Page 21 of Let it Crackle
The town square smells like cinnamon sugar and sun-warmed books. Booths line the sidewalk, paperbacks stacked in careful pyramids, banners flapping softly in the afternoon breeze. I sit behind a table dressed in rose linen, pretending I’m not about to pass out from nerves.
Copies of my novella are spread out in front of me. The title gleams in soft gold foil.
I never thought I’d see this day.
“You wrote her grief like it was mine,” a woman says, clutching her copy to her chest. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”
I blink hard. “That means everything,” I say quietly. “Thank you.”
She walks away and I take a shaky breath, heart still pounding. The way people talk about this story—the way theyseethemselves in it—it’s overwhelming. Beautiful. Terrifying.
I don’t even notice the shift in the air until I catch a flicker of black in my peripheral vision.
And then he’s there.
Maddox Cole, striding toward me like he owns the pavement, wearing worn jeans, boots, and the most absurd T-shirt I’ve ever seen in public.
PROPERTY OF THE LIBRARIAN.
My jaw drops.
He smirks and leans down, brushing a kiss to my cheek. “You said I needed to support your booth.”
“Maddox,” I hiss, heat rushing to my face. “That shirt—”
“—is a bestseller,” he finishes, deadpan. “I had three people ask where they can get one.”
I laugh despite myself, cheeks on fire. “You’re the worst.”
“Mm. You love it.” His hand slides down my back, warm and familiar. “Also, you’re killing it. I’m proud of you.”
A teenager passing by glances at my books, then at me. “Hey, uh, you single?”
Without missing a beat, Maddox answers loud enough for the whole booth to hear: “Sorry, she’s checked out permanently.”
The table next to me snorts. I groan and bury my face in my hands. “I can’t take you anywhere.”
He just grins, completely unbothered, like he was made for this chaos. And maybe he was.
The rest of the afternoon flies by in a blur of signed copies, awkward photos, and sugar-dusted donuts. Maddox stays the entire time, running back to the truck for more stock, keeping me fed, touching me like he can’t help himself—his hand on my back, my hip, brushing my wrist like a promise.
By the time the sun starts sinking behind the town hall, my cheeks hurt from smiling. I pack up slowly, my hands lingering on the last copy. I still don’t quite believe it happened.
Maddox helps load everything into the truck, but instead of driving home, he takes a turn I don’t expect.
“Where are we going? I’m really exhausted.” I ask, frowning.
He just winks. “Somewhere familiar. I won’t take long.”
Pretty soon he parks in front of the library.
“Did we forget something here?”
He places a finger on his lips. “Patience, Maya.”
My breath catches as he leads me up the steps, his fingers laced tightly with mine. Inside, the lights are low. The smell of old books wraps around me like a memory. He guides me through the quiet, past the front desk, down the aisles I’ve walked a thousand times.
Until we reach the romance section.
