Page 64 of A Novel Love Story

“Frank said it’ll take a few days,” I said, training my eyes on the damp towel in my lap, because Pru always said she could tell when I lied by the look on my face. Like I was in pain.

“A few days,” he repeated, his voice purposefully level. I couldn’t glean whether or not he was excited or disappointed. I hated that—he was so hard to read. If this was a book, I’d know him intimately, but now I was just feeling around in the dark.

“Apparently the town doesn’t want me to go,” I joked, and flashed him a hesitant smile.He doesn’t have to know.

I expected him to sigh dramatically, and complain about me staying in his perfect town a little longer, but he didn’t. He looked conflicted, however, and that seemed to surprise him. He cleared his throat and pushed himself off the side of the bookcase. “Well, I can’t say that I’m not … looking forward to having someone else in the bookstore for a little while longer,” he said, looking back at his cat. “You can have the loft for as long as you need.”

The fact that I could still stay here filled me with both happiness and a particular kind of dread.

“I promise I won’t be trouble,” I told him, and he didn’t seem all that convinced.

“You’re already tracking water all through my bookstore, Elsy,” he said, motioning to the trailing puddles of water. “I think we’re well past trouble.”

Surprised, I looked down at my damp self. “You don’t like wet T-shirt contests?” I asked, feigning hurt. “I’m just practicing.”

He gave me a look, the first one that wasn’t level, wasn’t controlled, and there was heat behind it. The kind I remembered from last night. “Get up,” he said, and his tone brooked no argument, “you’re soaking through the couch.”

I popped to my feet. “I’ll go change,” I said, and started to move around him when I realized that all of my clothes were dirty. I stopped, and turned back to him. “Actually, you wouldn’t happen to have a washer and dryer, would you? I didn’t expect to stay somewhere without one, so I only packed a handful of clothes …”

He tilted his head. “I hope your underwear situation is different.”

“Seven pairs, for each day of the week,” I swore.

He chuckled, amused, and my heart did a little flip in my chest. I liked the way he laughed, soft and rumbly and warm, like—

Likebutterscotch.

“Come on, I think I have something that’ll fit you,” he replied, nudging his head toward the back of the bookstore, toward his house, and I gratefully followed him. He let me borrow some sweatpants and a T-shirt while I shoved my damp jeans and soggy shirt in his washer. His sweatpants were too big, so I had to roll the waistband down a few times,and the T-shirt was laughably threadbare, sporting the wordsCHESS CLUB CHAMPIONSHIPfrom fifteen years ago.

“Yours?” I asked, fingering the embroidered initials on the shirt pocket.A.S.

He shrugged. “I was decent.”

Then left for the bookstore again.

I pulled my damp hair into a high bun and situated my bangs as best I could, but they were already curling in unruly directions on my forehead. Despite myself, I lifted the collar of his T-shirt to my nose and breathed it in. His shirt smelled like he did, like his jacket had the night before—of cedarwood and old books.A. S.—I’d seen those initials before, I know I had. Just in which book?

My mind was blanking on me, and it wasn’t like I could consult the books.

They wereallblank.

If I had cell service, the book club would know. Benji would have it highlighted, guaranteed. He was an editor at some major publishing house, after all. And Olivia would probably know how to get Ruby and Jake back together. Janelle could pluck random facts out of thin air like a walking wikipedia page. Aditi was a whiz at research. I could really use their advice right about now.

My phone sat on the side of the washer in his laundry room, at full charge since I couldn’t do anything with it. I’m sure Pru had posted to the chat about Iceland and her trip, and everyone else about their life commitments, all wondering why I hadn’t commented. Maybe Pru had told them we had an argument. Maybe she told them I’d gone up to the cabin alone, and everyone knew that cell service at the cabin was spotty at best—

They wouldn’t be worried. Not yet.

I was alone.

Pushing my bangs out of my eyes, I told myself not to panic. Romance writers made happily ever afters all the time.

How hard could it be?

21

Sweet Tooth

FIRST THINGS FIRST: FIND RUBY.

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