuckle. Before I could speak, he grabbed the black-and-pink book again. “You read this?”

“Not yet.”

“Maybe you should.” He flipped idly through the pages, his eyebrows rising in interest at whatever he saw. “Maybe it would help you with ... whatever ...”

The way his voice trailed off, like he could drop breadcrumbs and I’d follow along, finally unleashed the eye roll I’d kept on such a tight leash.

Inexplicably, his smile grew, and I found myself tugging lightly on the hem of my pastel-blue cardigan to make sure it lay smoothly on my hips. Underneath it was my favorite silk blouse of the same color.

And now, thanks to him, I’d think of Griffin every time I put it on.

“You look lovely in that color.”

A sharp clearing of my throat effectively snipped the memory of his voice from my mind.

“I have a professional for ‘whatever,’” I reminded him.

His eyebrows shot up. “You’re still going to use him? He was a tool.”

“You cannot possibly know that. You spoke to him for less than five minutes.”

“Yeah, I can. I have amazing douchebag radar.” He tapped the side of his temple. “Believe me, it was going off loud and clear after you bolted.”

I tilted my head. “I bolted because you deceived me.”

Griffin’s big hand lay over his chest, and my eyes flicked briefly to the veins roping the back of that hand. “Deceptionis a very strong word, birdy. If he hadn’t shown up, I would have told you the truth.”

“Easy to say now.” One of our regulars wandered down the aisle, and I smiled in her direction when she stopped to peruse some book at the end of the row we shared.

Griffin nudged my shoulder with his arm and angled his head one aisle over. We walked around in silence, but I decided to add in another row between us and anyone else, just to have a buffer.

He paused to study the books in this aisle. “World War Two?” he asked.

I nodded. “Some great ones in here, if you like history.”

“Only history I usually pay attention to is in the film room,” he answered, still studying the spines. His gaze lingered on a couple, but he didn’t pick up anything else.

It was easier, it seemed, for him to tease me when the topic was something he felt like he could joke about. A tell if I’d ever seen one.

“How long is your vacation?” I asked.

He sighed heavily. “Two and a half weeks.”

A reluctant grin tugged at my lips. “Sounds like a hardship. I can see why you’re so upset.”

“I already worked out for three hours this morning.” His focus stayed firmly on the books, and I watched, with involuntary fascination, to see which ones seemed to snag his interest. “I played solitaire for another hour. My brain will rot if I don’t find something to do.”

“Your brain will not rot from having a relaxing vacation.”

“Easy for you to say,” he tossed back, leaning his big shoulder against the bookshelf and staring down at me again. “Does this mean I can’t come hang out with you at work?”

“Not a chance.”

He grinned widely, and there was an answering flare of heat so bright behind my chest bone that I tore my eyes away from his face.

“Here,” I said, pulling a book down from the shelf in front of me. “Add this to your pile.”

“Against All Odds,” he read. “What’s this one about?”

---