Page 128 of That Rush

“No. You said she likes the gold, owns the regular paperback, and doesn’t have this one. That makes it specific.” She passes me the bag. “Details like that matter. You’d be surprised how many people don’t notice.”

I chose it because the details belong to her, which makes the work feel less like shopping and more like proof that I know her.

I carry the book to my truck and set it carefully on the passenger seat beside Paige’s worn copy.

Friday night, I’ll put the special edition on her pillow. Then I’ll open the paperback to the pages she marked and ask her to show me what fiction offers that I haven’t delivered.

Whatever she names, I intend to follow every instruction.

Chapter 18

Paige

Aiden Slade has left a black-and-gold book on my pillow and is pretending not to watch me notice it.

The attempt would be more convincing if he weren’t leaning against my bedroom door with his arms folded, his gaze following my hands.

“Is this why you insisted on carrying my wine in here?”

“You might have spilled it.”

“I have successfully transported beverages between rooms for years.”

“Then I protected the book.”

I slide one finger beneath the edge of the tissue paper and lift the hardcover free.

This is the anniversary edition. It has a black cover beneath the jacket, gold foil stamped across the spine, illustrated endpapers, and the bonus epilogue unavailable anywhere else. I picked it up twice during the signing event and put it back both times because the price was ridiculous.

Then it sold out.

I look at Aiden. “Where did you find this?”

“The bookstore had one transferred for an event that got canceled.”

“You went back and asked?”

“I went back and kept asking until someone looked in the stockroom.”

Of course he did.

I open the cover carefully. The hotel lobby from the story stretches across the endpapers in rich shades of black, gold, and deep red. It is exactly as beautiful as I expected.

“You remembered the gold edges,” I say.

“You liked them better than the silver.”

“I never told you that.”

“You looked at the gold edition every time you passed the display. You barely glanced at the other one.”

The man notices how I load my dishwasher, that I take one sugar in my coffee, and which special edition I cannot stop touching. Then he acts on those details without expecting me to prove I’m grateful.

This feels far more intimate than the gift should.

I run my thumb over the foil title. “You investigated a romance novel with the intensity of a livestock emergency.”

“Livestock is easier.”