Page 150 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

He’s juggling a stack of novels against his chest.

He’s also the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen a lot of them.

Tall. Dark hair. Scruff on his jaw. Glasses slipping slightly down his nose. The barest hint of gray at his temples.

And he nearly mows me over.

“Oh—sorry,” he says, skidding to a halt.

One of the books tumbles forward, falls to the sidewalk, and it’s not my book, not something I should give a damn about…

I still bend forward to pick it up.

The trouble?

He bends too.

Our hands brush, and sensation explodes up my arm. Not a spark. Not a flicker. But fucking lightning.

I jerk back, stand.

He straightens too, offering an apologetic smile as he takes the book I hold out. “Sorry about that.” His grin turns chagrined. “Sometimes I get too into my own head and lose track of my surroundings.”

Which is dangerous. Stupid. Something I haven’t allowed myself to do for decades.

“Are you new around here?” he asks.

I scowl at him. “Why do you care?”

He doesn’t seem bothered by my surly tone. Instead, he just smiles and says, “You’ll learn that everyone in Cedar Hollow cares about everyone else.”

Again, dangerous.

And stupid.

For me.

I should get in the car, keep driving.

Get lost in a big city, finally put my past behind me.

Instead, I stay in place and ask, “You work at the bookstore?”

“I own Page After Page,” he says.

He has a gentle voice.

And kind eyes.

And a nice smile.

And I should stay far, far away from him.

Instead, I still stay where I’m at and ask, “How can you tell I’m not from here?”

“Small town problems,” he says lightly. His glasses are sliding down his nose, and I have the strangest urge to push them up for him. Then he shifts the books and does it himself. “New faces stick out.”

I’m going to kill Pascal.