Page 49 of The Huckleberry Bookshop

She shrugged, making her eyes big and doubtful.

“And anyway,” he grumbled, “didn’t you have your dress made?”

She laughed. “You must think they pay me a lot more than they do.” She shook her head. “Consignment shop that specializes in designer items.”

“Huh. Good find.”

“Thanks.” She’d had to let out the gown in several areas, but thankfully there’d been enough material that she’d been able to do so.

“Very jazz lounge,” he said, scanning her curves as though imagining her in the dress again.

“I was thinking blues.”

“Yeah, I could see that.”

Their fingers touched while reaching for the light switch, and Chad let his hand linger over hers, the light from the bedroom casting his face in a soft warm glow.

She wanted to step closer, lean into him and press her lips to his.

Mullens thought Athena was going to kiss him. But then she shot past him, ducking under his arm and exiting the bedroom like her underwear was on fire.

“It’s getting late,” she said. “I should go.”

He caught her hand, slowing her. “We’re not done the tour.”

“Chad…”

“One more thing. And I think you’ll get a kick out of it.”

She dropped her shoulders and sagged.

“Come on, trust me, Tina.”

He opened yet another door, near the entry where they’d come in only twenty minutes ago.

Athena’s jaw slackened and he let go of her hand as she moved into the room as though pulled by a magnet. His home library. Bookcases took up the two side walls and two perfectly broken-in, cozy armchairs faced a fireplace. Coffee table. A few plants and a forgotten bottle of water.

“You read?” She turned to him, eyes wide.

“Most people do, Tina.”

She shook her head. “No, they don’t. And they sure don’t have an entire room dedicated to it.”

“Well, I don’t have kids. Had to fill the room somehow.”

He watched as she ran her fingers reverently along a row of book spines, pausing to tap a few, take a couple out to check the covers. Her sudden need to leave had evaporated like dew on a Texas summer morning. She headed to a stack on the table beside an armchair and picked up the hardcover on top, a biography. “This what you’re reading right now?”

“One of several.” Obviously, she hadn’t noticed the books on his bedside table. Or on the coffee table in the living room. It was one of the dangers of living alone. You had to fill the space and time somehow.

She flipped it open to where his bookmark rested, and skimmed a few paragraphs. “Hmm. You’re at the best part.”

“Don’t spoil it for me.”

“Never.” She set the book down again.

After several minutes she left the room with what sounded like a whispered promise to return.

“One more thing,” he said. He doubled back the way they’d come, skipping over a door they’d passed when she’d wanted to flee, minutes ago.

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