“What are you doing here?” I ask, as I wave him past and then promptly lock the door again.
“I wanted to check on you.” He pauses as he turns to face me. A whiff of freshly showered and cinnamon catches my nose and tickles it. “You seemed shaken earlier.”
Shaken is hardly the word. Stirred up and left to froth is more like it.
“I’m doing better now,” I say, the truth melding with the falseness. I am better. There’s nothing I can do about the library at the moment, and strangely, his presence gives me instant comfort. “It was just a shock, is all. Getting the notice and then seeing Clementine. She’s one of my favorites and thinking I might have to say goodbye … well, it stung a little. I never put two and two together that she was your daughter.” I hadn’t made any connection between Clementine Ryder, granddaughter to Emma Rae, and Nathan. In my head, he was always reckless, single, and twenty-three.
“It seems you two have a secret,” he hints, his expression softening at the mention of his child.
“I’m not supposed to tell you, but she’s already read those books you got for her. Two years ago. The ones about …” I don’t think I can repeat the title to him. I Have a Vagina. He knows—he knows—my vagina screams.
“Oh. Oh,” he chuckles, rubbing under his chin. “She’s my precocious one. Curious to learn everything. Dahlia’s the one who hates to read. I guess she takes after her father in that respect.” That’s right, he mentioned his other daughter earlier. I vaguely remember young Dahlia Ryder—shy, vulnerable, clinging to her grandmother. That was so long ago, and I feel foolish I hadn’t known young Dahlia was his. Did he have a girlfriend when I met him? Is that why he didn’t call? I feel slightly sick with the possibility. He’s already told me he’s never been married, so at least there is that.
The corner of his lip hitches as he walks farther into the library, noting the darkness as most of the lights have been turned off. “It’s quiet in here.”
“It should be. It’s a library.”
He chuckles. “Library humor?”
I weakly smile in return.
“You always close by yourself?” he asks.
“Sometimes. Tonight, I told Mrs. MacIntyre to go home early. She needed her husband, Seamus.” Like I need someone.
Deny. Deny. You do not need a man for comfort, Vilma Louise would tell me.
“What do you do after hours?”
“I shelve books.” The corner of his lip crooks higher as he huffs a laugh. Somehow, I don’t think this is what he meant, but I dismiss reading more into his huffs, or puffs, or any other sounds he might make.
Just like that, Nae, his voice from long ago, mixed with a deep groan, whispers through my head.
“Speaking of, I need to finish emptying the cart.” I point in the direction of my unfinished business.
“Lead the way.”
My head tilts but I step toward the 300 section to complete the shelving. Nathan follows me as I scan the book labels for proper placement.
“So you love books, huh?” he asks, squinting to read titles.
“I do,” I say as if that’s enough explanation. “What about you? You don’t read?” I’ve never seen him in the library in all these years. He pulls a book from the shelf and thumbs through it.
“Too many words,” he says, a smile growing on his face and unleashing the wicked dimple. He turns the book sideways, holding it by the front cover. “I prefer pictures.” He chuckles and it takes me a moment to realize he’s referring to magazines—girly-magazines as my father used to call them. I snort in disgust.
“I’m kidding actually.” He replaces the book, thankfully to its proper place. “The letters always ran together for me, and my brain had a hard time concentrating.”
“Maybe you needed glasses,” I suggest. Was he dyslexic? It breaks my heart to think he’s missing the pleasure of the written word. He shrugs to respond.
“So, tell me more about the library closure.” He casually leans against the bookshelf, watching me.
“We don’t know anything for certain, but the news is unsettling.”
He nods as if he understands and I hope he does. He’s a little older than me, so I like to think he realizes losing a job at any age would be tough, but when you’re older, with say a mortgage or bills, well …
“When will you know?”
“We don’t know,” I say, my voice falling in frustration. Nathan scans the shelves as I place another book in the correct sequence.
“Can you explain something else to me, then?” His smoky voice lowers as his eyes pinch to read a title.
Oh no.
“Why’d you kiss me?” The question seems to echo in the library like a judge’s mallet on a podium. “Or better yet, why were you so happy you hadn’t kissed me and then you laid one on me?”
I grip the shelf before me to steady my suddenly shaking legs. “I’m having trouble understanding it myself.”
“Try to explain.” His voice remains low, encouraging, and I risk a glance at his eyes. Earnest and questioning, he wants to understand me. I return my eyes to blindly focus on the book spines before me.
“At first, I think I didn’t kiss you back because I was shocked you kissed me.” And the fact that kissing you might lead to something bad. On a grand scale. “Today, I think I kissed you in my relief that I hadn’t kissed you, which makes no sense, right?” Nothing does when I’m around you, I think, as I risk a side glance in his direction.
“The universe works in mysterious ways,” I mutter. Why can’t it send me a sign of what to do with this man?
“Meaning?” His forehead furrows and I take a breath before answering, holding it like I’m about to plunge into the depths of a lake.
“It seems bad things happen to me after I’ve been with you.” Jebediah.
His face pulls back in a horrified expression. “Ouch.”
“I don’t mean it as harsh as it sounds. I don’t think it’s you directly. It’s just … the universe, it sends out vibes. Positive. Negative. It’s more like a reaction to an action. I do something, and the universe responds. I believe in these things. I’m a Wiccan.”
Nathan pauses, his eyes focusing on a book spine. “I’m a Kama Sutran.”
What? “Is that even a thing?” I ask with a nervous giggle as he pulls a book off the shelf. The Kama Sutra by Vātsyāyana.
“I don’t know, but I’d like to find out.” He holds the book up just below his nose, the cover facing me, and he wiggles a single eyebrow. He’s too cheeky for his own good. “What’s a Wiccan?”
“The official definition would be a neo-pagan religion reviving old practices in nature-worship, sometimes misinterpreted as witchcraft.”
“That’s where the rumors come from.” He pauses in thought. “And your definition?”
“I have mad respect for nature. Trees. Earth. Water. We are a system of inter-related oneness. The Goddess is my supreme.”
The same cheeky eyebrow raises again. “Meaning?”
Does he want every detail of following the moon cycle and celebrating the solar seasons? The triquetra and the balance of body, mind, and spirit? I doubt it, so I try to explain. I brush my hand forward. “It’s like a wave. My energy goes out collecting …” I bring my hand slowly back to me. “… returning energy to me. The vibe I give out is the vibe I will receive back.” It’s not really an uncommon thought process. “The positive you make is the positive you take, but the same goes for negative stuff. For me, it’s more a belief in my self, my inner goddess.” I pause, turning to blankly stare at the books before me again. It makes sense to me and yet I find it difficult to describe. I chew my lip, thinking he’ll laugh at me.
“You mentioned something bad happened the last time we were together. What? What happened?”
I turn to face him, preparing to tell him, but his brows wiggle as if he’s taunting me, and because of his joking manner, I don’t feel quite comfortable dropping the bomb. In fact, I don’t want to disc
uss my brother right now.
Nathan’s teasing brows lower and his forehead furrows, sensing my reason is something serious but also something I’m not about to share. I look away from him.
“So, we kiss and catastrophe,” he says, throwing his voice to sound spooky. My head turns in his direction again. His lips twist as if he’s thinking.
“You’re making fun of me.” I’m as hurt as I sound. While he claims I didn’t kiss him back that first time, we technically did kiss, and thus the library news. The universe spoke. It’s hard for people to comprehend because it doesn’t fit their norms of religion. There isn’t a formal system to follow, and what people don’t understand frightens them. It isn’t witchcraft but a oneness with nature, an understanding of our role in the wider world. A connection with the universe. People think it’s hokey. I’ve heard that said.
“Maybe we should test this out.” He steps closer to me, and I tighten my grasp on the shelf.
Don’t touch him, my brain warns while my breasts tingle. Keep your hands and lips to yourself, my mind cautions without conviction even as my heart races and a part of me awakens like the thump of a drumline. Arms and legs should remain in the vehicle at all times.
“Kiss me,” he suggests, his voice lowering as his head leans down toward mine. “If the building falls down around us, I’ll believe you.”
I should be put off by his teasing, but his nearness muddles my thoughts. “It doesn’t exactly work like that,” I mutter, my voice shaky. I swallow.
“Prove it,” he whispers, drawing me into the flames of his smoky sound. I throw the proverbial gauntlet down, and meet him halfway, allowing my lips to brush over his. Tender. Cautious. Experimenting. This is not the attack of earlier, but a gentler discovery. My fingers tighten on the shelf. My nails dig into the wood. I will myself to hold on, but my mouth has its own agenda. Take him.
I submit to Nathan’s lead as he guides my lips to follow his. Suck the lower one. Nip at the corner. Slip the tip of my tongue along the seam of his.
Like a butterfly released from a cocoon, I open for him.
My shoulders relax, and my grip slips from the shelf. I shift to face him, without breaking the kiss. A hand comes to my lower back, and the other dips under the braid at my neck. I lean into Nathan, gripping his open jacket like I did earlier and melting under his lips. How long has it been since I’ve felt like this?
Tingling.
Tempted.
Tortured.
And free.
I’m spun so my back braces against the shelves and Nathan’s hands wander. My backside is gripped, and I’m pressed toward him. My breasts crush against his chest. I slide my hands upward, outlining his chest until I wrap them around his neck. My fingertips gently scratch the hair above his nape while he tilts my head to deepen the kiss. Sucking sounds echo around us as our mouths tangle. I’m lost in a spinning vortex of swirling stars and hazy darkness, and then I come to my senses.
Abruptly, I pull back.
Shaking fingers release Nathan and cover my swollen lips. I shouldn’t have done that. But it was so nice, my traitorous lips mumble. So yummy. So cookie-crumble sweet. My eyes shift left and then right, waiting for the library to crash like he suggested. He chuckles as he leans forward to kiss my temple.
“See? Nothing happened.”
Oh, something happened alright. My knees shake. My lips sting. My heart races. And another part of me is zinging like a comet—an aimless, inexperienced comet zig-zagging across the Milky Way.
“Let’s make another deal,” Nathan offers, and I stare blankly up at him.
“I’m not really a gambler.”
He chuckles softly. “Take a risk. Give me a number.”
Without questioning his motives, I blurt out, “Eighteen.” The number of years I’ve been waiting to be kissed like that again.
“Too large. Try one to ten. Please say one.” That grin. Dimple alert.
“Three,” I snap. The Goddess number. The law of return.
“Okay. Three.” He smirks. “Go out with me three times. If something catastrophic happens, we stop. If not …” He shrugs.
“Sex?” I sputter, and his brows rise.
“Um … not what I meant but I won’t dismiss it.” His brows lower, and the grin grows. Dimple sighting.
“No sex,” I say although suddenly sex is all I can think about. I have a vagina. Take me up against this shelf, it screams.
“Kissing?” He tilts his head, and a single brow arches. Category five dimple. Evacuate.
“No promises,” I tease. Am I flirting with him? Would things really fall apart if I did kiss him again? When I consider his lips on mine, I’m willing to risk heaven collapsing if Nathan will keep kissing the hell out of me. Then I worry. Kissing him gives me anxiety. Heart racing. Knees shaking. Sweating palms. Or is that just the result of his mouth on mine? I’m so confused.
His forehead wrinkles in surprise, and he rewards me with a full-wattage smile, dimple and all. “But dates?”
Should I do this? Could I do this? I’m two ends of a tug-of-war again when it comes to Nathan Ryder. One part of me wants to move forward and let go. The other holds too tightly to the past. An image of my brother crosses my mind, guilt riding along with it, but it quickly vanishes, as if blown like dandelion seeds into the wind.
“Okay.”
Chapter Ten
Dewey Decimal Classification: 303.6 Conflict
[Nathan]
“Okay.”
I can’t believe she agreed to this after her harebrained ideas about the universe. Okay, not harebrained, just different. Different is good. I like different. I like her, and I want to know her better. I want to understand her. I want more of this strange magnetic pull I feel toward her. The energy she’s putting out that’s drawing me into her.
“So, Friday.” I don’t know where I’ll take her, but unpredictable is the plan. Someplace unique. I want to know if I can find the girl she once was, inside the woman she is now. She still seems a little uptight despite the enthusiasm with which she kissed me moments ago.
“Friday.” She sets the last book on the shelf and I tell her I’ll wait in the lobby while she does a final check of doors and shuts off the lights. I stand by the front door, noticing her car is parked under the singular light in the lot. It’s too dark out here.
“That doesn’t look safe,” I tell her as I escort her out of the library. She remains silent and I’m worried she’s rethinking our date until we near the VW Bug. “What the hell?”
Her taillight has been shattered, but as I inspect the ground, I notice there aren’t shards of plastic.
“My car was vandalized.”
“What? When?”
“Last night. I haven’t been able to get to the Winston Brothers shop for a repair.”
Winston Brothers Auto Shop is the local garage owned and operated by Cletus Winston and his younger brother Beau. They could fix this up in an hour or two. Why did she delay? I decide to survey her car and note a missing headlight as well. She’s been targeted, and the broken lights mark her even more—especially on a dark mountain road. The lopsided beams would tip off anyone who is watching for her.
“I’m driving you home,” I demand. Her eyes spark despite the darkness of the lot.
“You don’t need to do that.”
“We are not discussing this.” So help me, if I find out Dwight did this, I’ll kick his ass.
“I can’t have you drive me home. I need my car tomorrow. I promise I’ll take it to the Winston’s when I’m done.”
“I’ll take the day off. Drive you where you need to go. I’ll take your car to the shop. I can—” Her thin fingers lift close to my mouth to stop my panic-mode ramble, listing off all the things I can do to help her, all the ways I want to take care of her. The thought hits me hard in the chest and I reach for her fingers, quickly pressing them to my lips.
“That isn’t necessary. I’ll figure it out.” She’s a stubborn thing when
she wants to be, and cupping her jaw, I step up to face off with her.
“It is necessary, but I’ll let it go for now. I’m following you home, though. No argument tonight.”
Her mouth pops open but my thumb touches her bottom lip. I trace over the swollen curve and I swear she sighs. I want to take her mouth again, swallow the sass she’s giving me, press her up against this damaged car, but something tells me she’s being watched, and I want to see her safely home.
“You have a truck,” she states, glancing behind me and noting the mammoth black F-150 next to her cupcake-sized vehicle.
“I need it for construction work. Can’t ride my bike everywhere.”
“You’re in construction?” It’s as if she doesn’t know me, and then I remember she doesn’t. We don’t really know anything about each other. We might have consensual carnal knowledge of one another from years ago, but we don’t know-know each other.
“I work for Monroe & Sons Construction.”
“As in Wyatt Monroe’s family?”
“The same one, but he’s with the sheriff’s department. He didn’t wish to follow the blueprints of his family.”
Her eyes narrow as her mouth twists. “Is that construction humor?”
I wink and lead her to the driver side of her car. Before I reach for the handle, I squeeze her hip. “You aren’t going to flake out on me and cancel on Friday, right?”
I don’t know why I’m acting all insecure. If she didn’t show, I’d hit up Charlese. On second thought, I wouldn’t. I’d grow pissed off and then head to the Fugitive.
Her brow furrows and her lips pinch.
“When I make a promise, I stick to it,” she says a little tartly before slipping into her car. As I follow her down the road, I wonder the entire time what she means.
Dwight Henderson is a womanizer with a capital W. He’s a noted sleazebag from his frequent visits to the Pink Pony and his never-ending cycle of hitting on women in The Wooden Plank, a good bar if you’re looking to get laid. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced there’s some history between Naomi and him, and I don’t like it. There was an evil desire in his eyes. After the comments he made the other night, and the way he looked at her, I have a strong suspicion he vandalized her car.
Love in Due Time Page 8