Page 11 of Under the Mistletoe
She stood but seemed to freeze in place as she stared at one of the upper shelves. After a moment, she reverently pulled a book from the shelf and turned around. Her wide eyes were fixed on the purple cover of his third novel. “Howdo you have this book?”
Everyone stared at him. Well, that was subtle. But Devin’s eyes were still fixed on the book like it might disappear if she looked away.
“We have all three. Victor Holt is one of my favorite authors.” His mom pulled his first two novels off the shelf. First holding up the dark-blue cover ofThe Keeper, then the green cover ofThe Fighter. Then pointed toThe Defender, still in Devin’s hands, as if it were the most natural thing. And to her, it was. Because she didn’t track his release dates. She got his books when he dropped them off.
“But how do you havethisone?” Devin ran her hand over the cover. “This isThe Defender.As in book three. As in this book doesn’t release for another month. Rumor has it they didn’t release any early copies. Do you know how much people would pay for this?”
His mom’s eyes widened slightly as if she realized what she’d revealed, and she placed the first two in the series back on the shelf.
“Maybe we should sell it on eBay.” His dad chuckled, obviously trying to help redirect. “I could pay for these overpriced couches Ann had to have. Does it help that it’s signed?”
Logan nearly choked on—well, nothing. Maybe redirecting had been optimistic. What were his parents doing to him?
“A signed book by Victor Holt? You can’t be serious.” She started to open the cover but paused and looked at his mom. “May I?”
“By all means.” His mom stared at him as if trying to send him a telepathic message. But what did she want him to do, admit he was Victor Holt to anyone who they had over for dinner?
“How did you get this?” She opened the cover and gawked at his signature. Thankfully it was simply a signature and not anything personalized. “He doesn’t do signings. I mean?—”
“Can I guess you’re a fan?” This was from Austin, Libby’s husband, who had been sitting quietly in one of the recliners with Sophie on his lap. His dark hair was a strong contrast to his daughter’s blonde curls, but their gray eyes were the same.
“You could say that.” Devin’s eyes were fixed on his signature as her finger traced it. Was her hand shaking?
Wasn’t that a kicker? Devin, who had never noticed Logan Kingsley, was nearly hyperventilating over his pen name. Guess it was a good thing he hadn’t shared Cal’s full name.
“Sorry.” Devin closed the book and returned it to the shelf. She pressed her hands onto the sides of her face, which was two shades redder than it had been a moment ago. “Let me try that again. How were you able to acquire that?”
When no one answered, Libby spoke up as she pulled Rose onto her lap. “We’ve known Victor Holt since he was a child.”
His dad seemed to be biting back a smile. “Practically one of the family.”
“You could say he’s like a son to me.” His mother’s face was the picture of innocence. “In fact,Loganknows him better than any of us.”
He shot a look at his mom then his sister, who’d started this, but she just smirked. Did the NDA they’d all signed mean nothing to them? He wasn’t ready to go to jail or pay the hefty fine. He glanced at Devin to tell her it was all a joke—a not-funny joke—but the look in her eyes stopped him.
She blinked at him with big blue eyes. “You really know Victor Holt?”
And for just a second, he was tempted to tell all because he wanted to be the one to put that look in her eye. Not his brother. Not the mysterious Victor Holt. Him.
Okay, maybe he wasn’t a hundred percent over her.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I know him.”
“I can’t believe Victor Holt is our age. I always imagined he was some old man hiding away in a cabin, being dark and broody.”
“Not too far off,” Luke mumbled from next to him, and Logan nudged his shoulder, but Devin didn’t seem to see or hear him since her attention was back on the spine.
“You can borrow it if you want.” His mom walked over and pulled it off the shelf again.
“I couldn’t.” She shook her head.
“You must. We’ve all read it, and it’s a good one.” She held it out until Devin finally took it.
His phone buzzed. It was his editor. He glanced at the text.
Sandy
Sorry. I meant to email you. Let’s connect tomorrow. 2 pm Eastern.
