Ready to Fall

by Olivia Dade

  The Lovestruck Librarians series by Olivia Dade

  Broken Resolutions

  My Reckless Valentine

  Mayday

  Ready to Fall

  Ready to Fall

  Olivia Dade

  LYRICAL SHINE

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  The Lovestruck Librarians series by Olivia Dade

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  Mayday

  Teaser chapter

  LOVE BETWEEN THE LINES

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  LYRICAL SHINE BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2016 by Olivia Dade

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Lyrical Shine and Lyrical Shine logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

  First Electronic Edition: June 2016

  ISBN: 978-1-6165-0940-8

  To all the women out there with big personalities

  and big hearts.

  Here’s hoping you find big love too.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As always, I owe everything to the people who love me.

  Each time my husband reads a book I’ve written, he tells me it’s the best one yet and he loves it. Which pretty much makes him the most amazing writer’s spouse ever, as far as I’m concerned. He also gives me the time and space I need to write, and he supports me in everything I do. Without question. Without fail. I love him dearly. Thank you, sweetie.

  My daughter won’t be able to read my books in their entirety for a long time. At age five, she doesn’t need to know so many varied terms for human genitalia. But this was my first book where—if I carefully curated which parts she saw—she could sound out words and read a few sentences. I was so proud, I almost cried. She says she wants to be an author. I’d love that. But I’d also love anything else she did, because I love her. She’s my sweet, smart, funny girl.

  My mother is a perennial source of love and support, as well as the best damn grandma who’s ever existed on this planet. Someday I’ll write a cowboy hero with a secret baby just for you, Mom! (No, I won’t.) I love you so much! (Yes, I do.)

  As far as my world outside my family: My agent, Jessica Alvarez, is always available for questions or a discussion of Viking-themed male stripper troupes. She’s awesome. My editor, Martin Biro, is ever supportive and enthusiastic about my writing, as is the rest of the team at Kensington/Lyrical. Special shout-outs to Jackie, Michelle, Lauren, Kimberly, and Rebecca!

  And finally: My critique partner, Mia Sosa, is my compass. She keeps me on course when I get lost. And so do my other friends, both in and out of the romance community. Thank you to all of you!

  1

  “I need to learn to ride a bike.” Sarah didn’t try to hide her grimace. “By the middle of next week. Even though riding one of those things is basically daring God to smite me.”

  The other three women around the workroom table at the Battlefield Library blinked at her. Not a surprise, really. She could hardly believe those words had come out of her mouth, and she was the one who’d said them.

  At their continued silence, she clarified. “You know. A bike?”

  She mimed steering, ringing a little imaginary bell on her handlebars, and then tossing an invisible newspaper onto someone’s front porch.

  Angie’s head tilted, a strand of her wavy blond hair falling against her cheek. “Did you just pretend to punch someone? Or was that a bizarre variant of the Chicken Dance?”

  Sarah scowled at their branch manager. “I was throwing a newspaper.”

  “If you say so.” Angie raised her brows in inquiry. “So a full-time job as an elementary school art teacher and a part-time job as a librarian don’t generate enough income for you? You’re getting a paper route too?”

  “Very funny,” Sarah said. “Of course I’m not getting—”

  “Do kids even do that anymore?” Penny pursed her mouth in thought. “I don’t remember a preteen on a bike ever delivering a newspaper to my house. Then again, Sarah is pretty much the height of a preteen. Maybe it’ll count.”

  Sarah narrowed her eyes at her. “You’re only an inch taller than me, woman.”

  On certain occasions, Sarah almost missed the days when her friend Penny, Battlefield’s introverted children’s librarian, hadn’t felt comfortable enough to participate in branch meetings. Occasions like this one, for instance.

  “Maybe Sarah should ask some of her students for paper-route advice,” Angie said to Penny. “Though they might get mad if she steals their jobs.”

  Penny laughed and raised her hand to meet Angie’s high five.

  Sarah flipped them both the bird. “This preteen with a paper route can still kick both of your a—”

  “Ladies.” Mary’s serene voice cut through the chaos. “I love the way we chat at staff meetings after we get through everything on the agenda. But it’s getting late, and we all need to head home soon. Let’s allow Sarah to explain herself so we can finish up for the evening.”

  Thank God for Mary, the island of calm good sense in Battlefield’s sea of snarky women. Even though she’d started working at the small Maryland library less than a year ago, she’d already endeared herself to patrons and her coworkers with her warmth, intelligence, and diligence. And when the friendly bickering among the ladies of Battlefield got out of hand, she alone seemed able to steer the conversation into more placid waters.

  Still, Sarah couldn’t resist one last comment. “You really want to start taunting me, Angie? After what you’ve done in this very room?”

  “On this very table too,” Angie said, giving it a pat. “I have fond memories of what transpired here.”

  In silent agreement, everyone except Angie rolled their chairs a few inches farther away from the faux-wooden surface. Mary got out her hand sanitizer, squeezed a healthy dollop onto her palm, and passed the little bottle to the others.

  “Oh, come on,” Angie protested. “This table has been disinfected multiple times since Grant and I had sex on it.” She paused. “Then again, we also had sex on it multiple times. Really hot sex, too. Very . . . vigorous.”

  “Ew.” Penny’s nose wrinkled as she doled out a squirt of the disinfectant and rubbed it between her hands. “Did you really have to remind us of that?”

  “Yup.” Angie grinned at her friends.

  “Can we change the subject now?” Mary’s words emerged muffled, since she’d covered her face with her hands. “Sarah, please proceed. Please.”

  Accepting the sanitizer bottle Penny passed her way, Sarah took pity on Mary and returned to her original point. “Apparently, our school nurse thinks the staff is too sedentary, so she’s started a year-round fitness initiative. The first event is an all-day bicycle ride along the C & O Canal in four days. Given that it’s July and venturing outside is like flinging yourself onto the surface of the sun, I figure the administration is trying to cut staff via heatstroke deaths. I told the nurse ther
e was no way in hell I was participating. But . . .”

  Her chest heaved in a long, heartfelt sigh. “I just found out that Ulysses is going. Which means I’m going too. Can any of you teach me to ride?” She gave each one of her friends a meaningful look. “Keep in mind that if you refuse and I end up a bloody stain along the canal, it will totally be your fault.”

  Another long silence fell, finally broken by Penny. “I think there are several issues we need to address here. First of all, how in the world did you grow up without learning to ride a bike? Didn’t your parents try to teach you?”

  “Well, yeah,” Sarah said. “Of course they did. I talked to my dad about it this morning, actually. He said I called my bicycle the Two-Wheeler of Death. According to him, anytime he tried to get me on it, I waved my sparkly magic wand around and shouted, ‘Begone, foul vehicle of Satan!’”

  Mary’s eyes had grown very wide. “How old were you?”

  “Six or seven, I guess.” Sarah shrugged. “I also made up a riddle about my bike.”

  Penny leaned forward, elbows propped on the table. “This I have to hear.”

  “What’s pink and white and red all over?”

  “Hello Kitty in a blender?” Angie guessed.

  Sarah snorted. “No, but close. I said it was me, bleeding all over the road after I fell off my Strawberry Shortcake bike. Dad told me he kind of lost his motivation to teach me how to ride after hearing that.”

  Mary’s face dropped back into her hands. “Oh, my goodness.”

  “What can I say? I was a dramatic kid.”

  “Shocker,” Angie whispered to Penny.

  “Dad says my mom let me watch too many late-night horror movies when she had custody. Seems plausible enough.” Sarah considered the issue for a moment, and then resumed her story. “Anyway, he also reminded me of a terrible fall I had during one of my first riding lessons, which made me even more determined not to learn.”

  Mary raised her head, her eyes full of concern. “What happened?”

  “I started going down a hill, panicked, and forgot how to brake. I was smart enough to realize I needed to stop the wheels, so I did. Unfortunately, I did it by sticking my foot in the spokes.”

  All three of the other women cringed. Sarah couldn’t blame them.

  Once her dad had told her that story, the memory had started coming back to Sarah. It explained a lot. For instance, why the sight of bicycles made her feel vaguely sick and dizzy. Why the thought of climbing on one of them scared the bejesus out of her. Why she’d never bothered to teach herself to ride, even though she was thirty-two.

  Sure, she sometimes caught a few stages of the Tour de France on television, but mostly just to see guys with amazing asses filmed from behind. When the riders raced down steep Alpine descents, she usually changed the channel. She couldn’t bear to watch such muscled miracles of nature become roadkill.

  What’s wrong with a car? she always wanted to ask the cyclists. Or a train? I know for a fact that Europe boasts some lovely railway routes. Just forget the yellow jersey, grab a baguette, and enjoy a four-hour lunch. It’s the French way. Hell, on the weekends, it’s my way.

  “Okay, so that explains why you can’t ride. On to the second issue,” Angie said. “You, spending an entire day in the great outdoors? Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

  “It won’t kill me.” Sarah swiveled back and forth in her chair. “Probably.”

  “When you communed with nature at the May Day festival, you ended up smearing poison ivy all over your face,” Penny said. “It took weeks before the rash completely disappeared.”

  “Don’t forget the picnic with the preschoolers.” Angie’s wince creased her forehead. “I didn’t even realize we had fire ants this far up north. And I still don’t get why they only bit you and not the kids.”

  “Didn’t a bird also, um . . .” Mary trailed off.

  Sarah sighed. “Yes, a bird shat on my head during that picnic. Several birds, actually.”

  “I rest my case.” Angie leaned back in her chair.

  “I’m not arguing that I love nature.” Sarah got up to pace the small workroom. “As you all know, I think Mother Nature is a malicious, merciless bitch who purposefully inconveniences and injures me. But I spent an entire school year working with Ulysses and never really got a chance to talk to him. He knows who I am, but he hasn’t really noticed me. This all-day ride is my opportunity to get his attention, and I’m not missing it.”

  The chair squeaked beneath her as she flopped back down into it. “Sure, I probably won’t survive the experience. But I’m willing to take the risk. For him.”

  Mary looked at Sarah, her dark gaze steady and serious. “This is obviously important to you. So why him? What about him makes him special to you?”

  Trust Mary, who took her world and everyone in it seriously, to raise the crucial question. Sarah’s pursuit of Ulysses wasn’t a lark. Wasn’t just another example of her usual bluster and theatrics. And Mary clearly saw that, maybe more so than even Penny or Angie.

  The drama Sarah brought to her life was real and inescapable. She’d earned her Drama Queen nickname honestly, and she didn’t see herself changing anytime soon. Had no desire to change, frankly. She accepted who she was and who she wasn’t. But drama didn’t comprise her entire character. Didn’t make her impervious to hurt or loneliness.

  And that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it?

  Folding her arms in front of her on the table, she rested her chin on her hands. “I’ve dated quite a few men over the years. I seem to find myself drawn to guys who are nothing like me. Quiet men. Serious. Practical and capable.”

  “You’re capable. And you can be practical when you want.” Angie sat up straight in her chair. “Don’t discount yourself, Sarah.”

  “I don’t. But I know who I am, Angie. I’m not calm. I’m not shy or withdrawn.” Her tired eyes stung, and she blinked to clear the pain away. “I make a production out of everything, and I tend to railroad people into doing what I want. It takes a lot of energy to be with me. And when I first start dating these guys, they love my personality and the drama. They say it’s funny. Charming, even. But then, after a few weeks, what drew them to me becomes—”

  “The reason they break up with you,” Angie finished for her.

  “Exactly. I wear them out. And some of them . . .”

  Penny gazed at her with solemn brown eyes. “What?”

  “Some of them I really liked. Maybe could have loved, given more time,” Sarah said. “I’m not saying they broke my heart when they left, but it hurt.”

  After her last breakup, over a year ago now, she’d found herself feeling more discouraged than ever before. The prospect of dating anyone else hadn’t appealed to her for a long time afterward. The only man who’d tempted her to try again in all that time? Ulysses.

  Mary leaned forward and touched Sarah’s arm. “Of course it hurt.”

  “So I need to pick a different sort of guy. Someone outgoing and cheerful, who can handle a woman with a big personality.”

  “And you think Ulysses is your man?” Angie tapped a thoughtful finger on her chin.

  Sarah nodded. “He talks with everyone and volunteers to help with school activities. The kids rave about how friendly and kind he is. Even the school secretary he dated at the beginning of the year has nothing but good things to say about him. And the fact that he voluntarily chooses to work with young kids, who can be the most dramatic creatures on the face of the Earth, speaks well for his ability to tolerate me over the long haul.”

  She firmly believed everything she’d just told her friends. Ulysses Bollinger, despite his somewhat ridiculous name, was a good man and a fine prospect for a boyfriend.

  Her recitation of his wonderful qualities, though, left out one niggling concern. She’d recently discovered that, even after knowing the man a year, she still couldn’t picture his face in her mind. Couldn’t summon an ounce of desire to kiss him or go to bed with
him. Warmth he had in abundance, but the electric spark of sexual allure? Well, that had proven more elusive.

  It doesn’t matter, she told herself. Attraction can grow in time. And Ulysses is precisely the man who can give you that sort of time.

  Concern creased Mary’s wide brow. “But you don’t just want someone to tolerate you. You want someone to love you. For everything you are, not in spite of it.”

  “Yeah.” Sarah made herself sit back up in her chair. “I hope Ulysses might be that someone. Which is why I need your help.”

  “Isn’t there a less . . . drastic way to go about all this?” Penny asked. “Can’t you just make a point of talking to him once the new school year starts?”

  Sarah shook her head. “There’s no time, Pen. Once school is back in session, we’ll always be surrounded by kids, and I work such long hours that I won’t have the energy to devote to a brand-new relationship. But if I got to know him on this bike trip, we’d have almost two months to spend together before the school year begins. And I’ve looked at the roster for this trip. It’s almost all guys. I won’t have to compete with other women for his attention.”

  “You’re probably worried he might meet someone else before the fall, too,” Mary said.

  “Exactly.” Sarah stared at her friends, willing them to understand her urgency. “This is my chance. I don’t meet many handsome, kind, single men at either the school or the library, much less ones who can handle a woman like me for the long term. I have to do this. Which means I need to learn how to ride a bike.”

  All three of her friends regarded her with identical expressions of fierce loyalty. It was that quality that had drawn her to them in the first place, the reason she kept coming back to the library summer after summer. The reason she could bare her heart to them, stripped of all artifice and exaggeration.