Page 2 of Erase Me
“It’s not technically yours until you pay for it.”
The handsome stranger put a hand on my elbow and nodded toward an elderly woman collecting payments at a table a few steps away.I shoved a hand into my jacket pocket and flashed my credit card.
The young mother pointed to the sign next to the box.“Cash only.”
Cash.I patted the jacket and my short pockets.I had no cash.
My rival for the book held out her hand.“I’ll take that from you, thank you very much,”
She didn’t know me.I wasn’t one to retreat from battle.“Is there an ATM anywhere near here?”
“For God’s sake, it’s twenty-five cents.”She bounced her complaining child on her back.“I don’t have all day.Let me have it.”
“No.”I clutched the book tighter in my chest.
“I’ve got it,” the handsome stranger interrupted, holding up a ten-dollar bill.
“You don’t have to do that.”
He shook his head and handed the money to the cashier, telling the white-haired woman to keep the change.He tried to take the book out of my hand, but I was clutching it tight.
“I promise to return it to you.”
I let go and watched him as he made a show of sliding it into a brown paper bag he’d picked up off the table.He handed it to me as mother and toddler huffed off.
“Are you two together?”the library volunteer asked, amused.
“Maybe,” he said with a wink.He turned to me.“You promised to feed me, didn’t you?”
Confident.Definitely confident.And charming.
We made our way through the crowd and stopped in front of a vendor’s table piled high with fresh artisan bread.The scent of herbs, garlic, and sourdough wafted in the air.
“You paid too much,” I told him.
“Bailing you out of jail would have cost much more.”
“It wouldn’t have gone that far.”
“Yes, it would have.I saw the flash in your eyes.You were ready to flatten that woman.”
Shrugging my shoulders, I smiled.“Okay, a dollar would have been a fair price.”I held the bag out to him.“You overpaid and the bookistechnically yours.”
“No.Add it to your Austen collection when you get home.”He glanced at a red trolley that rang a bell as it moved down Del Mar on the other side of the line of tents.“Wherever home is.”
He was fishing for information.I had my book.I could have walked away.But I didn’t, waiting to see what his next move was.
Del Mar was a pretty, tree-lined street of small shops and restaurants.The abundance of red-tile roofs and white stucco walls made it picture-perfect Southern California.El Camino Real, the original Spanish road that connected missions and small forts, crossed Del Mar at the top of the street, forming a tee.From where I was standing, the road ran down to the ocean, where a long heavy-timbered pier guarded miles of white sand beaches.In short, San Clemente was gorgeous.
“Are you hungry?”he asked.
“Starved.”
“Can I buy you breakfast?Or is it lunch already?”
I glanced at the clock tower over the library and was surprised to learn how much of the day was already gone.
“Lunch is on me, so long as they accept credit cards,” I told him.
