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I was about to remark that it was none of her business what I read. Instead, I turned my back to her and went over to the shelf where I had found a selection ofsmutbooks tucked away in one of the back corners. I gathered five of them on my arm, returned to the counter, and slowly, with a blink, dropped them in front of her.
"These too. Thanks."
Her gaze dropped down. Mine stayed on her face. Then she looked up, a nervous smile on her lips, which I did not return. What was she going to do? Call the minister to come and sprinkle me with holy water?
"I really admire how diverse you've made your bookstore. It truly shows you think outside the box and respect all kinds of reading preferences." As she rang up and packaged the books, I just kept talking.
Then, with satisfaction, I handed over Gray's credit card. "Are you even authorized to…"
"Yes. Would you like to call Gray and ask him?" While I pictured calling him and telling him how the nice bookseller didn't believe me, she practically snatched the card out of my hand.
"No need to bother old Fletcher unnecessarily, right?" She laughed about it now.
Meanwhile, I realized she was the second woman who referred to him that way—as if Gray were secretly a grumpy recluse who hated this place. The opposite was true, which made it all the more baffling to me why they talked about him like that.
If anything, theWildwood Hideawayhad gained a grumpy hermit in me, but that would probably take a while to spread because it wasn't nearly as sensational as the rumor about the supposed relationship between us.
When she finally handed me the bag with my books, I left the store almost in a rush—and my original plan to visit the café I had discovered earlier went out the window.
An afternoon on my porch with a good book sounded much more enticing anyway.
12
GRAY
“Did you realize that most of the conversations I overheard all day were about you?" Wilder asked the question again, phrased differently, and, unfortunately, I wouldn't be able to ignore it a third time.
To distract myself, I twirled the glass in my hand, fully aware that Amelia was behind me at one of the pool tables, playing a game with Soraya—one of my employees.
"About me?" I repeated, pretending not to know exactly what he was talking about.
"There are these rumors."
"Rumors, huh? I started them, so yes, I'm aware of them."
Wilder shook his head. "Even that Amelia is pregnant?"
Three days and the residents of Wolf Creek were behaving worse than the tabloids. I glanced over my shoulder at Amelia, who was leaning over the table.
The whitedressbarely covered her backside, hiding some of her figure, yet it could not have been more appealing to me, particularly since I knew very well whose clothing she had repurposed.
"I would probably remember if I had been in bed with her, don't you think?"
"What I think is irrelevant. I also know that no one can tell they're pregnant just three days in. But I can't say the same for my regulars." The town hadn't seen a scandal in far too long. "So… did the rumors still come from you?"
I didn't really need to answer that.
"Are you going to do something about it?"
"What? Stop them from talking about it? Appeal to their common sense?"
"Perhaps tell the truth?" he suggested, which only made me dismiss him with a wave of my hand.
On a certain level, the circulating rumors amused me, and as long as they didn't negatively impact anything, I wouldn't bother addressing them. Amelia kept the situation well under control; she had reported to me about the little incident in the bookstore mere seconds after getting out of her car.
"So you're still dancing around each other?" Wilder truly lived up to his job as a bartender; I had to give him that. Although, I would have preferred if he'd paid attention to some of the other patrons at the bar.
In response, I emptied my glass, pushed it toward him, and stood up to join Amelia and Soraya at the pool table.
