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“Yes, but you said we were strictly sex. Buying me gifts doesn’t sound like filler. It screams plot to me.”
“I’m not following. What’s filler?”
“It’s like ... in romance novels, when the main couple do things together that doesn’t really move the plot forward. Just kind of fattens the book.”
“It’s a bracelet, Isa, not a ring. Please. Put it on.”
Fingers trembling, I one-handedly latch the bracelet onto my wrist. A month ago, it would’ve looked out of place on me, ridiculous even, but paired with my dress, it almost seems fitting, aside from the tattoo just below it. The most beautiful and delicate thing I’ve ever been given. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“You like it, then?”
I spin the diamond to the top of my wrist, wishing he hadn’t done this. It’s too much. Too much for what we agreed on, and it’ll only be harder when it all comes to an end. In spite of those thoughts, I nod. “I never want to take it off.”
“Good. Then, don’t.” There’s a serious edge to his voice, as if removing it would be an insult to him.
It takes twenty minutes to reach downtown, and as we approach the main street, I set my hand on his arm, feeling his muscle twitch beneath my palm. “Wait. Can we make a quick stop?”
“Sure.”
I direct him toward a strip of shops, where he parks the car in one of the many open spots there. Through the window, I stare up at the sign that reads Vellichor.
“How did I know we’d end up at a bookstore at some point?” His comment brings a smile to my face.
We climb out of the vehicle, and as we reach the door, I turn to look back at him, only just now realizing, in the brightness of day, how much he sticks out from the surroundings. Like a dark storm cloud on a su
A man you don’t cross, with his equally menacing black car.
Lucian couldn’t fit in this town if he tried. He’d be the rogue puzzle piece that doesn’t want to line up in its empty spot. A thought that has me smiling when he follows after me inside.
The scent of old books invades my senses when I push through the door and set the bell chiming. Like wrapping myself in a cozy blanket with a hot cup of coffee.
“Rhea, you here?” I call out to the woman I visited about three times a week during high school.
Unable to afford the number of books that I plowed through, I often lived at the library, or here. Probably about half my adolescence was spent here. Rhea let me read whatever books I wanted, in exchange for helping her straighten up around the shop. Not that much ever needed to be done. Most of her business came from out of state, when collectors would call looking for a rare and hard to find book.
“That you, Izzy?” Graying hair pulled back in a ponytail gives some insight into her age, as she slides on her spectacles. In spite of her age, though, the woman is sharp with her wit.
“Yeah, I brought a friend today.”
“I see that. A mighty fine-looking friend.” When she says this, she doesn’t mean it sarcastically. One of the reasons I’m glad I brought Lucian here first. Rhea is predictable, real, and as kind as it gets. I’d like to think it’s her worldly understanding that comes from a lifetime of reading, but some people are just good people with good hearts. “Where you been, kiddo?”
“Around. How’s business?”
“Ah, you know. Online, I’m killing it. Here? Not so much. Brick and mortar ain’t what it used to be. Folks have entire libraries on their devices nowadays.” Rolling her eyes, she shakes her head, the large, gold hoop earrings swinging at either side of her face. “Don’t get me wrong, I got one of those Kindly things.” She means Kindle, and the error has me biting back a laugh. “Call me old-fashioned, but I just prefer flipping pages.”
“Same.” It’s sad to me that so few are interested in physical books these days. My favorite thing in the world used to be the sound of the book’s spine cracking open on a new adventure inside. “Anything new?”
She offers a wink and smiles. “Got a few shipments in toward the back you might like.”
Taking Lucian’s hand in mine, I don’t lead him to the back right away. Instead, I peruse the shelves that hold books I’ve read over and over. From classics to contemporary. At the end of the row, I stop before a glass-encased leather-bound, and stare down longingly at the book.
“Bram Stokers Limited Edition Dracula. I’ve drooled over this thing for years. Thought for sure someone would’ve swiped this one up. It’s practically a steal at two-hundred dollars.”
“Then, why haven’t you bought it?”
I don’t tell him that most of the people on this island don’t have two-hundred to drop on a book. That, and I don’t want him to buy yet another gift, not after the bracelet. That wasn’t the purpose of bringing him here. I just couldn’t bring myself to pass this place without stopping in to see an old friend.
“Nowhere to store it at Aunt Midge’s. It’d be ruined if I brought it home. It’s better here. Rhea takes good care of it. Was my favorite book growing up, though. Have you ever read it?”
“Does it have pictures?”
“Never mind. I forget you think literature is ridiculous.”
“There are darknesses in life and there are lights. You are one of the lights.” A quote from the book. He turns his eyes to mine, and I swear there’s a flickering flame in them. “The light of all lights.” He leans into me. “For the record, I read quite a bit.”
“Impressive.”
We spend the next few minutes rummaging through books, before Lucian grabs an old copy of Kidnapped by Robert Louis Stevenson, along with a few others he decides Laura might like to read, mysteries mostly.
At the cash register, Rhea greets him with her signature bright-eyed smile that had the power to light up my days, back when I wandered in sad, or upset. “My first flesh and blood customer in ages! I thank you for your patronage, sir.”
“Of course.” As he slips his wallet from his back pocket, he nods toward me. “Why don’t you head out to the car, get it cooled down, while I finish checking out.” The object he hands me doesn’t look like a key, at all, but a folded up pocket knife, or something, with a leather strip down the center that reads Chiron. On the back is a lock and unlock button, but no key. “There’s a button on the dash to start it up. Just don’t go taking off anywhere.”
“No promises,” I say, backing toward the door. “Take care, Rhea.”
Brow quirked, she smiles. “You too, Miss Izzy.”
Once outside of the bookshop, I shield my eyes against the blinding sunlight that beats down on my shoulders as I make my way to the car. Hot leather stings my bare skin when I fall into the seat, and my hips thrust me away from it as I awkwardly press the start button for the engine. Tugging my dress down pulls at its neckline, exposing more cleavage, but I refuse to burn my legs again. I roll down the window as the still-warm air blasts from the vents.
Once again, I find myself staring down at the bracelet on my arm, and I smile.
“Oh, look, the asylum must’ve had a field trip for psychopaths.” The sound of the familiar female voice outside the window skates down my spine, and I can’t bring myself to look up and face Brady’s mother.
Weeks after the incident at the party, she went out of her way to smear mine and Kelsey’s name through the mud, making us out to be two reckless delinquents, hooked on all variety of drugs. Because her husband is chair and commissioner of the entire island, something she likes to make clear to everyone, she’s taken it upon herself to bully anyone she deems a threat.