Page 12 of Read Me (Forget the Past 2)

I’m cut off.

Cole stares toward the exit, his long-fingered hand resting on the counter, a tease of ink peeking out on his wrist. He has on a long-sleeved black sweater, which means I once again don’t have the opportunity to make out what the designs are.

How expansive are the tattoos? Has he only covered his lower arms, or do they claim more of his body? Maybe to his shoulders? Even on his chest? Down his back…

“Due date?” Cole asks, his gaze on me.

Maybe I imagining things, but I think the ice has melted. Slightly.

“Oh. Yes. You have to come back”—that was an odd way of putting it—“by January third.”

The tiniest corner of Cole’s mouth twitches, and I release a tension I hadn’t realized gathered in my chest.

“I’ll be back sooner.”

“Of course. On Sunday. To build your book fortress.”

A grin! Or, okay, a smile wide enough for me to catch a slight glimpse of his teeth. But it feels like a jackpot on the first quarter dropped into a slot machine.

“Are you stalking me?” he asks.

Any warm happiness I’d been experiencing rips out of me in an instant, leaving my nerves raw and my heart beating way too fast for anything as simple as a conversation in a library.

“No.” The word comes out low and harsh. A plea.

Cole’s mouth thins into a tight line, eyes raking over me.

I should calm down, but instead I lean forward and cover his hand with mine.

“I would never do that, Cole. Never.”

His eyes widen as he takes in whatever expression is on my face. “Summer—”

Another throat-clearing has me snatching my hand back and throwing Daniel an apologetic half wave.

What is with me this evening?

“Sorry! I’m holding up the line again. Bad chatty librarian.” I give the back of my hand a playful slap and bring my sunshine smile back to the surface. “Here you go, Cole. Have a good night!” I slide the pile of books across the counter to him, receipt on top.

Cole hesitates, still watching me. I click away on the computer as if I’m doing something other than closing and opening the same windows.

“Goodnight, Summer.”

Three times. He said my name three times, and each one felt different. I open a little lockbox in my memory, shove them inside, and close the door, knowing I’ll want to take them out later tonight when I have time to fully admire them.

“He’s romance-novel tall.”

Jamie. Of course he had to be the next patron in line, observing all the awkwardness that is me interacting with a handsome man.

Handsomemen. I almost forgot Joshua was here, too.

“Who?” My attempt at nonchalance fails. There was a reason I only ever worked on the stage crew for my high school theater productions.

Jamie glances at Cole’s retreating form. Then back to me. I fidget with a cup of pens, looking to see if any caps are loose.

“And you’re romance-heroine short.”

I gasp in indignation. “I am not. You are looking at five foot four inches of average woman height right here. Add in these wedges and I could be hanging out at the top of a beanstalk, thank you very much.”

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