by Tari Faris
“He didn’t hit be with the door on purpose. He was distracted by his girlbriend.” She slid the glasses on and sighed.
“The guy had a girlfriend?” Nate’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.
“Sorry. Ex-girlbriend. I think he knew she had a date there tonight, so he was trying to bake her jealous.” She returned the tape to the glove box and slammed it shut.
“Wow, what a jerk.” It took every ounce of strength not to turn the car around and get in that fight after all. The lowlife.
“At least it’ll bake a good story bor the article.” Her top lip looked as if it had fought with a bee and lost. Her glasses that were now held together by tape sat crooked on her nose. And her nose was bleeding again. She reached for the paper towel and dabbed it.
She was a mess. He’d never seen her look more terrible, and yet he’d never wanted more to pull her into his arms. He didn’t realize that his thoughts had shown on his face until an empty Starbucks cup hit him in the side of the head.
“Don’t laugh at be. This isn’t bunny.” She glared at him.
“I wasn’t laughing. Honest.” He schooled his features and tried to think of something else. Although it might be best if she thought he was laughing at her.
They rode the hour back to Heritage in silence, and when he pulled up in front of her house, he didn’t give her the option of just letting him drop her off. Getting out, he circled to open her door. Then, not trusting she could see the steps over her ballooned lip, he slipped her hand in his arm and led her to the door.
“I’m okay, you know.” Olivia unlocked the door and walked in, tossing her keys on the side table.
“Get cleaned up and changed. I’ll get you some ice for that lip.” Nate headed to the kitchen and searched the drawers for a baggie. After locating one, he dropped a few ice cubes in it and wrapped it in a towel. He handed it to Olivia when she descended the steps a couple of minutes later.
She’d changed her shirt, washed her face, and ditched the harsh bun. Her lip still looked red and swollen but no longer like a walking crime scene. The ice had only grazed her lip when she pulled it away.
“Olivia, you have to leave it on there. You don’t want the swelling to get worse.” He took the ice from her hand. Capturing her chin with his hand, Nate placed the ice on her lip with his other hand. He tried to be gentle, but she winced and then took a slow breath. She closed her eyes, and he could see her willing the pain away.
Her white-blonde hair flowed freely around her face, and he could smell the fresh fragrance of the soap still clinging to her skin. Enjoying her closeness was a bad idea, but he couldn’t stop himself.
When Olivia opened her pale blue eyes, begging him closer, Nate took a hasty step back and handed her the ice. “You need to keep it there for at least twenty minutes.” He took a seat on the couch about ten feet away. “Are you going to tell me the whole story now?”
He wanted to hear everything and he’d wait all night if he had to—it just had to be at a safe distance. He hoped he wouldn’t want to go pound someone afterward—pastors shouldn’t do that.
“I told you. I ran into a door.”
He swallowed a laugh and decided he needed better clarification. “A door?”
“Tanner was mad about . . . well, everything, and he opened the door. I wasn’t paying attention, thus . . .” She motioned to her lip.
What a louse. “Did you say he said you weren’t pretty?”
“Yes. No. Sort of. He asked why I wasn’t as hot as my online profile picture.” She shrugged. “He didn’t care for the bun and glasses.”
“Seriously? Even with a bun and glasses you’re . . .” What was he saying?
Her brows lifted. “I’m . . .”
“Fine-looking.” He stood and checked his phone. An emergency call would be helpful right about now.
“Wow. I think I’d rather have Tanner’s description of ‘not that bad.’” Her voice dropped, mimicking Tanner’s.
“Olivia—”
“Forget it.” She dropped the ice on the table. “I’m not fishing for compliments.”
The girl had no idea how beautiful she was, but she was right. It was best to let it drop. “Please tell me you’re done with this research.” Her going on another date might just kill him.
“My article isn’t due until Wednesday, but I’ll email it to my editor tomorrow. Oh, shoot.” She winced and then flinched as the action must have caused her lip pain.
“What?”
“My car is still at the theater. I drove there, but when my glasses broke I knew I couldn’t drive home. I can ask Libby to drive me, but I know she’s stressed about the library. Janie is so busy at the diner these days that I never see her. I know she doesn’t have the time.” She paced the floor as she continued her external processing. “Derek works in Grand Rapids, right? Do you think he’d run me down—”
“I’ll take you.”
“What?” She stopped and looked at him, her brow wrinkled in disbelief.
Where had that come from? Another hour in the car with Olivia wasn’t going to help him keep his distance. But Derek wasn’t a guy he wanted to see her spending her day with either. “I take Mondays off. I’ll take you then.”
She dismissed his offer with a wave. “Thank you, but I really need my car tomorrow. And it isn’t safe to leave it there all weekend.”
Tomorrow would eat into his prep time for Sunday, but if he stayed up late tonight, he could make it work. “Okay, I can take you tomorrow.” He walked toward the door. He needed to leave before he said or did something really stupid.
“Nate . . .”
His phone chimed from his pocket, and he took another step toward the door. “I should take this. A pastor’s job never ends. See you tomorrow.”
“Running again, Nate?” Her words were quiet but made their mark. She had no idea how right she was.
Nate pulled his phone out and made a quick exit. He could have let it go to voicemail, but he couldn’t have answered the questions in her eyes.
Now he just had to make it through tomorrow without letting his guard down any further.
Austin was trying to keep Libby out of his mind, so what did he do? Agree to spend the day with her.
He leaned against the side of the truck as Libby fawned over a pink bike with a white seat and wicker basket on the front. The midday sun highlighted her blonde hair as a light breeze blew a wisp that had escaped her braid across her face. She tucked the strand behind her ear, then bit her bottom lip. The tell that she really wanted something. And he was about ready to hand over his credit card to give it to her.
No. That was crazy. She wasn’t his girlfriend. He’d been a fool to flirt with her the other night and give her hope. Seeing Becky’s name flash across his screen had driven that truth home. He wasn’t ready to date again—trust again. He had to be fair to her. He’d blocked Becky’s number after that, but it had been enough. Enough to remember how toxic she’d been in his life. He’d wasted two years on her, and he wasn’t ready to take the chance of that happening again. Not when he had a business to save.
He pulled out his phone and checked the time. They hadn’t even made it into the antique store yet.
Austin picked up a leaf from the ground and spun it in his fingers. It was green with just a hint of yellow. The last strands of summer fading away. Fall had always been his favorite season. The cool weather, the bright colors, and watching the World Series with his dad. But this year it just marked the deadline for this project and served as a reminder that traditions with his dad were numbered.
He flicked the leaf back to the ground and pushed away from the truck. He’d planned on arranging to have Nate or one of the crew bring Libby down in his truck. Then she had shown up at his house this morning in skinny jeans, a blousy white top that exposed her collarbone, and her hair pulled back in a fancy braid. Not taking her himself wasn’t an option.
A young man exited the store with a smile that was about mor
e than just a possible sale. He asked Libby a question, but Austin was too far away to hear. She stood and laughed, which only seemed to encourage the guy.
Austin walked over and stood a few feet behind her. Her back was still to him. He tried not to focus on the large freckle just under her right ear. He failed. Did she even know it was there?
When the guy made eye contact with him, Austin took another step toward Libby and held his gaze. “Are you going to get the bike, Libby?”
The guy swallowed hard and backed off. “Just let me know if you need any help.” Then he disappeared inside.
“What a nice guy.” Libby ran her hand over the bike again.
Maybe she did trust people too easily. “He was hitting on you.”
“What? No. He was just telling me about the bike.” Libby patted the seat. “But to answer your question, no, I’m not going to buy it. I need to research it first.”
“Research it?”
“I don’t want to make a bad decision.” Libby pulled a notepad from her purse and started writing in it as she entered the antique store.
“It’s a bike, not a car.” He slid off his sunglasses and hung them on the front of his shirt.
She ignored his words and he let the matter drop as they entered the store. Libby stepped to the counter. “I believe you’re holding a desk for me. The name is Libby Kingsley.”
The woman started flipping through a stack of papers, then pointed to a cherry writing desk about ten feet away. “We moved it to the front for you.”
Libby ran her hand over the deep red wood, then tested each of the drawers. “I’ll take it. Can I look around before you ring it up?”
“Of course.” The woman lifted a tag from the desk and replaced it with a Sold sign. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”
“Do you want me to load it in the truck?” Austin eyed the desk from different angles. It was big. Hopefully there was someone around to help him lift it.
“Austin, look at these.” Libby stood in front of a case of antique books. Her fingers hovered over each of the titles as she read.
He stepped up behind her. “What are you looking for?”
“I collect early editions of Jane Austen novels.” She got to the end of the row and dropped her hand. “No Jane today. Aren’t these old books unique? I thought about a bookshelf of old classics at the front of the room. Then again . . .” She approached a shelf that wasn’t behind glass and lifted a book. “With my budget, I’ll probably have to settle for unknowns. But they have the look I’m going for.”
Austin picked up a book and flipped open the cover. A biography of John Black. First edition. He’d never heard of John Black. Maybe it was the only edition. He set it back on the shelf. “Do you own any first editions?”
“Of Jane Austen? I wish, but that would run over six figures. I just settle for antique versions.” She picked up another book and flipped through it.
“Six figures? Wow. Have you ever seen one?” He eyed an old rocking chair next to him. Seemed sturdy.
“No. But I’ve seen a first edition of Moby Dick.” Her voice grew a touch shaky.
The solid oak creaked as he eased into the chair. “In a museum?”
“No. I worked at a vintage bookstore in London.” She kept her back to him, but her movements had stilled.
“Wow, London. That must have been amazing.” He rocked back. This was a good chair. “Maybe I should buy this.”
The bell over the front door rang, but Libby still didn’t move.
Austin leaned forward. “Libby? Is everything—”
When she began to sway, Austin jumped up and caught her before she could fall. Then he scooped her up with one hand on her back and the other under her legs. Her face was ashen, her expression vacant.
He looked around the store. Where was one of her first-aid acronyms when he needed it? Maybe fresh air would help. He carried Libby outside to a bench along the sidewalk.
The woman from the counter appeared next to him with a bottle of water in her hand. “Do you need me to call an ambulance?”
Libby waved a shaky hand at her as the pink in her cheeks started returning. “No, I’ll be fine.”
Austin accepted the bottle from the woman and twisted it open before holding it out. “Drink.” Maybe she was dehydrated.
Libby did as he said, then looked at him for the first time. Her cheeks flushed as she seemed to orient herself. “I’ll be fine. I just need a minute.”
“What happened?”
Libby took another drink of water. “I’m sorry. I haven’t had an episode like that in over a year. It was my fault. I was running late and didn’t eat breakfast. I’m fine.” She pushed to a stand but began to sway.
“Whoa.” Austin caught her as she tipped sideways. “Why don’t we sit for a while? Maybe I can get you some food.”
He scanned the area. A donut shop was across the street. He handed her the bottle and jogged over. He was back in record time with a white pastry bag and another bottle of water. He pulled a powdered donut and a chocolate-glazed one out of the bag. “Which one?”
Libby grabbed the chocolate one and took a bite.
“Want to tell me what that was about?” Austin settled on the bench next to her, slid on his sunglasses, and bit into the powdered donut.
“I worked in London at a little antique bookstore after college.” She broke off a small piece of her donut and popped it into her mouth.
“You mentioned that.” He opened his own bottle of water and took a long draw.
“One day I was held up at gunpoint for the cash in the drawer and the first edition of Moby Dick.” Her face paled again, then she seemed to snap back to the present. “I guess talking about that book, combined with the bell—the London store had one just like it—all took me back to that day.”
“They stole Moby Dick?”
“He stole several books, but the first edition of Moby Dick was the most valuable. It was in a locked case behind the counter and he forced me to unlock it.” She took her time with her next bite, and he didn’t push. “After I returned home, I had many panic attacks like that. They were quite debilitating. I moved back in with my parents and started seeing a counselor. Slowly, things got better, and they have been for a while. I’m so embarrassed.”
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about.” Austin angled his body toward her, pulling his knee up on the bench. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. Not too many people stand up to me when I’m being stubborn, and you’ve given me a run for my money.”
“Sorry about that too.” She finished the donut and dusted off her hands.
“No. I’m sorry.” His hand landed on her shoulder in a gentle gesture. “Can I get you another water?”
She shook her head and held up the half-full bottle. “No. I still have this one. I just need to sit a minute. Really. Let’s talk about something else.”
He popped the rest of the donut in his mouth and settled back into the bench. “Besides collecting Jane Austen books, what do you do for fun?”
She drew in a deep breath. A smile filled her face a moment before it faded. “I used to ride my bike.”
Austin’s gut clenched. And now she didn’t because he’d run over it. “Sorry.”
“It was more my fault than yours.” She shrugged, then paused as another smile tugged at her lips. “I do have another addiction, but I’m not sure you can handle it.”
“Worse than antique books and bike riding?” He eyed her over the top of his sunglasses. “Ms. Kingsley, do tell.”
“When I get a day to myself, I drive to a Carnegie library and get a photo of myself out front and a photo of me holding Pride and Prejudice inside.” Her teeth tugged at her bottom lip. “I have a scrapbook of libraries I’ve been to. What can I say? I love books.”
“How many Carnegie libraries are there?”
“Over fifteen hundred. Michigan had sixty-one, but only fifty-three are still standing. Not all of those are used as librari
es now, but I would still love to see them.” A small dimple appeared in her cheek as her face lit up.
Suddenly he wanted to find her a library, buy her a bike—anything to keep the horror from crossing her face again as it had done when she’d recounted the story.
Libby downed the last of her water and pitched it in the trash. “We need to get that desk and get back.”
“You pay and I’ll load it into the truck.” Austin stood and offered her a hand up.
“Deal.” Libby disappeared inside the antique store.
Austin lowered the gate on his truck. Ten minutes later he had the desk loaded and strapped down. He’d had to swallow his pride and ask the bike shop guy for help. Fortunately, there were no customers there at the time and the guy was cool about it. He tested the strap. Seemed tight.
An antique key taped to the bottom of the desk caught his attention. He peeled it off and dropped it in his shirt pocket. Wouldn’t want that to fly away. He raised the tailgate and rested against the side, but Libby was still nowhere in sight.
Austin reached for his phone and googled a few key words. The Carnegie library in Grand Haven had been demolished in 1967. He’d only missed that by more than fifty years. He slid the phone back in his pocket.
The pink bike still sat by the neighboring shop. Before he could talk himself out of it, Austin strode over, paid for the bike, and loaded it into the truck.
“You’ll never guess what a deal I got. I’ll definitely come back—” Libby’s hand paused over her ear, where she had been brushing her hair back. “Did you buy that bike?”
“Yup.”
“For me?” She ran her fingers along the soft pink paint.
“I would have to sacrifice my dignity to ride it, but I thought Nate might like it instead of that motorcycle he has.” Austin reached for a cinch strap to secure the bike.
“Very funny. Why did you buy me a bike?”
“I did run over your last one.”
“But it was my fault.” She looked at him with her large sapphire-blue eyes. “I can’t accept it.”
Austin shrugged in response and worked the ratchet on the strap. “I can’t return it, so you can buy it from me for $2.47. Don’t pretend that you don’t have that change somewhere on you to leave in my truck. I’m onto you.”
