The Wrong Mr. Right (The Queen's Cove Series #2)(81)

“Just a sec,” I told Wyatt with a quick, tight smile as I stood and wandered to the back room. “Hi, Dad.”

“Hi, honey.”

“Um, what’s up? How’s Salt Spring?” My voice was weak and watery and I squeezed my eyes closed in frustration. I hadn’t thought about my dad once today.

I hadn’t really thought about my mom, either.

I slumped against the wall in the storeroom, glancing down at the stack of crime thrillers on the table. When we re-shelved the books, I had made the decision to leave anything non-romance back here. Romance books made up the majority of our social media posts and accounted for ninety percent of our sales these days. Over the summer, with the social media taking off, Pemberley Books’ brand had become all about romance novels. It didn’t make sense to take up valuable real estate on the shelves with books that didn’t fit our store’s brand.

“It’s good. Keeping busy. It’s quite beautiful here.” He laughed. “They have a great ice cream shop down the road, we like to walk there every night after dinner.”

“We?” I frowned. “Is Uncle Rick back?” The idea of him and my dad walking to get ice cream was kind of cute.

His tone changed. “Um. No. Uh, the neighbor. Anyway, how’s the store?”

Oh, the store that was unrecognizable from when he left? That store? “Fine.” My voice strained.

My heart hammered in my chest. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t lie like this to him. It was wrong.

“I have to tell you something.”

He paused. “Okay.”

“Um.” I blinked and sucked a breath in before I let it out, nice and slow. You got this, bookworm, I could hear in my head. “I started a social media for the store. We, um…” I cleared my throat and rubbed my forehead. “We weren’t doing that well.”

“Okay.” He drew the word out in three syllables.

“When people visit Queen’s Cove on vacation, they check out certain hashtags and the town social media pages to see what there is to do here.” I swallowed. “Um. So it’s important that we have an online presence and at least show people that we exist.” I dragged the toe of my sneaker along the edge of a cardboard box full of biographies. “It’s helped bring the store back into the black.”

My pulse beat in my ears while I waited for him to respond. He sighed.

“I didn’t know the store wasn’t doing well.”

“I wanted to fix it. I didn’t want you to worry.” My mouth twisted.

He hummed, thinking, and I could picture his uncertain expression. “I should have been around more. I should spend more time in the store once I get back.”

I could hear the reluctance in his voice.

I didn’t want him here, either. Having him in the store more would be a step backwards. The store had my stamp all over it now.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” I picked at a drop of dried paint on my jeans.

This is the part where I should have told him about the renovations.

Wyatt stuck his head in the storeroom and gave me a questioning look with a thumb up. Everything okay? he mouthed.

I nodded. “Dad, I have to go.”

Baby steps, I told myself. Today, social media. Next week I’d tell him a few more things.

“Okay. Call me if you need anything.”

“I will. Bye, love you.”

“Love you, too.”

There. That wasn’t so bad. Maybe he wouldn’t totally lose his mind when he saw that I had erased my mom completely.

Wyatt stepped into my space and I breathed in his scent.

“Everyone’s packing up.” He towered over me, looking down into my eyes with warmth. “I’m so proud of you.”

“For what?” I looped my arms around his waist.

He tilted his head out at the store. “For everything. Look at you go, bookworm, riding the wave. Shooting forward.”

His head dropped and he pressed a soft kiss to my mouth. I melted into him.

“Let’s go home,” he whispered, and I nodded against his mouth.





24





Wyatt





I woke up a few mornings later with a smile on my face, Hannah in my arms, and the sun streaming into the bedroom.

And I thought surfing was heaven.

She was still sleeping, curled up against me, her chest rising and falling softly, and I studied her face, replaying the past few nights with her under me in bed, writhing and gasping.

I had always enjoyed making women come. Seeing a woman’s pleasure turned me on, but with Hannah, it was more.

It was ecstasy. It was all I thought about. I was showing her a new side of sex she hadn’t experienced before, and when she grabbed my hand and squeezed it as she came, she showed me a new side, too. I craved seeing her lose her mind and enjoy herself. I wanted to leave my imprint on her, on both her body and her mind.

I wanted to leave a lasting impression.

My throat tightened. For who? I didn’t want anyone else to touch her ever again. But I didn’t know what to do with that thought.

Hannah. Husband. Hannah. Pregnant. The nurse’s words had been playing in my head on a loop since we left the ER all those days ago. They played as she napped on the couch yesterday. They played as we sat around the dinner table with my family, everyone laughing and talking with her and welcoming her with open arms. And they played last night as I fell into the deepest sleep.