Page 26 of The Accidental Beauty Queen
Gray Beckham.
My stomach does a little tumble.
The book-quoting charmer has an actual name, and it’s not Fitzwilliam Darcy. My literary heart should probably be disappointed, but it’s not. Gray Beckham is an undeniably sexy name. Very manly. Very 007.
God, what is wrong with me?
The heat in my face intensifies.
Say something.
This is officially the longest three minutes of my life. A million things I should be saying right now are spinning in my head, but I can’t seem to articulate any of them. I just want to ask him questions.
Tell me about yourself, Mr. Beckham.
Ginny is going to murder me.
“So.” He shifts his gaze to the binder open in front of him. “It says here that you’re...”
I take a deep breath. Thank God for the questionnaire. At least it will give us some talking points.
“...an Instagram ‘spokesperson.’ ” His brow furrows ever so slightly.
I can hear his air quotes dangling around the wordspokesperson. We both know that’s code formodel. He probably thinks there are a million bikini pics of me all over the internet.
There wouldn’t be anything wrong with that, obviously. What a woman does with her body is her own choice. Go, feminism!
It’s just very much not me, and I can tell he’s struggling to reconcile this image with the one of me speaking to him in book quotes, wearing a Hogwarts T-shirt, and blushing furiously at the nickname Hermione.
Not that I can blame him. I’m trying to figure out how to wrap my own mind around it long enough to make him believe it makes sense.
“Yes.” I nod. “But it’s only temporary.”
What am I saying?
“I’d like to be a librarian someday.” I’m treading on thin ice, skating between an identity that’s neither mine nor Ginny’s. What’s worse is I don’t even know why I’m straying from the script.
Yes, you do, a tiny voice whispers from somewhere deep inside.
I don’t want to feel invisible again. Not now. Not with him. I want him to see me. The real me.
I like him. So much so that I decide to overlook the fact that he’s a pageant judge.
God knows why. I barely know the man. I just know that the few encounters we’ve had have left me breathless. And I haven’t met a man who I’ve found interesting in a long, long time. I slammed the door on romance the day I shoved my wedding gown to the back of my closet. But somehow our quirky conversations have cracked that door open. Just a smidge. Barely enough to let the light in...
But that’s something, isn’t it?
“A librarian. I can see that.” He lets out a laugh, and for a moment I’m back in that stairwell with my heart in my throat as he winks at me.Later, Hermione. “So what’s your favorite book?”
“Wow, that question is almost impossible. I love the Harry Potter series. And Austen.” I flash a smile. “As you know.”
Oh my God, I’mflirting. This has to be against the rules.
Right, like you haven’t already broken every pageant rule in existence by now?
My palms are sweating. And I know I need to reel it in, to get things back on track, but I can’t.
“But if I had to choose just one, I’d probably sayJane Eyre. I read it when I was eleven—my first classic—and I’ve been in love with it ever since. It’s my comfort read. I always pick it up when I’m feeling down.” I swallow. “Or lonely.”
