Right Kind of Wrong

by Sara Rider

  What the heck was she up to?

  He quickly slipped around another corner, positioning himself between her and the exit, and spied on her through the bookshelves. She dug through the cart with ruthless efficiency, then pulled out the same purple-colored novel she’d just returned. It wasn’t unusual for patrons to forget something inside the cover of a returned book. He’d found more twenty-dollar bills bookmarking pages than he could count. He’d also found dirty tissues, feathers, old photographs, and even a crusty old piece of beef jerky once. The library had a policy of informing the patrons of every accidentally returned item that wasn’t a health hazard. So what was so important that Julia risked breaking her neck to retrieve before anyone else could find it?

  And why did she have to be doing it in a tight plaid pencil skirt that highlighted those round hips like a work of art and made him want to tug them close to his to see how well they could fit together?

  Time to find out one of those answers. He cleared his throat and stepped into the open. She gasped and took off in the opposite direction, clutching the book to her chest. He had to admit it was kind of funny to see her take off like a rocket in three-inch heels, so he didn’t rush to chase her.

  “Julia,” he called out in his low, rumbling, no-nonsense voice.

  “Nope! Not me,” she called back before disappearing into the bathroom and locking the door with a loud click.

  He let out a small chuckle. His quiet Friday night was about to get a lot more interesting.

  Julia dropped her back against the heavy door with her eyes closed and held the book to her chest. Adrenaline thundered in her veins. What had she just gotten herself into?

  This wasn’t the first the time a romance novel had her breathing heavy, but it was the first time it happened in a semi-public place. With a deep, steadying breath, she forced her eyelids open.

  Please be in there, please be in there, please be in there.

  A knock shook the door behind her, surprising her so much, she nearly pitched forward.

  “Julia?”

  Shit. “Yes?” She’d tried to keep her voice normal, but the word came out more like a squeal.

  A silent pause followed, long enough that the tiniest filament of hope he was going to ignore the fact she was hiding out in the bathroom sparked in her chest. “Is everything okay?”

  No. Nothing about this situation was okay. She was locked in a bathroom on a Friday night with only one inch of metal separating her most embarrassing secret from the man who inspired it. Her hair was a mess, her lipstick smeared, and there was floor lint on every inch of her clothing. “Yep, it’s fine.”

  “Normally, people who are fine don’t climb through library windows and lock themselves in the bathroom.”

  “Shows what you know about normal!”

  “Julia.” He drew out the syllables of her name like warm taffy pulled in his hands. His big, strong, capable hands. It sent a flutter into her belly.

  “Yes?” This, she realized, was the defining moment of her life. She could walk on the moon or win a Nobel Prize, and the last thought she would have on her deathbed was of how she ended up here.

  “What are you doing inside the bathroom?”

  “Girl problems!” She drummed her fingers frantically against the well-worn cover of the paperback in her hands, praying he would just decide to leave her alone.

  Then, as if by a miracle, she heard his heavy footsteps leading him away from the bathroom door. She exhaled in sweet relief and started flipping through the pages of the book, searching for the drawing. It wasn’t there. She held the book upside down and shook it. Nothing came out. Panic swirled in her chest. Where is it?

  Another bang at the door made her jump.

  “Julia?” This time his voice was different. Quieter. Like he was nervous, which was odd because Fergus MacNair was not the one with a reason to be nervous in this particular moment. “I’ve got menstrual pads if you need them.”

  She dropped the book, eyes going wide. “What? No! That’s not—”

  “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It happens all the time. The dispenser in the bathroom broke a few weeks ago, so we’ve been keeping the supplies in the back office.”

  Oh god.

  “If you prefer tampons, I’ve got those, too.”

  “No!” She picked up the book and shook it one more time.

  “I’ve got regular and super-heavy flow—”

  Realizing this couldn’t get any worse, she opened the door. He was holding a handful of tampons like a bouquet of flowers. She swiped them from his hand and shoved the book into his chest. “Here you go. I just needed to finish the last chapter.”

  She took advantage of his confusion to beeline for the exit, cursing her love of tall, spiky heels. She pushed the long heavy bar to open the door and slammed her shoulder into the metal. “Oof.”

  “It’s locked.”

  “Right.” Her face, already a painful red, burned with embarrassment. “Um, I don’t suppose you could open it for me?”

  He stepped so close, she was trapped against the door, shoulders aching and heart racing in her chest. She shoved the tampons into her purse, brushed her hair out of her face, and straightened her back as though she still had a little bit of dignity hidden away somewhere to draw on in this moment. “You forgot to say the magic word.”

  “What?”

  He stepped even closer—so close, one deep breath would press her chest against his. In spite of everything, a shiver rolled down her spine. He was six feet five inches of unbearably handsome man, with a broad, muscular chest and angular jaw. His hair a lighter shade of red than her own, and his eyes were powerful and penetrating behind the metal frames, like he was reading her thoughts. He tilted his head down, lips getting closer and closer to her ear. “The magic word is please.”

  His breath was warm against her neck. She shuddered, hoping he didn’t notice, but a small chuckle escaped his lips. She should have known nothing would go her way tonight, so she decided to go all in. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, needing to know what he smelled like…

  Pumpkin spice?

  Her eyes flashed open and she inhaled once more. This time it was more like a sniff. Yep. This man, with his biceps like tree trunks and a stare that would make anyone cower, did not smell like the male characters in her beloved romance novels. There was no essence of cedar or wood-smoke or motor oil or danger wafting from his skin. Fergus MacNair smelled like pumpkin spice.

  It was delicious. She wanted to sniff him until her nose was full of his scent. Why did that have to make him so much more attractive? And does his skin taste just as good?

  He took a step back like he just realized she was a feral creature. She wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t in this moment.

  “I’m sorry. Would you please let me out?”

  “You sure you wouldn’t rather go back out the window?” He plucked a chunk of gray fluff off the sleeve of her coat.

  She narrowed her eyes, despite the uncomfortable mix of shame and lust swirling in her belly. “Please, Mr. MacNair, would you pretty please open the door for me, please?” Somehow, her words came out breathy and sultry instead of sarcastic.

  There was a flash of something in his eyes. Surprise? Lust? Horror?

  “Of course.” He pulled the dangling key set from his back pocket and unlocked the door. She didn’t wait. As soon as she had a taste of freedom, she bolted for her car, impervious to the chilly January wind and fat, heavy snowflakes falling around her.

  It wasn’t until she was safely inside her warm apartment that she realized she’d never found the drawing.

  2

  Fergus settled into his favorite armchair—an old brown leather recliner he inherited from his grandfather almost fifteen years ago—and prepared himself for a quiet evening. He’d ordered a pizza with pepperoni, olives, and green peppers, and had a new 1000-piece puzzle of a 1967 Alpha Romeo ready to be assembled on his coffee table. In other words, a perfect
Friday night. Exactly what he needed in order to forget about the weird encounter with Julia Hardin earlier this evening.

  He lifted one greasy, hot slice just as his phone buzzed. There were less than a handful of people who were allowed to text him and actually expect an answer.

  It was his ex-wife, who’d more than earned the right to a quick response from him. With a grumble, he put down his pizza, wiped his hands on a napkin, and picked up his phone.

  Did you check your mail yet?

  When they’d been married, Nicole teased him mercilessly about his meticulous habit of ignoring the mail, even when it meant unpaid bills and stacks of envelopes piling up on the floor in front of the mail flap. At one point, she’d stopped dealing with the mail altogether in an experiment to see what would happen. It went on for three weeks and he only noticed the mess when he slipped on a flyer for an appliance sale and landed on his ass, spilling the butter chicken he’d picked up for dinner all over the foyer tile. He’d gotten a little better after that—picking up the mail and letting it pile up on the kitchen counter instead of the floor.

  With an annoyed sigh, he typed his answer. No.

  Hurry up and read it!

  His stomach rumbled with a pang of hunger, but he got up and flipped through the stack. He was a single man with few friends and all his bills set up with preauthorized payments. Why the hell did he even receive mail anymore?

  He stopped shuffling when he came to the small teal-and-gold envelope covered in glitter. He flicked the envelope’s flap open and pulled out the card. Glitter spilled out like a constellation of stars onto his black countertop.

  Goddamn glitter.

  The invitation inside read Dear Fergus plus date. You are cordially invited to the upcoming wedding of Nicole Lincoln and Thomas Butterworth on May 15th.

  He shoved the invitation back into the envelope and tried to brush the glitter off his hands. It stuck to his skin like it was made of superglue. He tried washing his hands with dish soap, but it made no difference. His palms were as sparkly as a unicorn’s ass.

  Goddamn fucking glitter.

  His phone rang. He wasn’t in the mood to answer it, but he’d never ignored Nicole’s calls during their marriage and he didn’t ignore them in their divorce either. “What?”

  Nicole laughed on the other end. “The invitation. What do you think?”

  He grabbed a slice of pizza with his free hand and shoved it into his mouth, chewing it slowly before answering. “About the glitter? Or that you’re marrying Tom? Or the fact you sneakily wrote ‘Fergus plus date’?”

  “All of it.”

  He took another bite, savoring the perfectly textured, slightly burned, wood-fired crust. “One, you are an evil she-devil for sending me a goddamn glitter explosion. Two, I’m happy for you and Tom. And three, there is no Fergus plus date.”

  He couldn’t exactly say he liked Tom because Tom was a person and Fergus didn’t like any person, as a general rule. But Nicole liked the guy, and more importantly, Emily liked him.

  “We’ve been divorced for seven years, Fergus. You can’t stay single forever.”

  “I like being single.” He took another bite, swallowing quickly. “No offense.”

  She laughed again. “None taken. But Emily’s not a little girl anymore. If you can be okay with me getting remarried, why not let yourself start dating again?”

  Fergus winced. Even though their split was amicable, it was tough on Emily, who’d only been seven at the time. She’d begged him and Nicole to stay together, not understanding that staying together would eventually lead to anger and resentment. As much as it killed him to not spend every day with his daughter, it was so much healthier for her to have two loving, supportive parents who got along rather than married parents who fought constantly.

  When he’d explained to Emily that a reconciliation wasn’t going to happen, she made him pinky swear that he would never date anyone else. Never get remarried. Never start a new family. He’d never been good at saying no to Emily and refused to break a promise to her, even one he made when she was only seven years old.

  “I don’t want to date.”

  “Really? There’s no one you’re interested in? After all this time, not one person’s sparked any interest in your big black heart?”

  “No.” Except that wasn’t exactly true. From the minute Julia Hardin had sashayed up to his circulation desk and dropped a two-foot stack of romance novels in front of him, then proceeded to explain how a self-checkout option would be so much more efficient, he’d felt more than a spark. It was an explosion. A combustion engine roaring to life after years of neglect. For a guy who liked to be left alone most of the time, it made no sense that he found himself attracted to a bossy, sarcastic woman who apparently had a habit of climbing through library windows.

  Not to mention he was pretty sure she hated him.

  He heard Nicole’s exasperated sigh on the other end of the line. “I just want you to be happy.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have sent me a glitter bomb in the mail.”

  “It was Emily’s idea to add a little extra glitter to your envelope.”

  “Tell her I’m taking away her allowance.”

  “Tell her yourself.

  A shuffling sound came through the receiver and a moment later he heard Emily’s voice. “Dad? Guess what? I’m coming to Shadow Creek for spring break this year.”

  Fergus nearly dropped the phone in surprise, all thoughts of the wedding disappearing from his mind. “What?”

  “Is that okay?” The confidence in his daughter’s voice flattened.

  “Of course,” he said quickly, heart swelling with excitement. “It’s more than okay. For the entire week?”

  “Yeah. I thought I’d change things up this year. Mom’s going to drive me up to see you, but she says you have to drive me back.”

  A ridiculous grin stretched across his face, so wide his cheeks hurt. Normally he went down to Seattle to see her for dinners and weekends, staying in Nicole and Tom’s spare room. It wasn’t ideal, but Emily had been a tween when she moved across the country because of Nicole’s job. She hadn’t had an easy time making friends and didn’t want to spend every second weekend in a small town with her dad. But she was fourteen now. She was a confident, beautiful, headstrong teenager. There was nothing that terrified him more in this world.

  “Bye, Dad. Love you!”

  “Love you, too.”

  The strident shuffling pierced his ears once more and Nicole came back on the line. “I know this is a change, but she really wanted to come see you for the week. Does that work for you?”

  “Yeah, it’s great! We can…” Shit, he had no idea what he was going to do to entertain Emily. What if he blew it and she had a miserable time? What if she was so bored she never wanted to come back? His palms started to sweat.

  “Stop worrying. You’ll figure something out. Our daughter loves you and wants to spend time with you. What you should be worrying about is finding a date for my wedding. I can set up an online dating profile for you if you like.”

  He growled into the receiver.

  “Fine. Have it your way. But if you don’t bring a plus one, I’m going to have to seat you at the singles table with my uncle Arthur. Do you remember how drunk he got at our wedding? How he decided to give a speech in a fake British accent all about how our marriage wouldn’t last as long as his love affair with his pet hedgehog?”

  “Technically he was right.”

  “That’s not the point! The point is that you will be forced to make small talk with Uncle Arthur and Ms. Tiggy Winkles all night.”

  “Fine, I’ll think about it,” he relented. “And congratulations to you and Tom.”

  He and Nicole went over the plans for his visit with Emily the next weekend before hanging up. As per usual, he would be driving to Seattle for the night to spend the night at Nicole’s house. But next month, that would change. Emily would finally be coming here—to Shadow Creek—of her o
wn volition.

  He sat back down on his recliner, shoved the rest of his slice of pizza in his mouth, and picked up a piece of the puzzle. It was covered in glitter. The damn stuff was already spreading like antibiotic-resistant bacteria all over his space, and he couldn’t help feeling like that was somehow symbolic of the way his quiet little life was about to change.

  “What do you think, Julia?”

  “Huh?” Julia jerked her attention back to her friends sitting across from her at the big oak table. “Sorry, I was a bit distracted.”

  “We were talking about whether a grovel needs to literally be on the knees in order to be satisfying,” her friend Nora said. Nora tapped the yellow cover of her paperback. “I thought Remington should have gotten right down on the ground to beg for forgiveness, not only because he screwed up so big, but also as a symbolic recognition of the inherent power and class differences he and Evangeline are going to have to overcome in their lives.”

  “Oh yeah, I guess,” Julia offered, spinning her nearly untouched pint glass on top of the coaster.

  “Wait a minute. You’re the grovel queen. How can you not have a strong opinion about that scene?” asked Clem, one of the Books and Brews Club’s founding members.

  Julia shrugged. “I’m just a little distracted today.”

  From the minute Nora mentioned getting down on hands and knees, Julia’s mind had gone straight to her embarrassing encounter with Fergus MacNair at the library the other night. Had he found her drawing? What if it wasn’t Fergus who found it but another library patron? Like a child? Oh god, what if she’d traumatized the little kids attending storybook time? What if she was never allowed back in the library ever again?

  No, it would be okay. It had to be okay. She’d looked everywhere at the library for the note and couldn’t find it. Except, she’d already turned her car and her purse upside down looking for it. So where the heck was it?

  She blushed, realizing everyone was staring at her. She couldn’t blame them. Most of the time, she was the most organized Type A in the room. She was usually the one who led the discussion and encouraged everyone else to speak up. She was never the quiet one.