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“I’ll look it up for you,” Amelia says, turning the computer screen to face Sylvie as she runs a search.
They manage to track down the book in a few short minutes, and a satisfied Sylvie leaves me with a gloating Amelia. “If you can trust anyone, it’s Cam. Even Sylvie thinks so.”
I shake my head. “He's a complete stranger, Amelia. All those times I was at his house and he said he was working, he was actually?—”
Amelia raises an eyebrow. "Working."
"All I can think about is whether he was writing sex scenes while I sat on his couch reading."
Amelia smirks and mutters, “I’m sure he was.”
Of course he was.
My body betrays me by launching a kaleidoscope of butterflies in my belly as I remember how good it was with Cam. Kissing him. Touching him. Reenacting the scene from his next book. His book. “I don't want to talk about this anymore.”
There are still two hours left in my shift before I can go home to a tub of peanut butter cup ice cream and a novel that was definitely not written by Abigail Cameron.
Amelia finishes with her new book cart and goes back to her office, but every once in a while she peeks her head out. I wonder who she’s looking for. And then I notice that the library is getting kind of packed for a Wednesday afternoon.
I cross the floor to her office. “Hey, what did I miss? What's going on?”
“Jane is filming a special episode of Book Talk with Byron today. I thought I told you.”
I frown. I'm ninety-nine percent sure she didn't. “I guess now is not a good time to take my break?”
“No, go ahead. I'll cover the desk.” Amelia takes my spot and I stroll across the library toward the stairs. I almost make it when I'm intercepted by a familiar face.
“There you are.” Ruthanne beams when she sees me. “I was hoping you could recommend a book.”
“I was actually just going on break. Can you ask Amelia?”
“No, it has to be you. You're so much better at knowing exactly what I like to read. I promise I won't take much of your time. Just a couple of minutes. You don't mind, do you, dear?”
Nobody can say no to Ruthanne. “All right. What are you in the mood for?”
“I'm thinking a second chance romance,” she says. “Something where the hero grovels, offers a swoon-worthy apology, and the heroine forgives the little lie that broke up the perfect couple.”
I narrow my eyes at her because this all sounds a little suspicious. “Unfortunately, I can’t recommend any books where the hero lies to the heroine. You know what they say—once a liar, always a liar—and any heroine who doesn’t know that is a fool.”
Ruthanne gets a twinkle in her eye, and I know for sure she's up to something. “I love the stories with foolish heroines the most! The more foolish the better. Those are the absolute best second chance romances, since the passion is so high.”
“Well, if you knew the lie Cam’s been telling me since forever, you’d be upset, too,” I snap.
Ruthanne leans toward my ear and whispers, “The secret that he’s actually Abigail Cameron? I’m the one who drove him to that publishing house ten years ago, dear. I was with him when he signed that first contract.”
I almost fall over. “You knew all this time? You knew, and you listened to me gush about Abigail Cameron and make a fool of myself!”
“Now why would you think you were making a fool of yourself?” Ruthanne pats my shoulder.
I jerk away from her touch, and her smile grows. I wonder if I’d lose my job for screaming at a patron when it’s Ruthanne the Brash. I inhale a lung full of air, but she starts talking again.
“Is it because now that you know Cam wrote those love stories, you can finally see what’s been in front of you this whole time? Is it because it took a romance series featuring you, my dear, as the only woman the Duke has ever loved, to believe that you are worthy of that love? Is that why you feel like a fool?”
She places her hand on my shoulder again, and I let her. Images of all the hints Cam has made over the years that he’s wanted to change the status of our friendship play at high speed in my mind and my heart. Hints he wrote right into the stories he knew I loved and would devour right there for me to see, if only I’d known to look.
All the times he’s offered to take me out for a fancy night out and I’ve refused, not wanting to risk adding one more comparison to my long checklist of things no other man could ever do as well as Cam.
How he loved to watch me read romance books and asked me questions about what I enjoyed in the stories.
