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Hannah’s lips part, and she gnaws on her bottom lip. “Oh. Right.” She glances down. “Right. Yeah. Okay, so you’re returning a book on horticulture, huh?” Her voice squeaks. “That’s great. Are you learning how to… horticult?” Two pink spots appear on her cheeks. “I mean, uh, grow things? You’re learning how to grow. Plants. Not you. Ha.” She lifts a hand to her forehead and then drops it again. “It’s been a long day, sorry, you know, after and the whole… pepper-spewing incident yesterday? I’ve, uh, been meaning to thank you for that. So, thank you. It was the most horrifying moment of my life, but at least I’m alive to experience the shame and humiliation, right?”
“You’re welcome.” I place my library card on the counter.
Her throat works as she swallows, those gorgeous lips part again and she wets them. “Well, that’s great. Thanks! I was just about to ask for your library lard.” She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head. “Card.”
She is so fucking adorable it makes me angry. “Can you hurry it up?”
“Right!” She scans my card and taps away on the computer with the tips of her cute pink nails. Her hands are artistic, her fingers long, and I picture them doing things that I shouldn’t. Running over her breasts, grasping them, sliding over the plane of her tan stomach, toward the hem of a lacy?—
“No fines, so that’s good.” She sucks in a breath and nearly chokes on it. She makes a grab for the book, just as I lower my gaze to the cover.
And the couple on the cover, caught in a romantic embrace. The guy has Fabio hair and a bare chest, and the woman is swooning in his arms, wearing a cotton shift that hides nothing.
The title, Riding the Wind, is printed across the cover in sweeping lettering, and I’m regretting the fact that I did not check what I picked off the shelf before coming over. I’m more of an “enemies-to-lovers” man.
“Oh,” Hannah says. “Oh, well, I… Wow. No horticulting tonight, I guess.” She shifts her glasses up her nose. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Nothing at all, Princess.
She hurriedly stamps the book for me, scans my card, and slides both of them back. “There you go.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, of course.”
I tuck the book under my arm and study her. “You good?” The memory of that reporter ignoring her has my jaw clenched tight.
“Yes,” she says, and glances sideways, clearly uncomfortable. “Are you?”
I grunt, and then I turn and walk off.
“Have a nice day!” she calls out.
The only way my day is going to be “nice” is if I manage to forget the way she smells, moves, and talks. Which is not going to happen, because there’s a potluck at Ganny Taylor’s house tonight, and I’m attending.
I don’t date women. I don’t even think about touching women any more. But Hannah Taylor has and always will make me question everything. And that’s exactly why I’ll never get too close.
Three
HANNAH
“When I tell you I painted the man orange, I am not exaggerating,” I say, my phone pinned to my ear as I hunt for my earrings in my apartment above the bakery. I frown, one hand on my hip, and scan my bedroom.
“Orange?” Marci laughs on the other end of the line. “I thought peppers were red or green.”
“No, these were those orange habaneros,” I say, then get down on all fours and look under the bed. Nothing. I scoot my hand over the carpet and feel around anyway, then sigh and sit up. “And everyone is talking about it.”
“It’s Heatstroke,” Marci replies. “You know they’re going to talk about the dumbest shit imaginable. Don’t worry about it. You, Hannah Taylor, are a superstar. Heatstroke’s answer to… What’s the opposite of Jackson Pollock?”
“I don’t know, but the way I’ve spent half of my day in the bathroom, I might be able to give him a run for his money.”
“Eugh.”
“Yeah,” I say. “The worst part is Paul won the grand prize, and I don’t have any money to donate to the library.”
“I would think the worst part would be choking half-to-death.”
“Yeah, well, given that the person who saved me was Carter friggin’ Savage, I am pretty much maxed out on all of the parts.” I push myself up and sit down on the edge of my single bed, the duvet cover white and speckled with bluebells. Flowers are my favorite thing. Apart from books. And kids. “I really wanted to get that reader group up and running, get kids reading again. I had a plan, Marci. I had a plan and now, I’m just?—”
