Page 70 of Battle of the Bookstores

My eyes open. “Hmmm?”

“It would be okay if you came over and said hi sometime. When you’re not busy, I mean,” she adds quickly. “Sometimes my store can get a little…”

“Lonely?”

“I was going to say quiet,” she says. “But that too.”

She sounds so small and sad that I want to roll toward her and scoop her up, pull her against me, and press a kiss to the top of her head.

But of course, I don’t. I stay on my side of the bed, as close to the edge as possible.

“I’ll come say hi,” I whisper.

She yawns, a sweet and intimate sound. “Thanks,” she murmurs.

I close my eyes and drift off, too.

—

I wake toa golden glow behind my eyelids and something warm and soft pressed against my back. My eyes open slowly to see an unfamiliar room, lit by morning light filtering through lacy curtains.

The warm softness against my back? It’s Josie, spooning me from behind. One of her arms is draped over my waist, herfingertips brushing the bare skin on my stomach where my T-shirt has shifted up.

Who would’ve guessed that Josie Klein is a cuddler?

I swallow rapidly and try to figure out what to do. She’s asleep—her deep breathing gives it away, plus I’m sure she wouldn’t be doing this if she was conscious. Yes, we made out last night, and yes, I had my hand under her bra, and she almost took off my pants—but that was last night, in the dark on the beach, with champagne fuzzing our minds. It’s morning now, a new day. Somehow, this seems even more intimate.

My own breathing is shallow. I’m hard and getting harder.

It would be so easy to turn toward her and let nature take its course. See if she comes to me as easily as she did on the beach, eager and hungry. But she made it clear that this wasjust sleeping, and I would never want to make her feel uncomfortable.

But I also can’t stay here getting more and more aroused, so I slowly slide away, pulling the covers off my legs and slipping out of bed as carefully as possible. I glance back as she sighs and shifts onto her back, still asleep. My shoulders drop in relief.

Or disappointment?

I pause, taking in the rare sight of Josie Klein utterly at rest. Her hair is loose and wavy, her cheek creased from the pillow, her eyelashes thick and full. She’s wearing an oversized cotton T-shirt that has what looks like a dictionary entry printed on it.

Abibliophobia

noun.

1. The fear of running out of books to read.

My lips twitch in a smile.

Now there’s my BookshopGirl. No doubt about it.

—

In the bathroom,I grip the edges of the sink and stare at myself in the mirror. My hair is wild, my eyes even more so—I look like a guy whose brain has been thoroughly scrambled.

I started this trip hoping to figure out which side of Josie was real, and now I have my answer: Josie may be icy on the outside, but she’s a warm ball of softness on the inside. What still isn’t clear is what I do now. Specifically, how do I tell her what I know? And when? We’ll be in the car for two hours together this morning heading back to Boston.

But for some reason, my gut is telling menot yet.

I will tell her—I just need to figure out the best way to do it, a way that doesn’t make her feel ambushed or cornered. She just started barely not-hating me; I need to find a way to bridge the gap between the man she thought was her enemy and the guy she knows behind the screen.

Which leaves one more question. What am I hoping for? Assuming Josie finds out and she doesn’t hate me again…what do I want to happen between us?

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