by Liz Johnson
“I think you’re being rather bossy, Miss Bell.”
“It is my car and my life at stake. Not to mention your own.”
“Now you’re just being dramatic.” Nevertheless, he veered the vehicle to the curb and shifted into Park. “I even parked pretty well, all things considered.”
She stuffed her hands in her mittens and refused to look at him lest he see her delight. “Out.” She pushed out of the passenger side, sinking into a snow bank all the way to her knees.
She was still trying to scramble her way out when Jonah rounded the car. “Need a little help, Miss B—”
“It’s Rowan, not Miss Bell.”
He reached for both of her hands. “I wasn’t going to call you Miss Bell that time.” He tugged her from the snow bank, but her boot landed in ice, which sent her falling straight into his torso.
With her head against his chest, she felt more than heard his low rumble of laughter now, and never mind the cold, her cheeks scorched. She tried to step back, but only slipped again. This time, he anchored one arm around her waist as he steadied her.
She tipped her head to meet his dark eyes, filled with mirth and something else so deep and alluring she could barely find her voice. As it was, her words came out breathy and strained. “Then what were you going to call me?”
His gaze fairly twinkled. “Miss Bossypants. Heard a kid call his sister that the other day at the library. Might have to introduce the phrase back in Concordia. Particularly fitting for one or two members of my Advisory Council.”
She wasn’t all that sure she liked being compared to someone’s sister. Not by him. Not while she still stood so close she could feel the warmth of his breath.
He almost seemed reluctant as he dropped his arm from behind her and took a small step back. He held up her car keys. “I’m assuming you want these.”
As she reached for them, her attention hooked on the building behind him, their whereabouts finally coming in to focus. They’d reached the town center, parking near the corner of Main Street and First . . .
Right in front of the new would-be library.
It was the sole unclaimed storefront in the whole downtown, with a double-door entrance and empty flowerboxes under spacious windows. She pocketed her keys and brushed past Jonah, walking up to one horizontal window and cupping her hands over the glass as she peered inside.
Jonah’s boots crunched over the sidewalk, long since shoveled and sanded. “What are we looking at?”
“This is it—where the town leaders want to move the library.”
He looked in beside her. “It’s not awful or anything. It’s nice and big.”
“It’s completely hollow. No character or personality. No little rooms or nooks and crannies like the house.”
He moved to the doorway and tried the knob. Locked. “Have you ever been inside?”
She shook her head.
“It might feel completely different once you’re in there. It might have, oh, I don’t know . . . an atmosphere. It could surprise you. Try to picture it filled with shelves and books.” He held out one hand. “One of those pin things from your hair, if you please.”
“Excuse me?”
“I think we should take a look inside. I can pick a lock easily enough.”
She handed him a bobby pin. “I should be surprised, but somehow I’m not. This is probably how you would’ve gotten into the library earlier this week if it hadn’t been unlocked.”
“Perhaps. Except I didn’t have a woman with fetching hair around then, so where I would’ve gotten one of these things, heaven only knows.” He bent the bobby pin open and tucked it into the keyhole. He had the door unlocked in seconds. “I hope you’re impressed.”
“Thoroughly. Though if we get caught breaking in—”
“I’ve got diplomatic immunity, remember.”
“Yes, but your accomplice isn’t so fortunate.”
He smirked as he ushered her inside.
She stopped only a few feet past the threshold. The place was completely dark and she didn’t much mind. Light wouldn’t change what she knew she’d see—nothing. And unfortunately, whatever Jonah had thought she might feel once she was inside, apparently wasn’t to be. All she felt was . . . cold.
“Any better inside?”
She turned to see the shadow of Jonah’s form just inside the doorway. “I’m afraid not. But then, I’m not sure anything would be better than the Cape Cod house. It’s got history and charm.”
“And all your memories.”
He understood, then. She was glad of it.
He moved closer, the door bumping to a close behind him. “Why don’t you read, Rowan?”
“What?”
“At the game, you said you don’t read much—anymore. I take that to mean you used to. Why not anymore? You’re a librarian. You’re surrounded by books every day.”
The question surprised her. Did she even have an answer? When had she stopped reading regularly anyway? She rotated to look around the vacant room again. It smelled of new carpet and fresh paint. “I used to read. A lot. But I think . . . I got tired of feeling like the characters in books got all the good adventures. I got a little jealous of all the stories I’ll never live. All the experiences I’ll never have. And I know that sounds ridiculous, because I have a great life in a great town. But . . . I don’t know.”
Her gaze returned to Jonah, only to find him peering at her so intently she wouldn’t have been able to look away this time if she tried. “Are you truly so sure you’re not destined for an adventure of your own, Rowan Bell?”
His voice was so low and deep it nearly made her shiver. And she wasn’t sure of anything at this moment. Nothing at all.
Except . . . except that maybe he wasn’t still in love with his wife.
“Jonah, I—”
A gust of wind whooshed into the building as the front door swung open and, oh dear, were those flashing lights out the front window? A booming voice blustered in. “Rowan? When did you start breaking and entering downtown buildings?”
She closed her eyes, sighed, and stepped past Jonah to face the man whose police uniform was highlighted by the red and blue lights from the cop car outside. Her stepfather. “Hi, Eddie.”
“I don’t know if I’ve ever been so embarrassed.” If only the heater in Rowan’s car, currently blasting at full strength, could thaw out her humiliation. She watched through the windshield as Eddie closed up the building, the lights of his car still glaring in the dark.
“Oh, it wasn’t that bad. He didn’t lead us away in handcuffs, after all. He didn’t even scold us.” Jonah had his feet on the dash, his passenger chair leaned back. Completely relaxed.
As if they hadn’t just been caught trespassing. Standing together—close together—in a building that should’ve been vacant and locked.
As if her stepdad hadn’t been the one to find them. Along with his partner, that is. His partner who had laughed into his two-way radio, relaying the scenario to whoever was on the other end. Probably the entire Tinsel P.D.
“Everybody’s going to know about this by midnight. They’ll know we broke in.” Together. Which meant tomorrow at least a handful of library patrons would ask her when the wedding was.
Eddie wandered over to her car now, motioned for her to roll down the window. “All right, kiddo. We’re good to go.”
“Are you going to tell Mom?” She sounded like a teenager who’d broken curfew.
“Tell you what—I won’t tell her if you promise to show up for Sunday dinner.”
Right. Mom and Eddie’s news. “I’ll be there. Thanks for not, you know, arresting us or anything. I, um—we—appreciate it.” Oh, why was she always so awkward around Eddie? The man was nothing but kind.
Even now. He chuckled, patted her car’s hood, and pushed away. “Have a good night, Rowan. Jonah.”
She let out a breath as she closed her window.
Jonah dropped his feet to the floor. “You want to talk about it?”
She glanced over. “About what?”
“You don’t seem entirely at ease around him.”
“It’s not his fault. I don’t know why I can’t seem to warm up to him. He makes Mom so happy. I really don’t get myself sometimes, Jonah. I . . .” She sighed. “It’s late. We should get going.”
“If you’re too tired to drive—”
Despite everything, she grinned. “Not a chance, Jonah. Not a chance.”
Chapter 7
“Brickston, this is getting ridiculous.”
Jonah kept his voice low, his grip tight on his phone where he stood in line at the Main Street Bakery.
The whole place was exactly as he remembered from childhood, from the black and white checkered floor to the aquamarine walls cluttered with shelves full of fresh bread and other baked goods. The long glass case up front showed off a rainbow of pastries. The bakery wasn’t quite as bustling today as every other morning he’d been in here for the past week, but it smelled as heavenly as ever—a swirl of coffee, cinnamon, and caramel.
If only his current mood matched the atmosphere around him.
To think, just a few days back he’d been the closest to happy-go-lucky he’d ever been. With one silly football game, he’d left his worries over Geordie behind. With one drive through Tinsel, he’d realized more and more that what he was beginning to feel—no, what he felt already—toward Rowan Bell was far more than attraction.
And with one question posed in the dark of a vacant building—“Are you truly so sure you’re not destined for an adventure of your own?”—he’d caught his first glimpse of a future that might not be so impossible. Of a life with someone by his side. Not just any someone and not just a friend this time.
Even getting caught trespassing by Rowan’s own stepfather hadn’t dimmed the light of his newborn hope.
But continued reports of Geordie’s actions back home had flooded in these past days—frustrating and distracting.
“It’s Sunday,” he said to Brickston, his voice tight. “You can’t tell me Geordie’s in a meeting or a public gathering or any of the other excuses you’ve used every time I’ve called in the last three days.”
The woman in line in front of Jonah reached the counter and it would be Jonah’s turn to order soon. He should’ve waited on this call until later. But too much later and it’d be dinnertime in Concordia and if Brick had refused to disrupt Geordie during yesterday’s lunch—Jonah’s last attempt to reach his brother—he certainly wouldn’t interrupt tonight’s dinner.
Although why Geordie had given Brick the job of monitoring his communications in the first place, heaven only knew. This whole thing was utter nonsense.
“His Majesty is entertaining friends this afternoon. He asked not to be disturbed.”
It shouldn’t rankle him so—hearing Geordie referred to by the royal title. Jonah was the one who’d walked away from his position. He was the one who’d handed it off to his brother.
But only temporarily. Geordie’s current seat in the throne was a formality.
Yet, from the news Hamish had continued to bring him since Wednesday, it certainly didn’t seem as if Geordie viewed his new role as merely passing. Apparently he’d held a series of public assemblies, all centered on Harthingland and the failed treaty. Jonah’s treaty. He continued to promise action. He’d gone so far as to float the possibility of trade embargos and a ban on travel visas to and from the neighboring country.
What was he trying to do? Return Concordia to the days of constant conflict with Harthingland? Not even Father would approve. Though he’d never gone so far as Jonah to formalize a trade agreement with King Nester, Father had at least taken small steps throughout the years to improve relations.
Though Jonah doubted Geordie would manage to follow through on any of his vague promises to the citizens of Concordia—not during the holiday season and certainly not with the short timeframe of his temporary rule—he still wanted to talk to his brother.
But getting in touch with him was proving next to impossible.
“Brickston, I don’t care what Geordie is doing or who he’s entertaining. I need you to interrupt him and put him on the phone.”
“He was very clear that I shouldn’t—”
“Brick.” Jonah spoke through gritted teeth, a glint of steel in his voice that surprised even him. “I would ask that you remember who you’re speaking to.”
“And I would ask that you remember. I am an advisor to the king of Concordia. And at the moment, that isn’t you.”
The voices of the bakery patrons, the gurgling of the coffee machine, the clatter of dishes from the kitchen—all of it faded until all Jonah could hear was a foreboding thud in the back of his head. “Brick—”
A beep signaled the call’s end.
“I had a feeling I’d be seeing you soon.”
Jonah blinked, lowered his phone, attempted to match the welcoming grin of the girl behind the bakery counter. But it fell nearly as flat as the “good morning” he managed to sputter.
Brickston had hung up on him. He’d refused to let Jonah talk to Geordie and he’d hung up on him.
The bakery cashier—her nametag identified her as Meg—held up a white bag and a covered cup. “Your regular. Chocolate pastry and a large coffee. Black.”
“That’s some good service. Thank you.”
The girl’s grin widened and she giggled. And batted her eyelashes. Same as she’d done yesterday and the day before. He’d read about girls batting their eyelashes in countless books but he’d never seen someone do it. And so pointedly at that.
Even as his frustration with Brickston simmered, he could feel himself flush under the young cashier’s adoring gaze. She did realize he must be ten or twelve years her senior, did she not? He held out a five dollar bill, but she waved it away.
“On the house.”
“I insist.” He tugged at his scarf, cursing himself for wearing the thing again today. But for some reason Rowan found it entertaining, so it was rather worth the scratchy warmth.
She giggled again. “No, I insist.”
“Won’t the bakery owner get upset if you keep giving me free breakfast?”
“The bakery owner happens to be my older sister and I happen to know she’d insist, as well. Wouldn’t you, Emma?” The girl tossed the question behind her.
Emma, apparently, was the woman he now spotted leaning against the door into the kitchen. She only grinned and nodded.
Jonah took the bag and coffee from the girl’s hand, mumbled his thanks, and turned. He’d have to send Hamish for his coffee and pastry from now on.
He was nearly out the door, more than eager for the blast of cold to cure his embarrassment, when a boisterous voice stopped him. “Ah, Jonah.”
He glanced over his shoulder to see Mayor Hayden rising from a table. He must’ve been so distracted by his brief, fruitless conversation with Brick, he’d missed the mayor’s presence entirely.
“Morning, Mayor.” He’d run into the man several times since meeting him at the football game the other night. A pleasant fellow, really. Jonah might like the chap plenty well if not for his ongoing clash with Rowan.
“I’m just about to head off to church, but do you have a spare moment to chat?”
“Uh, certainly.” It wasn’t as if he was on his way anywhere in particular. The library was closed, after all. Which meant he was fairly without a plan for his day.
Perhaps he should take a cue from Mayor Hayden and go to church. He used to go regularly with Adelaide. Had even had somewhat of a strong faith at one time. As a child, he’d prayed regularly for his family, for his country, aware—even in his youth—that he’d been tasked with a position in life that required a wisdom that could only come from God.
When had all that changed? Why had he ceased praying?
“Have a good day, Jonah,” the cashier’s breezy voice called from across the bakery.
The mayor smirked under his mustache. “Perhaps we should talk o
utdoors.”
He nodded, wishing he had a free hand so he could unwind his strangling scarf. As it was, he trailed the mayor outside, blinking in the bright light. The mayor started down the sidewalk, motioning for Jonah to follow. “So, tell me, are you out to charm all the women of Tinsel? Or just the bakers and the librarians?”
Jonah sputtered, barely managing to gulp down a piping hot drink of coffee. “Excuse me?”
Mayor Hayden let out a jolly laugh. “No need to be embarrassed, young man. This is a small town and we’re quite lacking as far as eligible bachelors go. Personally, I’ve been rooting for a good man to come along and sweep Rowan Bell off her feet for years. She spends too much time locked away in that library.”
Jonah moved his bakery bag to the same hand as his coffee cup, then reached to give his scarf a loosening yank. “Uh, Mayor Hay—”
“It’s Rowan I’m wanting to talk to you about. You’ve developed somewhat a friendship with her, yes?”
“Uh, yes. We’re . . . friends.” Friends who’d spent an inordinate amount of time together all week long. He’d even taken to leaving books on the circulation desk for her with underlined quotes or scribbled notes.
“Then could you maybe do me a favor?” the mayor asked. “This whole library thing—her committee, the event she’s putting on—it’s simply not going to work. I wish she could understand. I know how much the house means to her, but it’s just not practical. Did you know she barely has any budget to buy new releases each month? All the funds are going to repairs. I’m positive she spends some of her own money at times.”
“I’m not sure what this has to do with me.”
“She might listen to you. I care about her. I watched her grow up, you know. I knew her grandmother well and if you ask me, this isn’t what Lila Bell would’ve wanted for her granddaughter.”
“From my understanding, Rowan’s fighting so hard to keep the library in its current location because of her grandmother.”
The mayor sighed. “I just don’t want her to be hurt anymore than she already will be come January when we move forward with the relocation. I’m sure this event will be a wonderful thing, but if she’s putting all her hope into it . . .” He shook his head. “I just thought perhaps you might talk to her.”
