Page 72 of Bonfire and Bliss Bookstore

“If you know how to.” I glance at the fireplace set between the dark wooden shelves and nod. “I can do it if not.”

“My dad taught me.”

“Okay. Make yourself comfortable. I won’t be long.”

I rush out of the room before I do something stupid like push her up against the bookshelves and ask her to kiss me again. Fuck, I want to do more than kiss her. Even though it’s a bad idea.

All sense goes out the window when I am around Penny. Hell, even when I’m not around her she’s all I think about.

I have no idea how to navigate what is happening between us, no idea how to make sure Penny doesn’t get hurt. I just know we need to talk about it before anything else happens.

I should be writing. I’ve only got the first act done and I spent the week reading instead of writing. I’d like to say it’s because I know it will help with the book, but the truth is, I read every word and thought of Penny. Wondered what she liked. What words would bring about that pretty flush to her cheeks. What dirty talk would elicit those sweet moans I’ve become addicted to.

Still, for me, nothing has really changed. I’ve always wanted Penny and I still don’t believe love lasts. Though I can’t fix that for myself, I can be what Penny says she needs: A man she can practice on. A man who can help her figure out what she wants in a future relationship.

My jaw tightens at the thought of her with someone else, but I brush it away. For now, she’s mine. Or at least for pretend.

I take the stairs two at a time and rush through my shower. After I’ve toweled off, I pull on a pair of gray sweats and an old Semisonic shirt, and head for the door. I pause, glancing at the box of condoms I picked up last week at the convenience store. I’m still not sure why. Fingers tapping on the wall, I shake my head. I don’t need them.

Before I make it to the top of the steps, I turn back around, rush into my bedroom, and rip the top off the box. Condoms explode everywhere but I don’t take a second to clean them up. I just grab one, stuff it into my pocket, and rush back down the stairs.

I’m hitting the bottom step when my phone rings. It’s my mother. Knowing I can’t put her off, I push any thoughts of the condom in my pocket, and the woman in my library, from my mind. At least for the moment.

“Hey, Ma.”

“Oh my God! Jasper is her fiancé’s stepfather!” My mother’s squeal has me pulling the phone back.

I laugh. “I take it you’ve read the next few chapters.”

“More like devoured. When’s my next installment coming?”

“Spoken like a romance junkie,” I tease, feeling myself relax. It feels good to hear her so excited about my writing. Hell, it’s exhilarating to have anyone interested in what I’m writing, even if it’s my mom.

“I’m serious, Jake. This is different from anything you’ve ever delivered before. I can feel the tension between them. And the yearning? Oh my God.”

Her accent makes it come out more like gawd and I chuckle. God I miss her.

“The 1920s setting, the mafia, the time travel. It’s”—she pauses—“Jake, I have chills. This is the book, baby. I’m telling you, whatever you’re doing. Don’t stop.”

My jaw flexes. “I’ll try my best, Ma.”

“Good. And while you’re at it, mark your calendar because I’m coming to visit the second weekend in October.”

“You are?”

“Yup. I called Gail today, who confirmed there’s a cottage available for me to stay in. Though I’m hoping it doesn’t get too cool at night because apparently there’s no heat.”

Fuck. I drop my head back and sigh. I hate not being able to offer her a room here.

Anger hits me like a sucker punch at the thought. I used to be able to go months without thinking about how my family fell apart, how it tore my life in two. But not in Hope Harbor. Here, the reminder seems to follow me everywhere.

“Okay, Ma,” I say now, attempting to regain a sense of calm. “Send the flight info over and I’ll make sure to pick you up.”

“Will do. I love you, Monty.”

I tell her I love her too before saying goodbye and hanging up the phone. I don’t move straightaway, my gaze drawn toward the front door.

“Everything okay?” I hear my father ask.