by Lisa Shelby
What in the world did I just say?
“I mean, I thank you for having arms big enough to hold a lot of books.”
Oh, my God. I’m an idiot. I have to turn away from him so he doesn’t see the blush I feel heating my face.
“It’s not a problem, Miss Ford,” he says with a smile in his voice.
“Well, I think that’s enough for one day. We should probably get out of here before I buy the whole place. Your arms are big, but they aren’t that big.”
This time, I just stop walking and hide my face in my hands. Why do I keep talking about his arms? I take a deep breath and pull myself together, knowing he’s standing right behind me.
He follows me to the checkout line, and we stand in silence while I wait for my turn. I still haven’t turned around to look at him. Mature, I know.
Things don’t usually embarrass me, and I don’t know why I’m behaving like an idiot around Hopper. I’m the girl who changes her hair color every few months. The girl who has no problem being the only one out on the dance floor at The Verdict doing a line dance. I don’t mind attention. I run a department of thirty at work. Maybe it’s because I’m out of my element? It’s easy to be tough when I only talk to my co-workers through emails, IM’s and phone calls. And Eastlyn is home, and there’s nowhere I feel more comfortable.
I think I’ve let LA get the best of me, and it’s time to find the me I like so much better than this quiet, do what I’m told version of myself. Hopefully, filling my new LA shelves with my new books will help.
We finally make it to the counter, and the clerk looks at me like I’m some kind of lunatic.
“Wow, getting a jump on your holiday shopping or opening your own bookstore?”
“I guess a little bit of both.”
The clerk looks skeptical.
“No, really, we’re opening a shop back home. I know there is a much more affordable way to get inventory on the shelves, but when in Rome and all that.”
“That’s really cool. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” I grin ridiculously. “It is really cool, isn’t it?”
He just smiles and rings me up. I pay for my book haul, trying not to choke on the total. Oh well, I can afford it, but I did go a little crazy.
Hopper grabs two of the three canvas bags and leads us out of the store. When we get to the car, he puts the bags in the back while I get in and then jumps in the front and pulls into weekday traffic.
“Sorry, I probably didn’t pick the best time of day to visit downtown.”
“It’s no problem at all, Miss Ford.”
“Of course it’s not,” I say under my breath.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
“I just said of course it’s not a problem.”
“Is there a problem with driving you not being a problem?”
“No, not at all. It’s just that everyone is so accommodating. I’m still adjusting to a lifestyle of being catered to is all. You know, having a staff at my beck and call is new, and I’m not really sure if I like it. I’ll figure it out, though.”
He doesn’t reply, but he adjusts the rearview mirror, and I do believe he might just be looking at me from under those sunglasses of his.
A couple of minutes pass, and I’m cursing myself for not having earbuds on me when he startles me by speaking.
“So, what did you think of the bookstore?”
Oh, what the timbre of his voice does to my heart.
“It was really cool. A bit more art installation than bookstore, but I really enjoyed it. I wish I hadn’t gone so crazy on the books because I didn’t even get to glance at the music section. I don’t have a record player, but something about looking through old records can cause me to lose track of time just like books do.”
“Did I hear you tell the clerk you’re opening your own bookstore back in your hometown?”
Hopper instigating conversation with me has me feeling all a flutter while also feeling more like myself than I have in weeks. It’s amazing what a little human interaction will do for a girl.
“You sure did. I can’t wait. I’m sure you’ve heard me mention my friends Mason and Miles or at least you’ve seen their names on my little list of approved contacts at the very least. I still can’t believe such a list exists.”
“I have, and that little list is for your safety, Miss Ford. Now tell me more about your store.”
“For the record, I know it’s for my safety, but I’m allowed to be a bit annoyed with the situation, don’t ya think?”
I see one of his eyebrows lift above the rim of his shades, but he doesn’t reply. So I carry on.
“Well, Mason is a bestselling author. She writes under the name Eve Villanelle, maybe you’ve heard of her? There’s a TV series based on her ‘Manhattan Diaries’ books?” He shakes his head. “Anyway, she noticed the one thing missing in our town was a local bookstore. We have a library, but there is something about a local bookstore that's so much better than a library. We were talking one night over drinks right before I left, and we came up with the idea of opening one ourselves. We’ll have theme nights that will include drink nights, of course, and host book clubs. I think it’s gonna be a lot of fun. We’re calling it Just One More Chapter.”
“Sounds like a great idea. May I ask how you’re going to run it from Los Angeles?”
“Well, we’ve gone in fifty/fifty, and now that Mason is Miles’s fiancée, she’ll be there to oversee things at the start, but we have some great local friends who are going to work there and run things. Our friend Amelia is a school teacher, and she’ll help in the summers when some of the other employees want to take time off. Surprisingly, we’ve got it all worked out. I’m pretty excited.”
“New and used books?” he asks from the front seat.
“Yep. No vinyl records like The Last Bookstore, unfortunately.”
“Sounds like you’re a big music lover?”
“You could say that.”
“What do you listen to?”
“The question should really be what don’t I listen to. I just love good music. How about you?”
“What about me?”
Please tell me he isn’t going to get professional with me again. We were doing so well.
“Are you a music fan?”
“Sure.”
“And what do you like to listen to?”
He waits a beat, and I think he’s done talking, but he surprises me, yet again. “I like just about everything, but my true love is 90s hip-hop, if I’m honest.”
Not sure how, but I manage to hold my laughter inside. And I do believe I see him smiling in the mirror. He knows his answer wasn’t what I was expecting. But what he doesn’t know is that I’m picturing him driving in a convertible Impala smoking a joint with Nate Dogg singing in the background as he slowly rolls through Josh’s snobby neighborhood.
“Not what I thought you would say, but I like your style, Hopper.”
“Why, thank you, Miss Ford.”
My panties are beginning to melt right off my body when my phone rings, halting our easy banter. Because it’s work, I have to take it.
While my boss drones on about budgets, I search my purse and silently curse when I don’t find what I’m looking for inside. But much to my surprise, I hear the sound of mints shaking against tin as Hopper passes me what I was looking for.
My call doesn’t end until we reach the gates to Josh’s place. I can’t help but wonder if I shouldn’t get used to this new chatty side of Hopper.
Of course, he grabs all three bags from the back of the car, and this time, I get to open the front door for him.
As he passes me in the entryway, he pauses when he asks, “Where shall I take these?”
It’s a simple question, but he’s so close, and even though his sunglasses are still covering his eyes, I know he’s looking me in the eye. The moment lingers, and a hint of that same chemistry from the other day on the sidewalk sparks between us, leaving me breathless.
/> Somehow, I manage to find enough air in my lungs to reply. “My office would be great.” My answer causes him to break our connection when he walks down the hallway to my office.
He isn’t my personal valet, and it feels awkward to have him carry my things. Even though he says he doesn’t mind, I do. But alas, I’ve given up trying to stop him from carrying things or opening doors for me. I guess he does spend most of his day sitting around waiting for something to happen. Maybe it’s a good distraction from whatever it is he’s doing on that laptop of his. I bet he can’t wait to get out of here every night when Smith takes over.
They each work seven to seven. Hopper seven in the morning until seven at night.
Seven o’clock.
My least favorite time of the day.
The house always feels eerily silent from the absent tapping of his fingers on his keyboard.
Smith is fine, but he’s not Hopper.
“On the desk?” he asks, filling the middle of the room like only he can while holding my bags of books out as if they were filled with feathers instead of tens of pounds of books.
Dear Lord, he is a big man.
“On the desk would be great, thank you.”
He places the books on the massive white desk Josh had built for me. The entire room was custom made for me. The walls are gray and lined with white bookshelves that have more décor than books on them at the moment, but today’s shopping trip should help to change this. There is a light blue and silver shag rug in the middle of the room, and beautiful watercolor paintings adorn the wall. I tell myself they are just cheap prints that have been put on canvas and ordered from Homegoods, but I have a feeling they cost a pretty penny.
Spinning the tin of Altoids between my fingers like I have a habit of doing, I remember these aren’t mine. “Oh, here you go. Thanks, you're a lifesaver. It’s a bit of an addiction.”
“Keep them, Miss Ford. I kept them in the car for you when I noticed they’re one of your favorites. I’ll be sure the car is always stocked just in case.”
Whoa. He knows my favorite mint. What the...?
“Can I do anything else for you, Miss Ford?” he asks. Placing his sunglasses on top of his head this time, he gives me a full view of those golden eyes of his.
If I didn’t know better, I would say he’s stalling for time. Like he doesn’t want to leave the room just yet. I’m pretty sure I know better, though, and I make sure to look away quickly to avoid another one-sided moment from happening.
“Hopper, you don’t have to help me with household tasks like putting books on shelves,” I say, moving in next to him at the desk to start emptying the bags.
“I don’t mind at all, and it is all a part of the job, ma—”
“Don’t even think about it,” I interrupt, pointing a finger at him to stop him before he gets the whole word out.
He smiles the biggest smile I’ve seen from him yet.
It. Is. Breathtaking.
For all his brawn, he is one beautiful man. More beautiful than any watercolor on the walls of this room, that’s for sure.
Still smiling, he starts over, correcting himself. “It’s all a part of the job, Miss Ford.” He takes a couple of books out of the bag in front of him, helping me stack them on the desk nonchalantly, adding, “Besides, I’ve done much worse.”
“Is that so?” I say, abandoning my bag of books.
He lifts an eyebrow and gives me a sideways glance that says, wouldn’t you like to know.
Yes, I would! I really would! But I know he can’t share information about his other clients with me. No matter how desperately I’m dying to know all the details.
“Hmm…my imagination is running wild.”
“Well, I wish I could say that your imagination is wilder than reality, but when it comes to the rich and famous, I’m afraid your imagination wouldn’t even come close.”
“Now, you’re just being mean. I bet you have some stories to tell, but I know you can’t say anything. Besides, I wouldn’t want you sharing stories about me with anyone else.”
“Miss Ford, you are by far the easiest client I have ever worked for.”
All the books are on the desk, so I start stacking them on various shelves, and he steps aside but doesn’t leave the room.
“You mean the most boring, right?”
“I didn’t say that.”
The elephant in the room is making it hard to breathe, and I can’t help but bring it up. Knowing he’s signed a nondisclosure agreement means I can speak freely with him, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
“I can’t imagine what you must think of me?” I say with my back to him.
“It’s not my job to have an opinion.”
He speaks kindly, but his reply feels judgmental, which, in turn, has me feeling defensive.
“I’m not with him for fame and fortune, you know?” I spin around, looking him in the eyes to make sure he knows the person I truly am. It may not be his job to have an opinion, but for some crazy reason, his opinion matters.
To me anyway.
“Again, there’s no judging on my part. That is also not part of the job.”
I’ve finally found something that isn’t a part of his job, and it is infuriating! His lack of judgment sounds more like the opposite, and I can’t let it go.
“I’m helping out my friend. My best friend. I have my own money. I may not have a private jet, but I am not out spending his money on bags of books. I can afford this all on my own! It’s only two years, and not only did he need me, but I needed a change.”
He puts his hands in his pockets! His reply is to put his hands in his freaking pockets and stare at me.
Hopper, being Hopper, doesn’t say a thing and stands there waiting for me to continue. Me, being me, I do just that.
“I love Josh, and I hate that he has to hide who he really is. I wish he could just tell the world, not that anyone should have to make an announcement about their personal life, but I hope one day he can show his true self to the world because he’s a pretty great guy. In the meantime, I’m here to help. I know we aren’t confirming anything with the press and instead letting them assume there is an engagement.”
I feel sick hearing myself say all of this out loud for the first time.
“But even though we haven’t confirmed an engagement publicly, I am wearing a rather large diamond ring on that finger, and I’m always his plus one, so we aren’t really lying to the press, but let’s face it, as much as we tell ourselves we’re implying and not lying, we’re lying. It feels wrong on so many levels, Hopper, and I am kind of starting to hate myself. But he’s worked really hard to get where he is, and I’d do anything to protect my friend.”
After all of my word vomit, all I get is a nod of his head before he turns and leaves the room. Note to self…don’t have an emotional breakdown with your bodyguard because he clearly doesn’t get paid to judge, have an opinion, or care.
Standing alone in my office, I can’t help but wonder to myself if all of that was to convince Hopper I’m doing the right thing or to convince myself?
Maybe he left the room without comment because he already knows the answer to that question.
Chapter 5
“Audrey, I understand, I really do. It doesn’t mean I’m not gonna pout. I just miss you and Parker so damn much.”
Greta enters the room but pays me no mind. She’s used to me wearing earbuds and talking for work all day. Me talking to an empty room is the norm. She may be used to me talking to an empty room, but it doesn’t prevent her from throwing her usual side-eye in my direction when she sees what I’m up to. She refuses to get over me doing my own laundry, and at the moment, I’m folding a basket of clothes. Hence, the side-eye.
“Married life. It’s all give and take. This year, Thanksgiving with my family, and next year, we’ll be back in Eastlyn. The timing of the store opening is just too close to the holiday. You know we’d be there if we could be. Please tell me you know that.�
��
“Of course I do, and I don’t want you to give it another thought. You’ll be there in spirit.”
“Thank you. Please know we’re so proud of you and Mason. I can’t believe there’s never been a bookstore in Eastlyn. It’s a great idea. It’s just unbelievable how fast it came to fruition.”
“I know, we got so freaking lucky. Burns Hardware moved out a year ago, and the place was just sitting there waiting for somebody to save it. We finished the paperwork two weeks ago, and Miles and Mason have been putting it all together. I can’t wait to get home and help.”
“Don’t feel bad, you know Miles loves this kind of stuff, and besides, he’s Miles. He has people who can help. All he has to do is ask, and that whole town will be there to pitch in.”
“I know, but I hate missing out on all the work that goes into it. Besides the serious case of FOMO, I miss home.”
“You doing okay, Emmy?”
“Yep, doing great,” I lie. “This place is amazing. You’ll have to come visit after the holidays.”
“We’d love that, but listen, I have to run into a meeting. I hope it all goes well, and we’ll be thinking about you.”
“Thanks. Give that hubby of yours a hug for me. Safe travels, girl.”
“You have a great trip back home, Happy Thanksgiving, and congrats again! I’ll call you when we get back.”
We end the call, and the moment I say goodbye, Greta is on me like a helicopter who’s been waiting to land.
“Miss Ford, why do you insist on torturing me like this? No offense, but you don’t know what you’re doing. Please let me take care of your laundry.”
Swinging around, I’m about to give Greta a piece of my mind. Hopper is at his usual perch at the kitchen island, and the shake of his shoulders would lead me to believe he finds Greta’s observation amusing.
How long has he been sitting there anyway?
Not that I mind the visual of him in his tight oatmeal Henley. How does he even find clothes to fit him? Good grief.
“Oh, so you’re on her side, are you?”
He starts to answer, but I stop him.
