“Well, first I want it to be accessible. The kind of place people feel free to stroll into, just browse around, maybe settle in for a while and read. But at the same time, I dont want them to treat it like their private library. What I want to establish is the neighborhood bookstore, where customer service is the priority, where people like to gather.”
“I wonder why no one ever tried that in the heart of the Valley before.”
“Im trying not to think about that,” she admitted. “If no one did, there might be a good reason.”
“They werent you,” he said simply. “What else are you after? Are you shooting for general stock, or are you going to specialize?”
“General. I want a lot of variety, but I worked in the library long enough to know what people in this area lean toward. So certain sections—romance, mystery, local interest—will outweigh some of the more esoteric titles. I want to coordinate with the local schools, know what teachers are assigning, and see if I can get at least one book club formed within the first six months.”
She picked up her wine. “And thats just for starters. Mal andZoe and I will be working together, and ideally well overlap our customer base. You know, somebody comes in for a book and thinks, Wow, look at that terrific blown-glass vase. Its just perfect for my sisters birthday. Or someones going up toZoes for a haircut and picks up a paperback to read while shes getting done.”
“Or they come in to look at paintings and decide they could really use a manicure.”
She toasted him, sipped. “Thats the plan.”
“Its a good one. The three of you look good together. You fit together, complement each other. Youve all got different styles, but they mesh nicely.”
“Funny, I was thinking almost exactly that just the other day. Its like if anyone had suggested Id be going into business—putting basically every penny I have on the line—with two women Ive known only about a month, Id have laughed my butt off. But here I am. And its right. Thats one thing Im absolutely sure of.”
“As far as the bookstore goes, Id bet on you any day of the week.”
“Save your money. I may have to borrow some before its done. But following along, tell me what you would look for in a good neighborhood bookstore. From a writers perspective.” Like Dana, he sat back, a signal to the waiter to clear. “You called me a writer without any derogatory adjectives.”
“Dont get cocky. Im just maintaining the mood of the evening.”
“Then lets order dessert and coffee, and Ill tell you.”
* * *
BY the time they were done, she was wishing shed brought a notebook. He was good, she had to give him that. He touched on aspects she hadnt thought of, expanded on others that she had.
When they spoke of books themselves, she realized how much shed missed that perk. Having someone who shared her absolute devotion to stories. To devouring and dissecting them, to savoring and wallowing in them.
“Its a nice night,” he said as he helped her to her feet. “Why dont we walk around the grounds before we drive back?”
“Is that your way of saying that I ate so much I need to walk it off?”
“No. Its my way of stretching out the time I have alone with you.”
“You really have gotten better at this,” she replied as he led her from the room.
Her coat reappeared nearly as quickly as it had been whisked away. And, she noted, Jordan didnt miss a beat when themartre d presented one of his books and asked to have it signed.
He did that well, too, she thought. He kept it light, friendly, added some casual chatter and his thanks for the evening.
“How does it feel?” she asked when theyd stepped outside. “When someone asks you to sign a book?”
“A hell of a lot better than it does if they dont give a damn.”
“No, seriously. Dont brush the question off. Whats it like?”
“Satisfying.” Absently, he smoothed down the collar of her coat. “Flattering. Surprising. Unless theyve got a crazed look in their eye and an unpublished manuscript under their arm.”
“Does that happen?”
“Often enough. But mostly it just feels good. Hey, heres somebody whos read my stuff, or is about to. And they think itd be cool if I signed it.” He shrugged. “Whats not good about that?” “Thats not very temperamental of you.”
“Im not a temperamental guy.”
She snorted. “You always used to be.”
“You used to be argumentative and pigheaded.” He smiled broadly when she scowled at him. “See how weve changed?”
“Im just going to let that go, because Ive had a really good time.” She breathed deep as they wandered a bricked path, and looked up at the thick slice of waxing moon. “Into week two,” she murmured.
“Youre doing fine, Stretch.”
She shook her head. “I dont feel like Im getting to the meat of it. Not yet. The days are going by really fast. Im not panicked or anything,” she added quickly, “but Ive got serious concerns. So much is depending on me. People I care about. Im afraid Ill let them down. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes. Youre not alone in this. The brunt may be on you, but youre not carrying all the weight.” He laid his hands on her shoulders, drew her toward him a little, until her body rested against his. “I want to help you, Dana.”
She fit well with him. She always had. And her realization of that made little warning bells sound in some dim part of her brain. “We already know youre connected, somehow or other.”
“I want more.” He bent his head to brush his lips over her shoulder. “And I want you.”
“Ive got enough to worry about right now.”
“Whether it worries you or not isnt going to change a thing.” He turned her to face him. “Im still going to want you. Youre still going to know it.” His lips curved as he ran his hands up and down her arms. “Ive always liked that look.”
“What look?”
“That mildly irritated look you get when somebody gives you a problem to work out. The one that puts this little crease right here.” He touched his lips to her forehead, just between her eyebrows.
“I thought we were taking a walk.”
“We did. Now Id say this evening calls for one more thing.” He loved the way her lips curled just as much as he loved the flicker of surprise over her face when instead of kissing her, he slid her into a slow, swaying dance.
“Pretty clever,” she murmured, but she was moved.
“I always liked dancing with you. The way everything lines up. The way I can smell your hair, your skin. The way, if I get close enough, look close enough, I can see myself in your eyes. Your eyes always did me in. I never told you that, did I?”
“No.” She felt herself tremble, and the warning bells were lost under the thunder of her own heart.
“They did. Still do. Sometimes, when we managed to spend the night together, Id wake up early to watch you sleep. Just so I could see you open your eyes.”
“Its not fair.” Her voice shook. “Its not fair to tell me something like that now.”
“I know. I shouldve told you then. But nows all Ive got.”
He touched his lips to hers, rubbed softly. Nipped gently. He felt her body slide toward surrender, and fought the urge to plunder.
He went slowly, for both of them, savoring what theyd once devoured, lingering where once theyd rushed. In the starlight, with her arms lifting to come around him, he wouldnt allow himself to demand. Instead, he seduced.
He was still circling her in a dance. Or was it just that her head was spinning? His lips were warm, and patient, all the more arousing with the hints of heat and urgency she sensed strapped down inside him.
She sighed, drew him closer. And let him take her deeper.
Soft, slow, moist. The chill of the air against her heated skin, the scent of the night, the whisper of her name through lips moving, moving over her own.