Page 142 of Read Me (Forget the Past 2)

“Speaking of ridiculous,” Ms. Allemand straightens and glares down at me, “what did my grandson do to mess things up between you two?”

“I—” Words catch in my throat, and I reverse my previous wish, suddenly longing for an endless line of patrons demanding my attention. “Wh-what makes you think he did anything? Maybe I did.”

And I did. But I also didn’t.

Cole’s grandmother sighs and adjusts her bag on her shoulder. “I love my grandson. He’s intelligent and passionate and has a secret heart of gold.” I can see her grind her teeth before she continues. “But he’s not afraid to twist the truth to get what he wants. And he most certainly wants you.”

The accuracy of her words hurts as they hit the bullseye.

“He did do that,” I murmur. And maybe someone else, someone better and more trusting than me would be able to help him learn from that mistake.

“I’m sorry. That must have hurt.”

“It did.”

She grimaces, then her face takes on a soft smile, and she reaches across the desk to lay her palm on the back of my hand.

“He’s smart. And determined. If he finds a way to fix what he broke, I hope you’ll give him another chance. I am the definition of biased, but I still think he deserves happiness. And damn do you make him happy.” Cole’s grandmother gives me a little, reassuring squeeze before backing away, feet pointing toward the exit.

“If you wait another minute or two, you’ll be able to say hi to him,” I offer, hoping my voice doesn’t sound begrudging. And I realize the disgruntled emotion is caused more by the knowledge that Ms. Allemand is able to have a lovingly affectionate conversation with Cole, while I still have to be pissed at him.

She just waves to me and walks out of the library.

Leaving me waiting on my own. Glancing at the clock, I realize the writers’ meeting is one minute away from starting.

Cole doesn’t normally cut it this close, but no way would he have arrived without me noticing. Impatiently, I wait as another sixty seconds pass.

Still no Cole.

The meeting is starting, and he’s not here.

I try not to let my impatience show as I smile at patrons and scan their books and secretly wonder why Cole Allemand has not shown up for the meeting for the first time in months. This is madness, and I can barely contain my confused annoyance.

When there’s a lull, a full ten minutes after six, I dial Karen’s office.

“What’s up?”

“Can you cover circulation for a minute? I need to make a quick call.”

“Sure. Be right out.” A minute later she’s at my side, affixing her name tag. “Everything okay?”

“Not sure. Just need to check on something. I’ll be right back.”

In my office, I fish my cell phone out of my purse, where I normally leave it unless I’m on lunch break. When I pull up Cole’s number, I try not to let my heart break at the adorable image of a haughty Smaug.

I miss that little dragon fur ball.

After two rings, a smoky voice caresses my frantic brain.

“Summer?”

The sound is an electric shock to my nipples. Painful and arousing.

Strangely, I’m surprised to hear him. I had this idea, a wild notion, that in calling Cole I would somehow immediately find out what is wrong with him without ever having to interact with him. Like, I’d end up listening to a message along the lines of…

“You’ve reached Cole Allemand’s voicemail. If you’re wondering why I’m not at the weekly Thursday night writers group, it’s because I ate a bad batch of shrimp and now I’m posted in the bathroom, spewing from both ends. Nothing life-threatening, just extremely embarrassing and uncomfortable. Leave your name and number after the beep.”

Instead, I hear his actual voice, in real time, saying my name.

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