Page 35 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

“And?” I ask expectantly.

His eyes twinkle a bit. “I liked it.”

“You liked it?” It comes out much more accusingly than I intend, but come on. “Like” is too weak a word for what is surely the greatest children’s book of all time.

“I did,” he chuckles. “It’s not my usual genre, but it was really well-written.” He runs his hand through his hair as if to neaten it, but it settles back down like he never touched it. “I can see why you like it. It suits you.”

“It suits me?”

Oliver tilts his head appraisingly. “It does. It has the same witty, twist-on-a-classic vibe that you do.”

It’s like my brain has stalled and I need to turn the key in the ignition to restart it. When I manage to get things humming again and can process what he’s said, I’m not actually sure how to respond.

“Anyway, here you go.” He holds the book out to me.

I don’t reach for it. “That’s yours.”

He shakes his head. “I know how much you love it. Plus, it was your free book from Maisie. You should have it.”

I’m still struggling to justify this Oliver with the grumpy loner I met the first day I came in here this summer. Which was somehow only earlier this week, even though it feels like a month ago already.

“That’s okay,” I say softly, pushing the book back toward his chest. “Trust me, now that you’ve met Ella, you’re going to want to visit her in the future.”

His mouth curves up. “I trust you.”

I smile, too. “Awesome. So, what’s on my task list for today? Cleaning the dust from the vacuum rollers? Pulling all the books to the very edge of their shelves so they’re in perfect rows? Organizing the espresso pods by color?”

“Actually,” he begins, holding back a laugh, “I was hoping you could help me with something. But it’s not quite noon yet. Go grab a coffee and sit, or something.”

“I thought you weren’t my boss?” I tease.

“Is anyone?”

“Ha! What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, shooting me a mocking look. “Just seems like you don’t take kindly to being told what to do.”

I nod dramatically. “Fine, I see how it is. In that case, show me to this task you can’t handle on your own.”

Oliver rolls his eyes. “So demanding. Geez.”

Snickering, I follow him to the front desk. “But you wouldn’t expect anything less from me, right?”

“You haven’t disappointed me yet,” he says over his shoulder.

I haven’t disappointed him yet? Now what exactly is that supposed to mean? And why does it make my insides feel like they’re melting?

I join Oliver in front of a row of four-by-six notecards with the Shoreline logo printed in the top right corner, laid out carefully across the front of the desk. “Behold,” he says. “Our task.”

“I’m going to need you to be a little bit more specific,” I reply.

One side of his mouth tips up. “Maisie asked me to write out a new set of staff picks for the store. And I thought, who better to help me with this project than a literary expert?”

I’ve never disappointed him, and now I’m a literary expert? I don’t know what was in Oliver’s coffee today, but I can’t say I mind this shift in his attitude where I’m concerned.

“Wow, high praise.” I flash him a grin. “I didn’t know you felt that way about me, Oliver.” I realize too late that I seem like I’m flirting. That I probably just straight up am. That wasn’t my intention, at least not consciously, but with the way feelings are fluttering around my chest like butterflies in a bed of coneflowers, I guess maybe it makes sense.

He doesn’t look up, but I’m pretty sure he’s blushing. What in God’s name is going on today?