And her first thought was Good.
She wanted him frustrated, confused, annoyed, at a loss.
She'd felt all those things as well.
Worse, even.
The kind of bad that had her - someone who treated a lot of strife like water off a duck's back - curling into a ball of uselessness for days on end.
"Book talk back there aside, in what way have I encouraged you?" she asked instead of spilling the ugly truth, getting it all out there on the ground to disassemble, pick things apart, put them back together. Because doing that would make her admit what he had done to her. And her pride couldn't take that. "This isn't a romance novel here, Liam. In the real world, when a woman isn't clearly interested and a man still pursues her, it is criminal, not endearing."
"I didn't walk into the bar expecting to see you there," he defended, the muscle in his jaw getting tight, his hands balling into fists at his side. "I have a whole life in this town that has nothing to do with you. I wasn't pursuing you. I didn't hunt you down. I went into a bar I go to occasionally. I planned to get a drink. You happened to be there. I struck up a conversation. That's it."
"Right. Because you totally seem the type to strike up conversations with people in bars. Is that why you brought a book with you?"
He mumbled something under his breath. Something that sounded a lot like 'first impressions,' as odd as that was.
"What?"
"First Impressions," he repeated, confirming her previous suspicions. "That was what Pride & Prejudice was originally titled. More fitting, in my opinion."
"And you're bringing this up now because..."
"Because the problem with Darcy and Lizzy was that first meeting, those first missteps. Those first impressions that hindered every future interaction."
"We're not Lizzy and Darcy," Riley shot back, rolling her eyes even though, inside, she couldn't help feel a small thrilling sensation that a man was able to discuss Jane Austen in detail, not dismiss it as some silly chick lit.
To that, his lips quirked up slightly. "You're impulsive. You speak before you think. Sounds like Lizzy to me." And he was standoffish, cool. Like Darcy. They both seemed to acknowledge that part silently.
"You read Austen?" she heard herself asking when she knew what she was supposed to be doing was turning and walking back to the inn before she found more reasons to find him interesting, unique, worth getting to know.
Because the more she respected him, the more she would need to dislike herself, right?
"Yeah. Why do you sound so confused by that?"
"They're love stories.
"So were a lot of titles from Dickens, Hardy, Flaubert, Lawrence... need I go on? Besides, calling them love stories is short-sighted. They're sharp, witty studies of the time. While Elinor and Marianne find their way to Edward and Colonel Brandon, the stronger tone there was that of women's helplessness, their inability to choose their own fate. The love between sisters. The difference between classes. The class thing is found in Emma as well, along with Pride & Prejudice. Sure, they all end with a happily ever after, but saying they are just love stories is like saying Moby Dick was just a story about a whale."
"I've known a lot of well-read men. None of them have read Austen."
"You haven't met me before, Riley," he said, voice going oddly soft - a warm caress that sent shivers across her chilled skin.
Warm, something deep within her said. There is warm underneath all that cool.
And a part of her wanted to get to feel that, to wrap it around her like a giant, fluffy blanket on a chilly autumn day.
The other part of her, arguably a smaller part at the moment, tried to remind her of the cold he had inflicted, the kind that sank through all the layers of skin, the muscle, tendons, going straight through to the bone, settling there. He'd sent an ice age into her life.
The last thing she needed was for him to try to thaw it.
That would screw with her mind that was already rather all over the place when it came to relationships as a whole, especially romantic ones.
"I've met you now," she answered, noting the sharpness had left her tone when she needed it most to be there.
"And if you weren't so determined to hate me, I think you'd find my mind pretty interesting too."
With that, and nothing more, he turned away from her, walking back across the street, unlocking the bookstore, and disappearing inside.
She wasn't sure how long she stood there, watching the darkened space, expecting light, movement, or for him to reappear, not knowing why she was so curious over the fact that there was no light, movement, or reemergence.
"That's my competition, huh?" Dane's deep, sexy voice asked from behind her, making her jolt and turn, finding him leaning back against the building, foot cocked back on the wall, shoulders pressing into it as well, hips thrust away, looking completely at ease. Then again, she doubted men like him often found themselves anything but completely comfortable in their own skin.
"What?" she asked, brows drawing together.
"O'reilly," he clarified, jerking his chin toward the bookstore. Liam O'reilly. She has a full name.
"Competition for what?" she asked, pretending ignorance even though they both clearly knew what he was talking about.
"For a chance to get to know what's hidden under those giant sweaters," Dane told her, reaching out to snag the hem, dragging her closer. She could have planted her feet, resisted the pull. But he pulled. And her feet let her follow. Until the toes of his boots touched the tips of her ballet flats.
"Generally, book t-shirts."
"What?" he asked, brows drawing together.
"What's under my giant sweaters," she clarified. "They're generally book t-shirts."
"And under that?" he asked, eyes twinkling, like he knew her game, and was determined to beat her at it.
"Tank top sometimes. Bra if I actually have to leave the house."
His lips tipped up. "With me, you'd never have to leave the bed, baby."
There was a slam, making her jump, head swiveling over her shoulder to find Liam walking out of the bookstore, head ducked, jogging across the street toward his brother's shop.
"He might be more mentally stimulating," Dane went on, not missing a beat, drawing her attention back to him.
"Let me guess, you'd be more physically stimulating."
"I've never had any complaints."
"Have you ever stuck around long enough to hear any?" she shot back, brow raising.
To that, Dane Broderick, manwhore supreme, managed to look a bit sheepish. "Maybe I won't be sticking around to have breakfast with you, or discuss your favorite book character, but I will make you come so hard you can't see straight, let alone read."
"I won't say it's not tempting," Riley submitted.
"But you'd rather fight about fictional characters with O'reilly."
"Yes. I mean... no."
"You can't have it both ways, babe."
"I mean, yes, I prefer someone who will stimulate me mentally before we even get near the bed. But also, no, I have no interest in Liam. What?" she asked, watching the way Dane's lips curved upward.
"I'm a bartender. I watch people. It's part of the gig."
"And?"
"And, baby girl, you were ready to strip off his clothes, and fuck him right there on the bar when he started talking about world building - whatever the fuck that is. You might be trying to convince yourself otherwise - though I can't fathom why - but even now you are fantasizing about him taking you from behind in the stacks of that bookstore of his, aren't you?" he asked, eyes dancing at the way her cheeks went pink, secretly harboring a fantasy about having sex in a bookstore, or library, or anywhere that the books lived. "What's the problem? He might not have the charm of his brother, but the fucks have the same looks."
"Right. Because looks are the biggest factor."
"You already all but admitted you enjoyed his... substance. So you like the brain, the body isn't something to sneez
e at, what's the problem?"
"I'm not looking for a fling."
To that, his eyes rolled a bit. "Might not be looking for one, but you seem to be needing one."
"Hey," she grumbled, small-eyeing him.
"What? You gonna deny it? You're taut as a bow, baby. Just saying," he said, shrugging, moving to the side a bit. "If you decide to end your drought, I am just a few doors down. Tap on my window. Or just slip out of your clothes, climb into bed with me, and wake me up with your mouth."
On that, he moved away, going straight back into the bar, leaving her there, her mind and body more confused than ever before.
She wasn't sure how long she stood there, trying to sort through her feelings before deciding there was no making sense of the situation, and making her way back to the inn.
"That's a dark mood," a voice declared, making her turn to find a woman standing there, so short that she might have been able to nearly classify as a little person, a bit on the heavier side, with a pretty roundish face, green doe eyes, and blonde hair that she had pulled into a French braid down her back, but a few wisps had escaped, falling to frame her face. If it weren't for the apron around her waist, Riley wouldn't have any idea what she was doing hanging out behind the reception desk. "Meggie," she offered, giving Riley a smile. "The cook here."
"Riley," she offered back, giving her a tired smile.
"You look like you need some hot chocolate."
"Dane Broderick," Riley found herself offering to the woman with the sweet smile and kind eyes, uncharacteristically needing to share her problems.
"Oooh-Kay then," Meggie said, shaking her head as she moved out from behind the desk. "So not hot chocolate. How about a Drunken Cookie Monster?" she asked, leading Riley down the hall toward the employee-only door to the kitchen. "That way you get the chocolate, but take the edge off the lingering ache in your lady bits."
"So it's not just me then," Riley said as she sat down on one of the stools butted up against the island.
"Oh, please, honey, no," Meggie said, waving a hand as she pulled open the freezer, pulling out a tub of cookies n' cream ice-cream. "I started keeping this here when he showed his handsome self up at the door," she told Riley, popping the top, pulling out a scoop, and starting to dispense it into a blender that seemed to perpetually live on the counter beside a multitude of other devices - air fryer, mixer, rotisserie, an apple peeler, and something Riley suspected of being one of those fancy old-fashioned presses for making your own pasta. "I swear just one of those dirty smiles of his in my direction makes me lose my wits," Meggie added as she poured some half & half.
When she reached for a collection of bottles under the counter, coming up with cake vodka, vanilla vodka, and white chocolate liquor, Riley felt halfway to a cure already, and she hadn't even had a taste yet. "If I'd known I could get this kinda drink because of him, I'd have come in after he backed me up against a wall upstairs."
"Oh, honey," Meggie said, lifting the vodka she had just put down, pouring an extra half ounce in. "I'm not surprised he set his sights on you. You're as cute as a button. But you're not like Em. You don't have the spirit to deal with him."
"So, wait, he and Em had a fling?"
"They had a... thing," she decided on. "Way before Em settled down with James. They just... they were the same kind of people. It was casual, but not, y'know?"
She really didn't.
"Yeah."
"But then Dane took off to California without telling anyone. Including Em. He came back not too long ago, planning to put down roots. And making his way through every woman in town who aged up since he last left." She paused, turning on the blender, making the thick mix bubble and mix together. "I know you're a grown woman, and you don't need my advice," she said, popping the top, pouring the mixture into a sturdy milkshake glass, actually pausing to top it with an Oreo cookie before passing it to Riley, "but I would suggest just... not going there."
"He's a manwhore."
"He is. More than a few women leave here in the middle of the night carrying their shoes, then show up a day later, making a scene. I don't know you, but I figure you would hate to be known as the woman who made a scene after sleeping with some hot slutty guy."
"I am actually rather known for making scenes," Riley admitted with a rueful smile. "But I have no intentions of being yet another warm body to fall into his bed. He's just..."
"Panty-melting," Meggie supplied, running a finger inside the blender to gather some leftover milkshake, licking it off her finger.
"Yes," Riley agreed. "That about covers it. But I am willing to endure it daily if it means I can get these," she added, toasting Meggie with her drink.
"Anytime you have man trouble, you can let yourself in here. I'm always around. I have all kinds of chocolate goodies to make you forget about it."
"I will keep that in mind," Riley agreed, something in her saying that maybe, just maybe, it was an offer she'd have to take her up on more than a few times if things kept going as they were currently going while she stayed in Stars Landing.
But not because of Dane Broderick.
Oh, no.
Her man trouble had a very different name.
Liam O'reilly.
And she had the feeling that the trouble was just starting.
FIVE
Liam
The door closed gently, making Liam's head pop up from where he was hunched over a book behind the counter in the cafe - his usual place most of the day. Close to the coffee. With a counter between him and everyone else.
He never looked up when the door opened.
Which only proved that he was off.
Distracted.
And maybe - dare he even think it - hopeful.
That it was her.
That she had decided to drop in again.
That she thought things through, saw that spending her free time with him while she was in town would be better than, well, not spending her time with him.
Even after catching sight of her cozying up with Dane outside the bar two nights before.
He'd felt a stab of disappointment, of jealousy at seeing it before he had slept on it, deciding that it was unlikely the two had ended up in bed, no matter how easily Dane usually managed to make that happen.
She was too smart.
She'd see through it.
He'd seen her sitting on the front porch with Devon having coffee when he had left the shop to hit the market, needing to stock up on milk and sugar before Lena - his brother's woman - showed up to drop off the dessert goodies for the day.
So she was still in town.
Just had no reason to visit the bookstore.
Or was actively avoiding him.
But she would run out of reading material sooner or later with how quickly she seemed to read.
"Sitting behind that counter sulking about her ain't gonna make her show up," Maude's voice called, still hidden behind the romance shelves as she usually was, trolling for any possible new arrivals. He kept a revolving door of romances coming in of every type, finding the ladies in the town were voracious about it. And if he didn't keep them stocked, they'd turned to Amazon or ebooks. Maude alone went through a good three books a week. He had a catalog flagged for all the books he planned to have come in every month just for them. They, for the most part, were who kept the lights on, after all. So he was willing to put up with their somewhat invasive questions and suggestions about his love life. Or lack thereof. That he wasn't getting any younger, that he needed to get to know real women instead of fictional ones, build a house, have babies.
"I'm not sulking about anyone, Miss Maude," he called back, flicking on the electric tea kettle, figuring if she was here to lecture him, she would want her usual mix of pomegranate, hibiscus, and chamomile tea with a small honey spoon.
"Boy, you can fool everyone else - maybe even yourself - but you can't fool me," she declared, coming around the corner with a new romance he had put on the shelves that morning - an in
die pub Beauty and the Beast retelling. "Heard all about you two at the bar."
"We happened to be at the bar at the same time."
"Maybe you happened to be there at the same time, but you walked over and engaged her," she insisted, clearly having been working her way through the grapevine for details. "Known ya since you picked up Green Eggs and Ham for the first time. Watched you date casually over the years. Women who always came your way. You never went after them. You never sat next to them at a bar to demand some conversation."
"She's just a woman passing through town," he insisted.
To that, Maude snorted as he turned away, peeling open her three teabag packages, slipping them into a ceramic cup - knowing Maude would balk at the paper - and filling it with boiling water. "She's a lot more than that. And I think she's going to be around a bit. She already agreed to come to the Peach Festival."
"Badgered her into it, did you?" Liam, asked, slipping the honey spoon into the mug before passing it across the counter toward Maude.
"Badger, pssh," Maude said, throwing her head around a bit. "Like anyone would accuse me of such a thing. It is for charity. Good people like doing things for charity. Which reminds me, I can expect to see you there as well, can't I?"
She knew damn well he didn't plan on going, that he had always sent a check instead, that he had sent a check every year since he was old enough to do so.
But she was smart.
She'd made sure she'd dropped the comment about Riley being conned into going.
So it looked like he was about to friggen peach pick for charity.
"Ten A.M. Saturday," she added with a pointed nod, seeming to sense his decision.
"Old Man Darkening's place?" Liam's asked, already resigning himself to the fate of a long day under the hot sun, picking fruit off trees, the fuzz making him itch from palm to elbow.
Sounded like a nightmare.
Yet he was going to do it, wasn't he?
"You know," Maude added, flipping the book over to check the price before fetching the cash out of her wallet. "I think I might have heard Emily saying something about needing to rotate some of the books on the shelves in the sitting room." With that, she took her book, and his mug, and walked out of the store.
What The Heart Learns Page 6
