The Wrong Mr. Right (The Queen's Cove Series #2)(14)

Wyatt must have thought this was hilarious, me wanting to be a hot girl. I swallowed and wiped off the mascara smudges with toilet paper. I didn’t want to think about it too hard, because if I did, I would come to the conclusion that I was the joke. A meek little bookworm, wanting to be someone else. I couldn’t even stand up on my board. I’d seen tourists surfing small waves within an hour of their first lesson and all I could do was scream and inhale a face full of water.

I blew a breath out, listening to the sounds of Carter opening the shop up. I didn’t feel like having a conversation with him and explaining why I looked like Alice Cooper so I snuck back out of the shop and went home.

Maybe this whole thing was a mistake.

My body replayed Wyatt pulling me against his chest. My stomach rolled. He was so warm and solid.

So I fell off my board. I got water in my brain and thought a piece of seaweed was a Great White shark. I tried something new today. That’s what hot girls did. Thérèse wouldn’t let one bad day get her down.

I was one step closer.





5





Wyatt





A couple days later, I stood in front of Pemberley Books, studying the exterior. The paint on the front of the shop peeled. I glanced at the mural on the side of the building, in the alley next to the shop. As a kid, I remembered it clear and freshly painted, classic books from every genre in a grid.

Now, it looked kind of sad. The paint had faded from the sun and time, and most of the titles were difficult to read.

“Hey, buddy. I heard you got into Pacific Rim. Congrats.”

I turned to see Beck Kingston, one of my oldest friends, walking up the street toward me. “Thanks, Dr. Beck.”

He laughed. After we graduated high school, Beck had gone to university in Vancouver and then medical school with the intention of taking over his parents’ practice one day here in Queen’s Cove.

“How were the waves this morning?” Beck sometimes joined me out on the water but always in the evenings. He wasn’t a morning person.

“Perfect. Nice and clean.”

“Ready for Pacific Rim?”

I crossed my arms over my chest and ignored the twinge of panic in my gut. I didn’t panic. That wasn’t my style. I shrugged. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Still going to get out there every morning, though.”

Beck grinned. “Wouldn’t expect anything less of you.” He tilted his chin at the store. “I have a book to pick up, I’ll talk to you later.”

“I’ll join you. I need to talk to Hannah about something.”

The bell on the door rang when he opened the door and held it for me. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, but I spotted Hannah chatting with a customer. Beck headed off in search of a book with a wave to me.

I wandered over to the squashy chairs I had seen her and Thérèse sitting in and took a seat while I waited for her to finish up. I eased back into the chair, studying the store.

Every shelf burst with books. Stacks sat on the floor beside shelves and between the big chairs. There were empty spaces where it looked like a shelf used to be but had given out. I could only see half of the front desk from where I sat, but even from here I could see the weathered desk and old, outdated register. The carpet was thin and the place smelled musty. Not unpleasant, just old.

They hadn’t updated this place in a long time.

Her murmur traveled through the stacks of books.

The front doorbell rang again as the customer left and Hannah’s footsteps approached. She stopped short when she came around the corner and saw me.

She reared back. “What are you doing here?”

I snorted. “Now that’s customer service. ‘Welcome to Pemberley Books. What are you doing here?’”

She crossed her arms and gestured at the chair. “You can’t sit there.”

“I’m wearing a shirt this time.”

A hint of pink bloomed on her cheeks. “I noticed. Thank you for doing the bare minimum.” She blinked. “Again, what are you doing here? Do you need me to teach you how to read?”

I burst out laughing. “You’re kind of mean for a shy girl.”

Her eyes widened. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I know you can read.”

The grin stayed glued on my face. I liked this side of her. “It’s okay, bookworm. I know you jest. I’m here to check up on you and see if you’ve done your homework.”

She froze. “My homework.”

“Yep. Since you get off on having homework, I thought I better make sure you did it.” I winked and her eyes widened.

“I don’t get off on having homework,” she hissed. “And no, I haven’t done it.” Her cheeks reddened further, even in the dim light at the back of the bookstore.

I rubbed my jaw and narrowed my eyes, pretending to think. “What was that we agreed on again? My way, my rules, something like that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t think too hard, you might hurt something.”

Another laugh burst out of me. “You’re cranky today.”

“I’m not cranky.”

I stood. “Well, I don’t have all day, so let’s get to it.”

Panic flared in her gaze, and she took a step back into a bookshelf. “Get to what?” The same squeaky voice as a couple days ago when we were on the water, when I was teasing her about sharks.