Page 3 of The Bodyguard's Bookworm
She smirks. “I gathered.”
She walks away, and I force myself to turn toward the shelf instead of watching the sway of her hips. My body wants things it has no business wanting.
This is insane.
The thing is, I’ve felt insane before. Combat does it. Fear does it. Grief does it. This isn’t any of those. This feels certain and absolute, settling into places in me I thought had gone permanently quiet.
By late afternoon, I’ve bought six books, though Emi only rings up four because she insists two are damaged.
“That corner is barely bent,” I say, looking at the paperback in her hand.
She angles it toward the light. “It’s wounded.”
“I’ll pay full price.”
“You’ll pay what the owner charges.”
Her fingers come in contact with mine when she hands me the bag, and we both notice. She pulls back first, but not quickly.
At six o’clock, she flips the sign to Closed. The street outside has darkened into evening, and the window catches the reflection of passing cars. Emi counts the register while I stand near the front.
“You really stayed all day,” she says, stacking bills in the drawer.
“Told you I had a lot of shopping to do.”
“You bought six books.” She closes the drawer and rests both hands on the counter. “You know, you don’t have to keep pretending this was about books.”
“It was partly about books.”
“And the other part?” she asks.
I meet her eyes across the store. “You.”
Her breath catches. There’s surprise in her expression. Caution too. Interest as well, and that nearly puts me on my knees.
She comes around the counter slowly, keys in hand. “That’s direct.”
“I don’t like leaving room for confusion.”
“No,” she says, studying me. “I’m getting that.”
“I also don’t like walking away from an unresolved threat.” I move toward her but stop near the front table, leaving just enough space between us. “Someone came here last night and put that word on your window, and I don’t trust that kind of man to stop just because glass cleaner exists.”
Her gaze drops, then lifts again. “Why are you doing all of this? You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough to want to.”
Emi stills, her thumb tracing the edge of the keys.
I’ve never looked at someone after a single day and known, deep in my bones, that my life has just changed shape. But I know it now.
“Have dinner with me, Emi,” I say.
2
EMI
He asks me to dinner, and I forget how to answer a basic question.
