Real Fake Love (Copper Valley Fireballs #2)(44)

Henri: Sorry. Ignore that too. Love sucks. People only want to hurt each other. I mistakenly think it’s great because I’m a love-aholic, but really, I’m probably using my own weddings to compensate for feeling like I should’ve done something to help my parents stay together when I was a kid. I know I’m wrong. I’m working on it. And thank you for your help. I don’t know who else in my life I could turn to for this.



Luca: Maybe your sister’s bird?



Henri: laughing emoji



The bus pulls to a stop, and I blink at being pulled back to reality, realizing I’m smiling.

Brooks lifts a brow, then shakes his head.

I ignore him.

One, because he was his own brand of screwed up a few months ago.

And two, because oddly enough, I have a better puzzle to work on.

And that’s the mystery of the many facets of Henri Bacon.

Because I’m going to help her.

Maybe not the way she wants, exactly, but I’ll still help her the only way a guy like me can.





18





Luca



Four days later, I get home late Sunday night to a house that smells like pine and something I can’t identify until I walk into the kitchen.

Also apparently known as the library.

There are books everywhere.

On the table. On the floor. On the chairs. On the counters. Inside open cabinets.

Seriously. There are books stacked where my pots and pans and Tupperware would go if I owned more pots and pans and Tupperware.

That smell I’m smelling?

It’s books.

“Wha…?”

Henri pops up from behind a stack. Her hair’s tucked under a Fireballs bandana, her eyes are wide, her cheeks are flushed, and—is that my Boring Distillery T-shirt she’s wearing?

Without a bra again?

“Hi, Luca! Welcome home! Sorry about the books. I have a launch next week and I was taking signed pre-orders off my website and it kinda got out of hand while I wasn’t looking. My readers are very enthusiastic, and after I posted in my fan group that I was struggling to get excited about the book coming out after my wedding got called off, they sort of went crazy promoting the book for me. It’s weird, because it’s not like this is the first time they’ve seen me dumped on my wedding day, but my readership’s grown some, and do you know that romance readers are the most amazing people in the entire world? They’re making teasers and sharing all over social media and I thought nobody would get excited anyway because everyone wants the next Confucius book, but I got this hair to write How to Train Your Vampire, which is a total standalone not in the Confucius world, when I was with Jerry after he accidentally gave himself a concussion with an open cabinet door, and I guess people are into hot mess heroines and hot amnesiac vampires. Who knew?”

Stacks.

And stacks.

And stacks of books.

I wave a finger around the room, and she blushes and does this weird thing with her eyebrows that makes it look like two stylish caterpillars are playing charades to answer my unasked question. “Usually it’s around two hundred, but this time, there are five hundred? And I have four questionnaires I still need to answer for bloggers, and two virtual video chat interviews to prep for…so I’m sorry if I miss one or two of your games this coming week. Also, great job! You hit a home run today! I got so excited I accidentally signed a book that was supposed to go to Lisa as To Luca.”

I don’t know anything about the book business, but I know that on season ticket holder appreciation days, or during team conventions when we all sign autographs for fans for hours, it always feels like I’m signing ten thousand balls and jerseys when I know management won’t let us sign more than a few hundred because they don’t want carpal tunnel derailing performance on the field.

Also, how the hell is she getting this many books to the post office?

“Am I annoying you already? I’m annoying you already, aren’t I?”

I shake my head. We texted while I was on the road, and I’ve learned a few weird things about her that could potentially be annoying, but are strangely intriguing, and what’s more, she’s been funnier and more relatable by the day.

I kept telling my teammates I was looking forward to getting home to her, and the weirdest part is…I think it was true.

I wave at the books again. “Is this normal?”

“Signing books?”

“For all authors to do this at home. Doesn’t your publisher have a place you could go?”

“I am my publisher.”

I glance at the books again.

The cover features a broody, dark-haired guy with a hairless chest and a six-pack baring his fangs at the world as he wraps his arm around a slender dark-haired woman in an apron splattered with what I sincerely hope is cake batter.

Is that what she finds attractive in a man? Fangs and scowls and leather pants?

Leather pants aren’t comfortable.

“Oh! Oh my gosh, silly me. Are you hungry? I made some peach ginger barbecue chicken earlier, and the coleslaw is my grandma’s secret recipe—but don’t worry, it won’t make you fall in love with me—that’s her strawberry cobbler, which I use responsibly since it’s what my mom used to make my dad fall in love with her, and look how that turned out—and I also picked up some sweet corn from the farmers market downtown. It would only take a few minutes to get that boiled if you want some. Or I can stop talking if you need to go to sleep. What time’s your game tomorrow?”