The Pepper in the Gumbo (Men of Cane River #1)(24)
She nodded. “I’m sorry for being so suspicious. Some of these books have been in Cane River families for generations. They were passed down from father to son, from mother to daughter. These aren’t just books. They’re part of our city history, and I won’t allow someone to destroy them. I know you think that’s backwards and silly.”
He dropped his head, leaving his face shadowed again. “I shouldn’t have said that. I was just surprised by your questions.”
Alice tried to pull herself together. “I don’t know why you would be. You’ve met lots of people just like me before, right?” She pointed toward the poetry section. “Help yourself. I’m sorry I made this difficult for you.” She heard the softness in her voice, the little waver at the end of her words, and hated it.
He paused, as if searching for something else to say, then shook his head. He walked away, leaving Alice alone.
She dropped into her chair and stared at the top of her desk, watching Van Winkle’s chest rise and fall with every breath as he slept. She had always thought of herself as a complex, intricate person, woven together of all the complicated characters she’d ever read and re-read. She considered herself part Creole woman raised by an old woman who was too tired to really bother with an angry teen girl and part Mr. Perrault’s living depository of book knowledge. Her past was bright college-girl freedom and her present was working-woman worries. She was a dedicated hometown girl and the historic district business owner who always felt as if she’d lucked into her life. But no matter what she’d always thought of herself, maybe she really was just someone who was afraid to join the real world. Her romantic nature seemed charming in this little place, but to the rest of the population, she was a nut job.
She rested her chin in both hands and thought about the picture she’d sent Browning Wordsworth Keats. How desperate she must have looked, sending him a picture of her shelf. He probably brushed it off. She was nobody to him and he certainly wouldn’t give it a second glance.
It shouldn’t matter, but it did, because Alice knew her own heart. She’d taken out the cell phone she never used, took her first mobile photo, sent it to herself on email and then on to him. That was a lot of trouble for a man who didn’t even give out his real name. It was a whole lot more trouble than she took for the man she was actually dating.
As if called by her thoughts, there was a jingling at the door and Eric stepped through. Alice stood up, forcing a smile. It seemed impossible that she could have forgotten that they had a date, yet again.
As bad as this day was going, it was about to get worse. She had to tell him the truth. They weren’t meant to be together. He was better off with someone who could remember he existed.
Chapter Eight
Technological society has succeeded in multiplying the opportunities for pleasure,
but it has great difficulty in generating joy. ― Pope Paul VI
Paul stood with an old leather book in his hands, cracked open to a random page, his gaze unfocused on the words. He’d only planned to pop into the store long enough to take the measure of her and then go on to meet the realtor. He couldn’t have predicted how his plan would go. The little book he’d scanned on the plane left enough book dust behind that she’d noticed. His mind flashed to the moment she’d stepped forward, put her face in his shirt, then grabbed his hand and smelled his palm. He choked back a laugh at the memory. He’d never been manhandled by a bookstore owner before and he had to admit he hadn’t minded a bit. She must have superhuman olfactory senses along with those green eyes and perfect skin. But it wasn’t just that she surprised him by asking what he was doing with the books, or even that she’d smelled it on him in the first place. It wasn’t the uncannily astute questions or the whirlwind of the conversation, either. It was that she was ten times prettier than her pictures and a hundred times more captivating than any of those little notes.
He knew he’d been treading on thin ice this morning but now he was in genuine trouble. Of all the women he’d ever known, Paul had never been so instantly smitten. He wanted to know everything about her life here, ask her about those rings she wore on that necklace, ask her opinion on all his favorite books, and he especially wanted to impress the socks off her. Which would be pretty difficult now that he’d insulted her to her face.
Paul slammed the book closed and didn’t bother to open the next. He’d acted like a complete jerk, implying she would die alone and surrounded by cats. He’d never been the smoothest guy in the room but this was a new low, even for him. Maybe his manners had sunk to that level without him noticing because most people cared more about his money and name, rather than whether or not he was decent human being. Andy would have told him to shut up if he’d been here, but Paul had sent him on an errand at the opposite end of the city so he could make this trip in secret. That was his first mistake.
Shame made his neck go hot. He needed to apologize. Whether or not they ever wrote each other again, whether or not she helped him find books he needed, whether or not they ever had another conversation. His conscience burned at the memory of the things he’d said. His mother hadn’t raised him to speak like that to anyone, especially a woman.
He trudged down the aisle toward the little desk, forming his apology in his mind. He stopped short at the end of the range by the sight of Alice planting a kiss on a man’s mouth. The man turned and gave him a look of surprise, which Paul was sure matched his own expression. He hadn’t expected Alice to have a boyfriend although she’d never said she didn’t. Paul swept a look from the man’s blond head to his too-tight polo shirt to his tasseled loafers.