Page 89 of Book and Ladder
“We didn’t …” The words rasp out, raw, uneven. I run a hand through my hair, looking anywhere but into the eyes of the man who just kissed me.
“Daisy … I’m … I’m sorry.”
He’ssorry? We kissed, and he’s sorry? I thought I had reached the bottom of how much Patrick could humiliate me. But apparently not. Because right now, heat is flooding my cheeks and I want to relocate to Siberia or Mongolia or any place that ends inuhand doesn’t involve ever having to face Patrick O’Connell again.
I step back quickly, “That was a mistake. Obviously.” I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand. “I mean. It never happened, actually.”
Patrick stares at me, silently sizing me up. There’s a note of pleading in his eyes, or maybe I’m just wishing for one.
“You wish you hated me less,” he says, his eyes still dilated and hooded.
“Youwish I hated you less,” I volley. “I’m perfectly content with my feelings for you.”
His voice sounds nearly sincere when he asks, “Am I really that unbearable?”
His fingertips raise as if on their own volition and brush over his lips. His eyes bore into mine.
Okay. So what? Patrick’s a good kisser. Fair. A fair kisser. Passable. That doesn’t make him a good person.
“You’re definitely the worst,” I assure him.
He smiles impishly. “The worst …” He shakes his head and steps backward. “I’ll just move my truck.”
“Please—move your truck, please,” I say, waving toward the collection of Tonka trucks blocking my parking lot. “And all those things.” I desperately need to gain control of something—anything.
“As you wish,” Patrick says, quoting one of my favorite movies, and ironically, the book the host ofBurning Through the Pageswill be speaking about this week on his podcast.
I squint at Patrick and for one crazy second I wonder … No. Absolutely not.
“You’re infuriating,” I add, before I turn and walk toward my car.
I hear his retort even though he says it under his breath. “And you drive me out of my mind.”
I watch Patrick as he walks away toward the curb. My lips tingle. For a split second, I didn’t hate him. It’s been a while since I’ve been kissed. That’s all. It’s not that his kiss was so much better than any other I’ve ever experienced. It’s the drought. Any water will quench parched ground. It’s absolutely not Patrick O’Connell, the most infuriating human on earth.
I’m so rattled, I don’t know my own mind. I was going somewhere when he ambushed me.
“And kissed me,” I remind myself.
“Shhhh.” I chide.
The bank. Yes. I was going to the bank. But I’m so flustered, the idea of getting behind a wheel seems unwise, so I do what any self-respecting bookshop owner would do whenher hot nemesis kisses her out of the blue. I retreat into Moss & Maple.
Winona’s face scrunches up when I practically fly through the front door. “Back so soon?” She scans my face and her eyes fall to my hands. “And without muffins?”
“Um. Yeah. No. I just need a minute.” I walk to the office and I must mutter, “It meant nothing.”
Winona trails behind me, “What meant nothing?”
“Nothing. Nothing meant nothing,” I say, shaking my head and wondering if I’m losing my mind.
Is Patrick actually outside? Did he really just kiss me? Andwhy?
“That’s usually what nothing means—nothing.” Winona’s eyes narrow.
“Exactly,” I affirm. “Nothing means nothing. And besides, this was all your fault.”
“What was?” Her brows draw in further.
