Page 30 of Bonfire and Bliss Bookstore

So no Eli…

“I’ve probably gotta scroll up a bit,” she says before darting a quick glance in my direction, then she’s biting on that lip again, her focus on the screen until she comes across a grainy photo of her and me almost kissing. “There it is.” She winces.

If I stare at the way Penny seems to be leaning into the kiss, submitting to it, I’ll be completely hard in Vovo’s kitchen. That is something we can’t have happen, so I blow out a breath and step back. I have to clear my throat. “You have to admit we look pretty convincing.”

Penny’s head snaps up, attention fully on me. She takes a step to the left and I take a step to the right until we’re staring at each other. Again. “So, you really meant it? About the fake dating?”

She tilts her chin and those copper eyes swirl in the light of the kitchen to a hypnotizing honey.

My lips fall open and I shake my head, unable to form a single word. What even are words when they fail me like this? They can’t explain this feeling that’s had me in a choke hold since last spring—the urge to reach out, pull her close, press my mouth to hers, and maybe lose ourselves behind my bedroom door.

And because I can’t say any of that—because I can’t admit that I need her in ways I can’t explain—I do the next dumbest thing.

“I can’t stop thinking about what you would have tasted like if we kissed.”

Chapter 11

Penny

“You can’t stop thinking about how I’d taste?” I repeat Monty’s words as a small fire ignites in my belly. Warmth spreads through me, and I try not to smile, even as I feel my cheeks turning that rosy red I know will give away all my thoughts.

Monty steps back and pulls the glasses from his face, rubbing at his temple. He holds up a finger. “Yes, but not in some creepy way like you’re probably imagining. It’s just…” He sighs before readjusting his glasses. “Remember how I mentioned that I was having trouble writing?”

The writer’s block.

Or the writer’s block that can’t be mentioned. I nod.

“Well, this morning, the only thing I was able to write about was what might have happened last night—” My eyes go wide as Monty adds, “You know, if we were two different people.” He shrugs. “Then my mom called and I was talking to her about my writing problem and she suggested that maybe it was because I haven’t been out there living. She also thought you might be able to help me plot a better book.”

“Okay,” I say slowly, trying to wrap my mind around what he’s saying. I’d really like to go back to discussing our almost kiss, and what he’s been writing about it. Was it a good kiss? Did it stop at kissing? Can I read it?

“Then when I used yesterday as inspiration,” Monty continues, “well, I started writing and I couldn’t stop. I’ve got ten pages already.”

“And that’s a lot?”

Monty nods aggressively, running his hands through his thick dark hair as he begins pacing the kitchen.

“You see, that thing you said last night might have hit a nerve. The thing about chemistry. And love stories.”

“Okay,” I say slowly, not sure where he’s going with this.

“And originally I was planning to write this story about a man who travels back in time to try and solve the murder of this bootlegger back in the 1920s.”

“A time-traveling mystery. Interesting.”

For just a moment, he pauses his pacing and lets his green eyes meet mine. “Thank you.”

I raise a brow, signaling for him to go on.

“Anyway, I realized I could still tell that story, but if I made the hero a heroine, I could capture the romance readers as well.”

“A two for one,” I tease.

“According to you, it’s probably ten for one, since romance has a bigger audience.”

I don’t hide how pleased I am at his words; so often people dismiss the romance genre despite its proven track record.

“So you’re writing a romance?”