Page 82 of The Wrong Groom

“You should recommend one for me,” he says. “I won’t read as fast as you do, but I finished the Chelsea Norris book, so I need a new one.”

“You liked it?”

“Sure,” he says. “I see the appeal.”

I give him a sly smile. “You see the appeal, huh? What does that mean?”

Gabriel shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “The writing was solid, the characters were interesting… and I suppose the steamy scenes weren’t half bad either.”

I laugh, nudging him lightly with my elbow. “Admit it, you were hooked.”

“Maybe I was,” he concedes, smirking. “But if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it.”

“Oh, your secret’s safe with me. But now the pressure’s on. I have to find you a follow-up that’s just as good.”

He hums thoughtfully, stepping closer to the shelf. “What about this one? I like the cover.” He picks up a book with a bold, eye-catching cover featuring a couple walking along a beach rendered in watercolor.

I glance at it, then shake my head. “I don’t know. If you liked The Fire Between Us, you might want something with a little more drama. That author tends to write fluffier stuff.”

“I can handle fluffy,” he objects. “I want to broaden my horizons.”

I tilt my head, considering. “Okay, fair enough. But if you’re going to read that, you have to balance it out with something angsty.”

“Angsty, huh?”

Reaching up to the shelf above his shoulder, I grab a book with a striking cover that shows dark clouds swirling over a castle turret. “Here. Into the Storm. This was one of my favorites from last year. Think The Fire Between Us, but with even more emotional stakes.”

Gabriel takes the book from me, flipping it over to read the back. He whistles, shaking his head. “A countess, haunted by the ghost of the man whose death she ordered—okay, that’s dark.”

“It’s really good,” I promise. I glance over my shoulder to make sure Peyton isn’t within earshot, then add in an undertone, “There’s ghost sex.”

“Ghost sex,” he repeats, his eyebrows lifting as he gives me a dubious look. “Is that… like, a genre staple?”

“Not generally. But I swear, it’s done really well.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” He adds the book to his stack. “Anything else I should grab?”

“If you can find anything by her, my all-time favorite author is Lila Hart,” I say, scanning the shelves for a familiar spine. “Her stuff will just… wreck you.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“Oh, you’re new here,” I say affectionately, patting his arm. “Yes. It’s a good thing.”

Eventually, I spot the book I was looking for. The Art of Falling. I pull it off the shelf with a triumphant grin. “Here it is. If you’re going to read Lila Hart, this is the one to start with.”

“That’s a long book,” Gabriel says, hefting it and glancing at the back cover.

“Yeah, she gets pretty wordy. But I promise, by the time you’re on chapter three, you won’t even notice. You’ll wish it was longer.”

Gabriel flips open the front cover and hums in surprise. “Oh, hey. Will you look at that?” He flips the book around to show me the title page, adorned with a signature in black ink. “Signed copy.”

I gasp, reaching out to touch the page like it’s made of gold leaf. “Are you serious? Oh, my god. A signed Lila Hart?”

He grins, seeming to enjoy my excitement. “Is that rare?”

“Pretty rare,” I say eagerly. “I don’t have one.”

“You do now, sunshine.” He tucks the book into his stack. “And I can’t wait to read it.”