Page 58 of Better Than the Movies
Ugh—“The” Diner.My lies were really becoming difficult to manage. “What can I say? I like money.”
I felt my breath hitch as I looked at him. He was wearing a button-down plaid shirt—not casual plaid flannel, mind you, but, like, aniceshirt. And it was paired with perfect pants and leather shoes that looked like they belonged on a fancy boat. He looked beautiful and classy, like someone who could successfully win an argument without raising his voice.
I bit down on my lower lip and tried not to stare at his perfect face. “Is there something I can help you find?”
His smile turned into a self-deprecating, embarrassed smirk. “I’m looking for a book. It showed up as available online, but it isn’t in the section.”
“What book?”
He looked like he didn’t want to tell me. He put his hands in his pockets and said, “Okay, don’t laugh. I’m looking forThe Other Miss Bridgertonby Julia Quinn.”
I rolled my lips inward and tilted my head, trying to figure out what the story was. I’d read that book—I mean, I’d read all of the Bridgerton novels—but historical romances were typically read by women. “Why would I laugh? That’s a great book.”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you being sarcastic?”
“Not at all. I love everything Quinn has ever written.”
His mouth loosened a little in relief. “You’re judging me for reading them because I’m a guy, though, aren’t you?”
Hmmm… let’s see. A guy who reads romance—really, really good romance? Someone who doesn’t care about labels and loses himself in books about clever, funny heroines and the men who appreciate their individuality?
No judgment here. A little light-headed smittenness, perhaps, but no judgment.
I casually rested my hand over my horrible nose and said, “Absolutely not. I’m kind of curious how you picked them up, but I sincerely think they’re of Jane Austen quality.”
That made his mouth curl in a tease. “You don’t think that’s maybe a stretch?”
“Trust me, Michael, you don’t want to debate this with me. I’ve got a four-hour shift in front of me and an obsessive love of romance books. You can’t win this one.”
He gave a chuckle that reached his eyes, squinting them in the warmest way. “Noted. And for the record, it all started with a bet.”
“As all good things do.” Before the last word left my lips, an image of Wes’s face popped into my head. All day long I’d been replaying our phone call, the gravelly sleepiness of his voice as we’d watchedMiss Congenialitytogether from two separate houses.
Michael laughed again, and just like that I was back in the present and we were both smiling all over each other next to the secondhand Judy Blume section. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and said, “A friend of mine challenged me to readThe Duke and Ia few years ago. She put money on the idea that if I actually read it, I would like it.”
I loved that book. “And that was it?”
“That was it.” He gave me a sheepish smile and said, “Besides, what’s more fun than a story that starts with a fake relationship?”
Every fiber of my being wanted to laugh maniacally at the words he’d just spoken, but I nodded and said, “I wholeheartedly agree.”
“Youdoknow that your hand isn’t doing anything to cover your nose, right? I can still see it.”
I rolled my eyes, which made him grin. I dropped my handand said, “It’s just so atrocious that I can’t help but try to cover it, y’know?”
“I get it, but it doesn’t look bad at all compared to last night. Maybe a little swollen, but that’s it.”
“Thanks. You know, for lying to me.” I owned a mirror, so his words only served to confirm that he was as nice as he’d ever been. And that accent? Oh, baby. I gestured for him to follow me. I knew exactly where to find the book he was looking for, and it was on the other side of the store. “I do think itisshrinking, even though it’s still Potato Head-y.”
“Agreed.”
“So how are your parents?” I glanced over my shoulder. “Catch me up.”
“Well, the folks are good,” he started, and I wondered if his parents were still super serious. I had blurry memories of thick glasses and frowning mouths.
“Do you still have cats?” I’dlovedthat he liked cats better than dogs. It had been another reason why he always seemed smarter than the rest of the neighborhood kids. “Purrkins and Mr. Squishy?”
“I can’t believe you remember their names.” He was grinning again, looking the kind of happy that made me want to eat his face off. “Squish lives with my grandma now, but Purrkins still resides with us, tormenting us on the daily with his shitty cat attitude.”
