The Decoy Girlfriend(76)

“And Mom was always right,” says Freya, transported back to her debut novel’s signing right here at Books & Brambles.

The proud smile on his face now is the same one he wore in the front row when, just four years ago, they were all here at Stori’s bookshop to do a reading of Freya Anjali Lal’s debut novel—slated to be fall’s biggest book according to publishing and Very Important Internet People—to a full house.

If she concentrates, she can still remember the heady scent of pungent Sharpies as her inky signature swirled across the title page in the signature she’s been practicing since she was nine and her dad took her to Staples to spiral bind her first manuscript.

“I wish she’d been here with us to celebrate my first book. It feels weird to write the second without her,” Freya admits. She stares at Hunka Junk on the counter, still set to the background image of that night. “Sometimes I wonder how many books it’ll take before that will fade.”

And what if it never does?

“Why don’t you tell me about it?” her dad suggests.

So Freya does. She talks until she’s hoarse, because she still hasn’t perfected her two-minute elevator pitch, and fields all his questions, of which there are many, mostly fatherish ones about why she wants to write about murder and is it because he let her watch horror movies as a child.

Suffice it to say, she’s more than happy when Stori returns from lunch with a to-go box. “Is that for me?” she asks with a hopeful gesture.

Stori sets it on the counter. “Prawn and cabbage dumplings, yup. Hi, Jay!”

“Hey, sis. Freya, I should let you get back to work.”

“Okay, but text me how your date goes,” says Freya.

Date? Stori mouths.

Tell you later, Freya communicates with a hand wave.

“Sure thing. Love you, sweet pea.”

“You too, Dad.”

“He’s dating?” Stori asks when Freya ends the video. “Who is she? Does Dad know? Did you know?”

“No, but I’m fine with it. I’m proud of him for putting himself out there. Dating is hard. God, even just being a person is hard, never mind letting in another person.”

Stori nods in understanding. “So . . . that smile you’re wearing. I’m not even going to pretend that you’re thinking about the gorgeous Manish Dayal or Oscar Isaac. This smile is all on Taft Bamber.”

Freya’s mouth drops unsubtly open. Is sex glow a real thing? Does Stori have sexdar?

Stori rolls her eyes, reading her easily. “He’s coming in. I saw him parking.”

True enough, Taft slips through the doors of the bookshop a minute later. “Hey, Stori.” He whips off his cap and sunglasses as soon as he sees there’s no one else in the store.

“It’s a slow day,” Stori explains. “I let Cliff and Emma have the afternoon off. So you two can be over here and I’ll just be . . .” She looks between Taft and Freya. “You know what, pretend I’m not here.”

Freya watches her aunt leave with a fond smile. “She thinks we’re going to jump on each other.”

Taft laughs. “I mean, did we rule that out, or . . . ?”

“For now, yes,” says Freya. It’s taking all her willpower not to lean in, cup his chin, and pull him close for a kiss that will leave his eyes as glazed as they were last night.

But they’re in public. She can be strong. She can ignore her instincts because she has to. Even though all she wants is to be a girl who kisses her guy without having to worry about anyone watching.

“I missed you,” Taft says with an endearingly shy smile even though it’s not the first time he’s confessed this. “Fuck, Freya. I miss you all the time when you’re not there. I’ve never felt like this before.”

And as mind-blowing as their first time together was, this soft admission is even better than sex. This is Taft standing in front of her, telling her his truth without a hint of doubt or embarrassment. This is him knowing he’s safe with her—knowing that she’s gentle with his heart.

She swallows hard. “It’s new for me, too. You are, without doubt, my person, Taft. My . . . home.”

His eyes are the Bermuda Triangle, magnetic and mesmerizing, sucking her in. Right now they’re a whirlpool of caution and frustration, and she knows he hates having to keep up appearances in case anyone comes in. There are people walking on the sidewalk who could duck into the bookshop at any second.

“When you find a book you want,” she says, “I’ll gift wrap it for you, if you want. On the house.”

“Yeah?” His voice dips, running over her like a caress. “You want an extra couple of minutes with me?”

“Honestly? I want a lot more than that.”

He takes a step closer to the counter, enough to invade her senses with his nearness. His spicy aftershave, the faintest whiff of this morning’s coffee, and . . . did he try out her bar of goat’s milk soap? The thought brings a smile to Freya’s face. She’d used some of his body wash before, too, and she likes the idea of her scent on his skin.

“You’ve got it, baby,” says Taft. His eyes blaze. “You can have everything you want.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE



You know, I don’t think we have any commitments on our schedule today,” says Taft. He strokes Freya’s calves, which have been draped over his lap for the last hour while, on the opposite end of the couch, he reads the book he just bought from Books & Brambles yesterday. “How do you want to spend it?”