Page 36 of The Unbound Bookshop
Then there were days like today. Days when the realization of what he’d done—what he’d given up—crushed him with so much force, he couldn’t breathe.
After her fall, he’d wanted to keep an eye on her, so he’d dragged a deck chair beside hers, insisting this side of the boat had the best fishing conditions. While he wasn’t convinced she’d bought his ruse entirely, she hadn’t protested, either. They’d nibbled on crackers and caviar, sitting in companionable silence while he caught their dinner and Sage read her book.
He’d half expected her to decline when he placed her worn copy ofThe Curious Quest of Quinley Culpepperon her lap. A glint of surprise had flashed in her eyes, but then she’d smiled and opened the book to the first page, which she probably had memorized by now.
While she read, she occasionally broke concentration for a snack or soda break, and he’d steal the opportunity to insert a casual remark, hoping to spark some conversation. To his delight, she took the bait, and they chatted about random topics, off and on, as if their truce had somehow transcended the treasure hunt.
As if, at least temporarily, she’d forgiven him.
For those few precious hours, being together came easily, without angst or tension. He’d sunk into her presence like a dip in a healing hot spring, savoring each second, knowing it wouldn’t last.
But oh, how he wished it would.
And from the way Cap soaked up her attention, he did, too.
The wind fluttered the pages of her novel, and Sage paused from petting Cap to find her spot.
“How many times have you read that book?” he asked, knowing it had to be in the double digits, at least.
“About a hundred,” she confessed with a sheepish smile. “But it never gets old.”
“Speaking of old.” He flipped another fillet, then gestured toward the book with the spatula. “You know you can pay someone to re-cover that, right?”
“I know.” She placed her finger in the spine and gingerly closed the book to admire the faded title page. “I like it this way. There’s something special about an unbound book. As if the story isn’t confined by a clear beginning and end. Like it exists in a universe with infinite possibilities. Even when you think it’s over, it never really is. It reminds me that a good story lives forever, in our hearts and minds.”
Despite the fish sizzling and blackening on the grill, he couldn’t tear his gaze from Sage’s face. As she spoke, her features softened, and her pale-green eyes sparkled. He’d glimpsed a similar dreamy expression the first time she went below deck, as ifMiraand her love of literature stirred something deep and profound in her soul. As if books and this boat evoked the same sense of awe and wonder that sailing sparked in his heart.
The sudden undeniable, overwhelming urge to kiss her consumed his thoughts. His pulse quickened, and his skin prickled, itching to be near her, to feel the curve of her cheek against his palm.
He wanted to share in her passions. Her hopes. Her dreams. In every aspect of her life. But he’d given up that right. He’d thrown it away, as if it meant nothing to him. As if the decision didn’t tear his heart in two, every second of every day.
He cleared his throat. “That’s a cool way to look at it.”
Even when you think it’s over, it never really is.
Her words echoed in his mind. Oh, how he wished she were talking about the two of them, not a work of fiction.
He scooped the crispy halibut off the grill and slid them onto a plate to cool. Cap scampered over to him and sat on his haunches, gazing up at him with round, pleading eyes, oblivious to his internal torment.
“Okay, okay. You don’t have to beg.” Flynn tore off a generous chunk, blew on it a few times and checked for bones, then tossed it to Cap.
The happy pup eagerly gobbled up the treat.
Flynn caught Sage observing the exchange with a curious expression. “What?” he asked. “Do you think I spoil him? Because if that’s what you’re thinking, you’re right.”
“It’s not that. It’s just a little strange watching you two together. I never thought of you as a dog person.”
“So, you’ve thought about me, huh?” he teased.
“IfI’ve thought about you”—she matched his playful tone—“which I’m neither confirming nor denying, there’s a high probability it wasn’t fondly.”
“Ouch.” He clutched his chest as if he’d been wounded, hamming up the humor while his gut knotted with regret. “But fair,” he added with a wry grin, trying to be a good sport. He deserved every jab she threw, in jest or otherwise. “And you’re right, by the way. I wasn’t a dog person before Cap. I didn’t have time for a dog. Or a goldfish. Or a cactus.”
“What changed?” She closed the book and let it rest in her lap, not bothering to save her spot.
“It’s a long story.” He tossed Cap another hunk of halibut.
“Well, I’m clearly not going anywhere.” She gestured to her ankle and smiled.
