She shrugged. “Sure.” Sliding her purse strap over her shoulder, she set Screwtape on the reshelf shelf and smiled.
Marian blocked the exit.
“We’re in trouble now,” Kirke said out of the side of his mouth.
“You are— I’m her favorite.” Jennifer let her hips swing with a little attitude.
“Not something to brag about,” countered Kirke, his fingers finding the small of her back, causing Jennifer to giggle.
They stopped in front of Marian’s ever-present clipboard.
“Mr. Staples, Jennifer, I’m glad I caught you.”
“Caught being the operative word,” Kirke whispered.
Jennifer discreetly elbowed him in the side.
“Marian.” Kirke coughed.
“As I’m sure you’ve seen today, Jennifer, our classics section is sorely lacking.”
Classics? Jennifer wrinkled her brow. Why would Marian think …? Oh, The Screwtape Letters! The book she’d supposedly been reading. Marian saw everything. Flushing, Jennifer quickly said, “I think you’ve done a wonderful job. The classics section is just wonderful, one of my favorites. I always find something wonderful to read.” Could I say wonderful one more time?
Kirke gave her a disbelieving stare, which made her ears burn all the hotter. The truth of the matter was that the classics section of the library was composed of dog-eared paperbacks and a pristine copy of War and Peace. Jennifer believed she was the only one in Echo Ridge to check it out— ever.
“While everyone else focuses on the new children’s section, I’ve made it my mission to expand the offerings of more traditional authors who have proven the test of time.”
“Wonderful,” Kirke said, his voice strained.
“I’m glad you think so.” Marian pulled a sheet off her clipboard with a flourish. “Here’s your assignment.”
“My what?” Kirke stared at the paper.
Jennifer leaned over, taking in his nutmeg and woodsy scent and the words on the page.
Assignment: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe
Author: C.S. Lewis
Due Date: October 13
Specifications: Paperback books will not be accepted. Only hardbacks, preferably leather bound, but fabric will suffice. Also, older books in good condition are encouraged.
“I’m sure I can order something on Amazon.” Kirke smiled tightly, removing his hand from Jennifer’s back and taking the sheet. A cool sensation, like chewing a mint, replaced the warmth of his fingers, and she shivered.
“No,” Marian snapped.
Jennifer pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. When Marian got an idea, it was Marian’s way or the highway.
“No?” Kirke croaked.
“No. Classics should look like classics. You’ll need to pick out the book— in person.” She shout-whispered the last word, which was the loudest Jennifer had ever heard her speak. Seriously, she’d run into Marian at Target once and had to lean in just to pick up the conversation. Marian looked at Jennifer and jerked her head toward Kirke, indicating she could use a little help with this guy.
“Don’t worry, Marian. I’ll make sure he does this right.”
“Thank you, Jennifer.” She bustled away, muttering things that were probably better left unheard. A moment later, she accosted Fay, owner of Fay’s Cafe and presented her with a similar paper.
“Can she do this?” Kirke pointed to the sheet.
Jennifer laughed and nudged him toward the exit. “She just did.” They pushed through the glass doors. “I think it’s a great idea.”
Kirke held open the passenger door to his Toyota. “Of course you do. I thought you were going to faint when you found The Three Musketeers at Second Chances— and the cover was barely hanging on.”
Jennifer slid into her seat and Kirke shut the door.
Second Chances was a thrift store on Main Street. Not only did it carry clothing and furniture, but Eddie worked to bring in other items he found on his quests. Like the volume of The Three Musketeers so old the pages crackled and smelled of ink and binder’s glue. It was also the price of her thickest textbook, and Jennifer had placed it back in the display case with a sense of loss.
Kirke stowed the posters in the trunk and climbed behind the wheel.
“I did my sixth-grade book diorama on The Three Musketeers. It was the first big book I ever read,” said Jennifer as they clicked their seat belts. “Did you know D'Artagnan was made a musketeer twice? Talk about plot holes.”
Kirke reached into the back seat. “I didn’t know that, but I did know you did your diorama on the book. That’s why I bought it for you.” He placed a tired, well-loved book tied with a blue bow in her lap. “Happy birthday.”
Shocked beyond belief that he not only remembered it was her birthday but had bought the one thing that could make her heart beat faster than running a 5k, Jennifer squealed and threw her arms around Kirke.
He hugged her close, and Jennifer breathed in the subtle scent of his cologne. Brisk, it reminded her of the awe-inspiring view from the top of Ruby Mountain and the whipping winds of desire that pulsed through her veins when Kirke was near.
Air was suddenly a hot commodity as she had a difficult time getting enough of it into her body. Wanting to run her hands up his back and through his pirate-length hair, she became self-conscious and moved back, only to be stopped by his formidable arms still holding her close.
Meeting his intense gaze, she searched his soulful eyes for a spark of the heat she was feeling. She became acutely aware that this was the first time she’d hugged Kirke. Though they’d spent a lot of time together over the last two years, they’d never had any type of physical connection— and here she was, her skin humming and feeling hot and cold and everything in between.
“You’re the best,” she said.
Kirke glanced at her lips and Jennifer dropped her eyes, the intensity of the moment overwhelming her control.
KIRKE FOUND THAT RELEASING Jennifer was quite the task, especially with her lips close enough to taste and her sweet lemon smell tantalizing his senses. He’d never been this close to her before, never felt his heart pound against his chest at her nearness. He leaned his forehead against Jennifer’s and closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of paper and fruit— a smell that was unique to the woman in his arms.
Lately, his thoughts towards her had taken him down roads full of questions and wonderings. Questions like: Should I kiss her? And wonderings like: What does she look like first thing in the morning? And then there was the occasional musing, such as: Why am I up at one in the morning still laughing at her joke and imagining her cheek against my palm?
Yet, he had no right to feel this way about his closest and truest friend. Especially not while he pursued another.
Pursue might be a strong word.
Bay Barington, the “good girl” on the popular Life with the Baringtons reality TV show, had come to town last Christmas to ski. Kirke couldn’t help but notice her dazzle. Her long brown hair hung in loose curls all the way down to her studded black leather belt. He enjoyed the contrast between her hard-edge wardrobe and her Pollyanna personality. On the show, she was always sticking up for the little guy, even if it meant ticking off her overbearing mother or going toe-to-toe with her drama queen sister.
Desperate to meet this siren, he’d tried to approach her, only to be strong-armed away by her beefy bodyguard. He then attempted a meeting through the Ruby Resort where she was staying, but was brushed off by her assistant. Knowing time was running out and Bay was sure to go back to California, he’d called his agent and asked him to use every connection he had to make this happen. His agent and long-time friend, Doug, came through, and soon enough Kirke was stepping off the elevator to Bay’s private floor.
Greeted kindly by the previously aloof secretary, he was shown to a sitting area where Bay lounged on an overstuffed sofa. She was gracious and welcomed him with a kiss on both cheeks. Her poofy lips brushed his skin,
yet he was overwhelmed with the smell of her perfume. He’d been smitten and instantly lost all his good sense and proper upbringing. Despite tripping over his words, they hit it off, and since then they’d texted every few days and exchanged two phone calls.
With all of that happening in the background of his life, it seemed impossible that his heart should pound mercilessly against his ribs as he held Jennifer in his arms. Yet pound it did, thrusting a sense of attraction to the forefront of his mind that he’d never experienced before with anyone. Of course, he’d never actually touched her, at least that he could remember. They spent so much time together, surely he would have put his arm around her shoulders or taken her hand at some point, but he couldn’t remember a single incident. And he would have remembered feeling like this. He sucked in air, hoping to calm himself, but was met with the smell of citrus that reminded him that Jennifer was good, and strong, and pure in a way that made him want to protect her from the harshness in the world.
Jennifer’s gaze dropped, her thick lashes almost brushing against her cheek. Those lashes had taken up much more time in his thoughts lately than they should have. As had her golden brown hair that shone in the sunlight and flowed like honey. Why on earth were her lashes nearly black? He used to think it was makeup, but then he’d caught her without mascara and those darn distracting lashes were as dark and mysterious as ever.
Before he did something foolish that would place a pound of awkwardness between them, like finding out if her lips were as sweet as they promised, he pulled away. Jennifer settled back into her seat, her breathing regular, no sign of a racing pulse or fierce inner battle to gain control. It appeared he had been the only one affected by their contact. Which was a good thing— or so he tried to convince himself. They had a wonderful friendship and he didn’t want to stain it by implying he wanted more from her than she wanted to give.
His phone rang, and Kirke checked the caller ID on the dash. “I have to take this.”
“Go right ahead.” Jennifer was unwrapping the fat blue ribbon around her birthday gift. He suddenly wished he had a hundred gifts for her. It was her birthday, and he doubted either of her parents had even bothered to call. Andrea, her roommate, would have done something. He should have been more on the ball and arranged a nice dinner at Shenanigans instead of an impromptu piece of cake at Fay’s after lunch.
“Hi, Doug,” he said through the Bluetooth as he pulled out of the library parking lot.
“How’s my favorite writer?” asked Doug. Kirke rolled his eyes, and Jennifer pressed her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.
She couldn’t stifle the merriment in her eyes, though. He thoroughly enjoyed seeing her happy. “I’m on my way to Fay’s with Jennifer, so life is pretty good.”
Jennifer ducked her head and ran her fingers over the gold leaf embossing on the book’s cover.
“I’ve got several people asking for sneak peeks of your play.”
“Really? That’s good news.”
“Yeah. It would be even better if I had something to tease them with.”
Kirke adjusted in his seat. “I’m working on it.”
“What’s the holdup?”
“I’m struggling to get the story out.”
Kirke parked on Main Street and left the car running. The cool autumn air was enough to make sitting in a warm car cozy.
Doug finally said, in a voice low enough that Kirke leaned forward, “Do not, under any circumstances, even hint at writer’s block. The last thing your career needs right now is for rumors to start that you’re tapped out.”
Kirke’s cheeks grew warm and Jennifer gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m not tapped out.”
“I know that and you know that, but figure it out and fast. I need pages in two weeks.”
“You’ll have them.” By hook or by crook …
“Okay, man, see you later.” The speakers clicked off, indicating that the call had ended.
“Are you really blocked?” asked Jennifer, ever one to get right to the heart of the matter. He knew she’d always tell him the truth, and in a world where people schmooze to get what they want, Jennifer was a unique gift.
Laying his humiliation before her, he replied, “My last play did really well.”
“The reviews were fantastic.”
He made finger quotes, “A rising star on the horizon.’”
“You are.” She grinned. “You’re right there on the edge of greatness. I can feel it.”
“Yeah. Have you ever looked over that edge?”
She quirked her eyebrow. “Should I have?”
“You should, because it’s terrifying.”
She laughed. “Right.”
“I’m serious. They call it an edge for a reason. When you’re right there, you can see the three-hundred-foot drop to certain death.”
“Ah, Kirke. Try lifting your eyes to the horizon.”
“I’ve tried everything from communing with nature to writing with my non-dominant hand.” He scratched at his beard. “I think what I need to do is ignore it for a few days. Tracking down this book for Marian will be a good distraction for me.”
Her eyes lit up with excitement. “I wonder if Second Chances has a copy.”
Nothing like a book chase to get Jennifer going in life. “We can check it out later. What I think we should do now is get you a slice of birthday cake.”
She groaned. “It’s not fair— you know both of my weaknesses, and I have yet to discover yours.”
Apparently my weakness is your lemon lotion. “You are susceptible to triple chocolate amaretto cake and old books.” Kirke winked.
Jennifer shrugged and held up her hands in surrender. “I’m a lost cause.”
Kirke laughed as he hurried around to open her door. He didn’t really have a weakness, except writing, and that wasn’t something a person could give. Although, Jennifer’s hug had been a pretty wonderful experience. The woman had more power inside of her than she understood. Good thing she’s unaware of her strength.
Being around that much untapped potential was like flying down the mountain on his bike, wondering if he could make the next turn or if he’d end up plastered across a tree. The temptation to push just a little and see what would happen simmered under his skin.
But this was Jennifer. Sighing, he opened the door to Fay’s. He couldn’t push her, because if he did, he might push her away— and that was the last thing he wanted to do.
THE LIBRARY PARKING LOT was already full by the time Jennifer arrived, creating the need to circle the block before finding an open space. Jennifer hugged The Three Musketeers to her stomach while searching for a seat in the overcrowded room. A dozen women, dressed in high fashion and smelling like an English garden, milled about. Armand D. Beaumont reading a scene from his latest novel was the kickoff for the library fundraiser, and arriving early was a necessity. She’d only read a few of Armand’s 1940s detective stories, but his accent made her swoon right along with every other fan as the suave and debonair investigator quoted French poetry. Honestly, whoever said romance was dead had never had a book boyfriend.
Her cell chirped and she answered quickly. The room was abuzz with excitement, and several phones had gone off already despite the neon orange sign on the front door asking patrons to silence their phones. Jennifer hated to stir up trouble. “Hello?”
“Hi,” said Kirke.
Jennifer checked the large clock on the far wall. “Isn’t this your prime writing time?” Kirke liked to keep to a schedule when he was under a deadline.
“Taking a quick break.”
“Uh-huh. More like procrastinating.”
He chuckled, and she snuggled the phone closer to her cheek.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m at the Armand Beaumont reading.” Even though he couldn’t see it, she grinned. “There’s a rumor he might even sign books.”
“Isn’t that the French guy?”
“Author.” She stared dreamily at the
empty chair where Armand would appear. “I can’t believe I’m going to meet a real author.”
“Hey! What am I?”
Jennifer thoroughly enjoyed the jealousy floating through the phone. No sense letting Kirke think he’d garnered all her attention. If there was one thing she’d learned from classic romance books, it was that heroines left their hero wanting more until they were sure of his devotion. She tucked her hair behind her ear, hoping she sounded flirty when she replied, “You’re a playwright, not a book author.”
Kirke heaved a sigh. “Doug warned me that people in Echo Ridge wouldn’t take me seriously. The whole you can’t be a prophet in your hometown thing,” he said, sounding thoroughly pathetic, an act that was only for her benefit.
Jennifer’s heart fluttered. “I think that’s more for the place you grow up. Like the elementary school teacher who gave you a C on your creative writing assignment would think it was really cute that you’ve continued writing.”
“Mrs. Hackshaw wouldn’t know literary genius if it bit her on the— ”
“Anyway!” Jennifer jumped in before Kirke could complete the mental image of Mrs. Hackshaw’s behind. “You should be using that genius right now— procrastinator.”
“Maybe I’ll come down and meet Armand,” he challenged, clearly not happy with the attention the man garnered.
Jennifer called his bluff. “If you dare. The place is packed with estrogen.”
“Ah, so they’re not all there for the books.”
“Judging by the amount of cleavage and face-fanning going on, I’d say the picture on his dust jacket has packed the place.”
“I never get that kind of attention. It’s the beard, isn’t it?”
She could picture him scratching under his chin as he evaluated his facial hair in a mirror. She then pictured herself tickling her fingers through his hair. “The beard is distinguished.” Jennifer blushed as she admitted her preference for his sense of style. Why a man with well-groomed facial hair gave her fits of daydreams and stomach flutters was beyond her understanding. They just appeared so … so … manly. Like they could tromp through the forest in the fall wearing thick flannel shirts and harvesting maple. Yum.
Kisses Between the Lines: An Echo Ridge Anthology (Echo Ridge Romance Book 2) Page 13