The Bookworm's Guide to Dating

by Hart, Emma

  He stared at me.

  “Damn it, Josh. Do you know how many new books we get in every single week? We got twenty-five this week alone.”

  “Shit. Okay. Hold on.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapped the screen, then held it out in front of him. “This is going one of two ways.”

  I grinned and tipped the chalk dust into the little trashcan.

  “Hello? Joshua? Is that you?”

  “Yes, Grandma. Move the phone from your ear, and you’ll see me. Yep, there you go.”

  “Ooh, hello, handsome boy!”

  I grinned, wiggling my eyebrows. Handsome boy, indeed.

  Josh’s grandma was the most wholesome, sweetest lady I’d ever met in my life—a stark contrast to the majority of the residents at the retirement community.

  “Hey, Grandma,” he said, acting like his cheeks weren’t tinged with pink. “I’m at the bookstore.”

  “Let me guess; you forgot the book and one of those lovely girls can’t help you.”

  Aw.

  See? The sweetest.

  Josh rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I forgot. Can you talk to Kinsley?”

  “No. I can’t see her.”

  “I haven’t handed her the phone yet, Grandma.”

  “Ooh, that explains it, dear. Get on with it, then.”

  I choked back another laugh.

  Honestly, Vicki Carter was an absolute delight.

  I took the phone from Josh and angled it so she could see me. “Hi, Mrs. Carter!”

  “Kinsley! Hello, darling girl!” She was wearing her trademark pink lipstick that made her blue eyes pop, and her light eyelashes were caked in a thick dark brown mascara that seemed as though it’d been present for the past twenty years. “How are you?”

  “I’m well, thank you. How are you?”

  “Alive,” she chortled. “Now, darling, I want the new Amelia Cooper. Do you have it?”

  I grinned. I was not surprised at all—I did have it, and in fact, Saylor had set it aside yesterday morning for her. “Yes, ma’am. Saylor set it aside yesterday for you.”

  “Are you kidding?” Josh asked. “You went through all that and you already know?”

  “Of course I know,” I said, looking over the phone at him. “Your grandma has been reading Amelia Cooper forever, and she’s been getting her new books set aside since before I worked here. Do you really think I’d forget?”

  Vicki cackled. “You’re good girls. How much do I owe you?”

  “Same as usual,” I replied.

  “Joshua, pay them seventeen dollars.”

  “Seventeen dollars for a book?” Josh all but gasped. “Good God, Grandma!”

  “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain with me, child. That’s a hardback you’re cussing about.”

  I looked pointedly at him. “One never takes the Lord’s name in vain over a hardback.”

  “Is this town just full of bookworms?”

  “Yes,” both Vicki and I answered at the same time.

  Josh muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

  “Kinsley, he’ll pay you and bring me my book. I’m going to take a nap ready to stay up all night reading,” Vicki said.

  With that, she hung up.

  Goodbye to her, too.

  “So rude,” Josh murmured as he put his phone in his back pocket. “Seventeen dollars for a book and she doesn’t even say goodbye.”

  I shrugged one shoulder. “When I’m her age, I expect I’ll be exactly the same.”

  “That’s not terrifying at all.”

  After shooting him a look that told him he should shut up, I told him to wait there while I fetched the book.

  I grabbed Under the Setting Sun by Amelia Cooper from the ‘reserved’ section of the shelf in the storeroom and flipped it to read the back as I walked back through the store. It was the twelfth and final book in the series, and even though it sounded delightful, I wasn’t sure I had the time to dedicate to twelve books right now.

  But we all knew I was going to buy book one later anyway, so it was a moot point.

  “Are you…reading it?”

  I jerked up and met Josh’s green-gray eyes. “Just the back.”

  “So you’re reading it.”

  “If the book isn’t open, I’m not reading it.” I slipped behind the register and lay the book on the white tissue paper we used to pack all orders. There was nothing worse than getting your book home and seeing bent pages or a damaged cover, and while the tissue paper wasn’t exactly a metal safe, it did the job.

  I wrapped the book and secured it with a sticker before putting it into a small bag for him. “Seventeen dollars, please.”

  Josh handed me the twenty with a sigh. “I’m not getting this money back from her, am I?”

  “No, but you know she’ll have your favorite cake in her room waiting for you as a thank you, so don’t be so grumpy.” I handed him his three dollars in change.

  Literally in change.

  He looked at the coins. “Why have you given it to me in quarters?”

  “To be annoying. Obviously.” I grinned and shut the drawer so he couldn’t ask me to change it for three one-dollar bills. “Will that be all, sir?”

  “No,” he said slowly, dropping the coins in his back pocket. “One of the guys wants to go out with you tomorrow night.”

  My eyes widened. “Alone?”

  “No, he’s bringing his parents.”

  “Joshua.”

  “You asked a stupid question, so I gave you a stupid answer.” He shrugged. “It’s the engineer. He’s in town visiting his great-aunt tomorrow afternoon and wanted to know if you were free.”

  “I am so not ready to actually go out with someone!”

  “Then why am I doing this?”

  “Well, I’m awkward and uncomfortable? I might climb out a bathroom window? Maybe end up choking on something so he has to Heimlich me?”

  “Stop panicking.”

  “I can’t!”

  He put the book down and took my face in his hands. “Stop it, or I’m going to slap you.”

  I stopped.

  He was right in front of me, his handsome face barely inches from mine, and his gaze was holding mine hostage.

  Something… tingled. Somewhere inside me.

  Whatever it was, it was new.

  And I was pretty sure it wasn’t a good thing.

  “Please let go of me,” I breathed.

  “Right.” He stepped back. “I’m giving him your number. He’ll text you so you don’t have to worry about me reading your conversations.”

  “How else am I going to know if I’m being totally awkward if you aren’t reading them?”

  “It’s called screenshots,” he replied dryly. “But surely you can handle one dinner with a stranger?”

  “The evidence up until now would say no.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ. Right, okay. We’re having dinner tonight and I’m going to teach you how not to be a blubbering mess into your main course.”

  “It’s cute you think I’ll make it past the starter.”

  “Kinsley, I don’t think you’ll make it past the door,” he drawled, his eyes sparking with laughter. “But I was trying to give you some confidence.”

  “It didn’t work.”

  “I know.” He grabbed his grandma’s book and stepped back. “I’ll pick you up at seven and I’ll see if I can’t teach you a trick or two. Wear something nice, okay?”

  “Nice? How nice? What kind of nice? Nice like jeans and a shirt or a fancy dress and heels nice?”

  He backed toward the door with a grin. “Figure it out.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but the bell dinged loudly as the door shut behind him.

  He was gone.

  Damn it to hell.

  CHAPTER SIX – KINSLEY

  rule six: you do have to ask about your date’s interests.

  To be fair, Jamie Pope—the engineer from Moose Knuckle—was
a prompt texter.

  His first message had come through at exactly five-twenty-eight p.m. with a note that he was sorry he hadn’t messaged earlier, but he didn’t finish work until five.

  I wasn’t an unreasonable person, and considering I was still panicking about what the hell I was supposed to wear to tonight’s date trial run, I told him it was fine and thank you for texting.

  It was a good start.

  There was a lot that could go wrong between now and our date, but here I was.

  Killing it.

  If I weren’t naked, I’d totally brush dirt off my shoulder like a cringey nineties’ pop video.

  My phone buzzed with a text message and I glanced down.

  JAMIE: So where’s good in White Peak to eat? I don’t get over there much, but my great-aunt just moved into the assisted living facility so I’ll be there more often.

  It was so fun to hear all the names people called that place. Assisted living, retirement home, old people’s home… I just thought it was a home for the insane elderly for the most part.

  Judging by the upcoming duck parade, it wasn’t like I was wrong.

  ME: Did you know they just got ducks?

  JAMIE: There was a lady talking about duck-sized bonnets on eBay when I called Aunt Elizabeth.

  ME: That’ll be Mabel. My friend’s grandma.

  JAMIE: She sounds like a hoot. Doesn’t help the food problem though

  And this was why Kinsley Lane didn’t date.

  She was a squirrel, ladies and gentlemen.

  She also apparently talked about herself in the third person.

  She was exhausting.

  ME: Sorry. I went off on a tangent. FYI, I’m prone to that.

  JAMIE: Good to know LOL

  ME: Umm, there’s Bronco’s bar which is owned by my friend’s parents. Hot Stone Pizzeria does great pizza and you can eat in or takeout. Bella Italia is a great eat in place, and there’s also an Indian called Moti Mahal that’s really great.

  JAMIE: What’s your favorite?

  ME: Casual or sit down meals?

  JAMIE: A date, Kinsley.

  Oh. Duh. Idiot.

  ME: Bella Italia or Moti Mahal.

  JAMIE: I’ll check out their websites. If you’re free tomorrow night for dinner?

  My cheeks burned even though he couldn’t see.

  ME: I have to close the store at six, but I’ll be good to go from seven-ish.

  JAMIE: I’ll let you know.

  ME: Okay, great.

  Look at me go!

  All right, it was a little touch and go when I brought up the ducks, but he hadn’t balked and ran away at my awkwardness, so there was that.

  Basically, I really did need Josh to help me after all.

  Speaking of Josh… time had swiftly passed while I was texting Jamie, and I was now running late. Quelle surprise.

  I dropped my phone and stared at my closet. Without knowing where we were going, I had no idea what to wear. Was it any wonder I rarely dated? It was all too stressful and confusing and that was before I’d even left my own house.

  The one thing I could decide upon was heels. No matter where we went, a good pair of black pumps would be suitable, so I pulled out my favorite, most comfortable pair of black stilettos that I’d owned for three years.

  Progress.

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t getting in any restaurants wearing just shoes.

  Damn Josh. I knew why he was testing me like this, but I wasn’t happy about it at all. At least with Jamie it looked like he would tell me where we were going so I’d know what kind of outfit to pull together.

  This one was a crapshoot.

  Okay, jeans. Jeans were good. Jeans were versatile. Jeans and heels didn’t make one look like a whore, did they?

  God, why weren’t there guides for this? Dating guides for bookworms and introverts. That would make life so much easier than it was.

  Josh and his attempt at advice didn’t really cut it, did it?

  I groaned and pulled out underwear. Now there were two items where it didn’t matter—one, I wasn’t going to have sex with Josh tonight, and two, I didn’t have sex with anyone on the first date.

  Fat panties it was.

  Yessss.

  My feet might be sore by the end of the night, but at least my vagina wouldn’t be getting a wedgie from my panties.

  Silver linings.

  I eventually settled on a simple white tank top that looked good with the bleached blue jeans and a light pink blazer. It was casual yet still smart, and it was the kind of thing I was comfortable wearing to both Bronco’s or somewhere fancier like Moti Mahal.

  Granted, I was literally asking to spill food on my shirt with it being white, but still…

  I did my hair and makeup before I got dressed, just in case. I had been known to drop my mascara wand on myself more than once, and I wasn’t sure I had another white t-shirt that wasn’t languishing in my laundry basket.

  What could I say? I liked to split my washes by color, and I didn’t wear white often.

  Except bras, but that probably explained why most of those so-called white bras were now a little on the greyer side of the color wheel.

  I miraculously had five minutes to spare, so I slipped my feet into my heels and, after retrieving my phone from the mess that was my unmade bed, went downstairs. I was going to wait in the living room for Josh so I could see his car coming, but when I got there, I could see his black pickup truck pulled up on the sidewalk.

  If he’d driven over my lawn, I was going to kick him.

  And let me tell you, with these heels, it was going to hurt.

  I dropped my phone into my purse and grabbed my keys from the door. I waited until a string of knocks hammered at my door before I swung it open.

  Josh stood before me looking probably more handsome than I’d ever seen him. Honestly, if my life were a romance novel, this would be the moment when I’d look at my brother’s best friend as anything other than, well, that.

  But my life wasn’t a romance novel, so here we were.

  Or rather, here I was, standing in front of my brother’s six-foot-two best friend, with his dark hair brushed to one side, his green-gray eyes staring down at me, and his full pink lips curled up in a smile.

  And that was before you considered the white shirt that hugged his builder’s body with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

  Did anything below that matter?

  I think not.

  I shook off all those unwelcome thoughts and cleared my throat. “Well? Do I pass the test?”

  His gaze danced over me, flitting from the top of my head to the tips of my toes and everything in between. It lingered for a moment on my chest where my cleavage was enhanced by one of Victoria’s push up bra secrets, but he jerked his head as if he were shaking those thoughts off.

  He met my eyes, and his lips curved into a small smile. “You look great. Good choice of outfit. Very diplomatic.”

  I mock-curtsied to him. “Shall we go?”

  Josh nodded and took a step back. I joined him outside, pausing only to lock the door and double check it was secure, then I followed him to his truck.

  He opened the passenger side door for me and gave me a helping hand into the cab. I wasn’t sure if he’d jacked it up or not, but it had definitely been touch and go there for a moment with my heels, so I was grateful for the hand.

  “How was your afternoon?” he asked as he pulled away from the curb. “Did you speak to Jamie?”

  I nodded. “We spoke some this afternoon. He’s looking at places for dinner, or he was last time we chatted.”

  “Where did you talk about?”

  “Bella and Moti.”

  “Good choices. You’re avoiding Bronco’s, then.”

  “The gossip train stops less frequently at the Bella and Moti stations, so yes.”

  He chuckled under his breath and turned on his blinker as we pulled up at a crossroads. “True story. Why do you think we’re going t
o Moti’s tonight?”

  “We are?” I was sure my face lit up because my cheeks strained with my smile. “I haven’t been in ages!”

  He peered sideways at me, lips twitching. “Neither have I. And a little birdie told me Taarush has a new meatball kufta special debuting tonight.”

  My mouth watered at the thought. Taarush Laghari was the patriarch of the family and a third-generation American, but the family still held true to their Indian roots and culture while seamlessly living with ours. No other Indian food compared to his, and his specials were just that—special.

  I could not wait to try it.

  “Put your drool away, Kinsley. It’s unbecoming.”

  Unbecoming. Was I in Jane Austen’s England?

  “Oh, shut up.” I nudged him with my elbow as he made the final turn in the direction of the restaurant.

  “I won’t. This is a trial date, and you can’t go drooling over someone’s car.”

  “Well, if you want to talk manners, it’s rude not to tell a lady where you’re taking her for dinner. Do you know how much anxiety I had to deal with over what to wear? My bedroom floor looks like a mosh pit of clothing.”

  “Not to be pedantic, but I’ve seen your bedroom. I don’t understand how that’s different to normal.”

  I sniffed. “I cleaned yesterday.”

  “Ah, so this time, the clothes are clean.”

  “I see why you’re single. You’re a terrible date.”

  “Yet here you are, getting advice from me on your terrible dates.”

  “Oh, shut up, Joshua.”

  He laughed and pulled into an empty parking slot outside the restaurant. “Wait there.”

  I did as he said and waited as he rounded the front of the truck and opened the door for me. “Thank you,” I said as I put my hand in his and gingerly stepped down from the truck.

  “Don’t mention it. I don’t want you breaking your ankle before your date tomorrow. A moonboot won’t go with those shoes.”

  I shot him a withering look before I turned my attention to the restaurant. It was painted in white, and the arches that formed the doorway and the windows were lined with gold and shaped like the onion domes that were reminiscent of the roof of its namesake, the Taj Mahal. A sign that proclaimed the restaurant as Moti Mahal was large, gold, and backlit by bright white lighting.