Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Emma

I pushed open the door of Beachy Keen Reads, the familiar creak of the hinges like music to my ears. Odors of aged paper and ink wrapped around me like a cozy blanket, each inhale settling the restless flutter in my chest. Sunlight streamed through the oversized front windows, casting golden patches across the worn hardwood floors.

A smile tugged at my lips—nothing like a bookstore bathed in morning light to soothe the soul.

“Alright, Emma gal,” I whispered to myself, shrugging off my light cardigan and hanging it on the ancient coat rack that leaned ever so slightly to the left. Charming, really. “Time to get down to business.”

Today’s to-do list was as long as my arm: catalog the mountain of new inventory (note to self—maybe don’t go overboard at the next book fair), update the window display (because apparently, pumpkins and black cats in November are frowned upon), and draft the event proposal for the upcoming children’s reading week. Plenty to keep me busy and, more importantly, distract me from thoughts of a certain irritatingly charming billionaire who had taken up unwelcome residence in my head.

As I wandered through the store, straightening chairs and fluffing cushions in the reading nook, memories of last night’s chili cook-off kept sneaking in like mischievous pixies. The way Wade looked at me after our unexpected tie—those eyes gleaming with a mix of challenge and amusement.

Hotter than any man had a right to be.

And then that kiss. Out of nowhere, right there in front of everyone. Bold as brass. It left me flustered, turned on, and if I were honest with myself, unexpectedly needy.

“Ugh,” I groaned, reaching up to adjust a row of classics on the top shelf. “Get it together, woman.”

I tried to refocus, humming an old folk tune Grammy used to sing, the melody winding its way through the silent shop and calming my scattered thoughts. Stepping back to admire my handiwork, my gaze drifted—of its own accord, mind you—to the spot near the door where Wade had stood just days ago, that infuriating smirk playing on his lips, equal parts charming and exasperating.

“Seriously?” I muttered to the empty store. “He’s like an annoying song stuck on repeat.”

Shaking my head, I resolved yet again, to banish the Greek god from my thoughts.

Easier said than done, clearly.

As I turned to the next task––tackling the heap of books that arrived yesterday and were now precariously stacked behind the counter––I hoisted a particularly heavy stack of hardcovers just as a vivid image of Wade’s teasing grin flashed across my mind.

“Whoa!” The books slipped from my grasp, thudding to the floor in a dramatic cascade.

“Perfect,” I sighed, dropping to my knees to gather them. A couple strolling by peeked in through the window, their eyebrows raised. I offered a sheepish smile and a little wave. Just your friendly neighborhood bookshop owner, casually causing avalanches of literature.

“Get a grip, Emma,” I chided myself under my breath. “You’re acting like a lovesick teenager.”

Something about saying the words out loud centered me somewhat. Stacking the books—again—I decided it was high time for a caffeine fix. Maybe a change of scenery would help clear this Wade-induced fog in my brain.

“Sandy Sips Café, here I come,” I declared, snatching up my purse and flipping the sign on the door to “Back in 15 minutes.” Probably optimistic, but a girl could dream. Silvy wasn’t due to come in until later that afternoon, but we were in our slow season, so I wasn’t too worried.

The crisp morning air greeted me as I stepped onto the boardwalk, the salty breeze instantly lifting my spirits. Seashell Cove was already bustling—shops opening, locals exchanging greetings, the distant crash of waves providing a soothing soundtrack. The scent of the ocean mingled with the aroma of fresh pastries wafting from the café down the street.

As I approached the café, rich smells of freshly brewed coffee made my nose wiggle in appreciation. The quaint little spot was a beloved staple in town—a place where everyone knew your name and your coffee order. The turquoise door swung open with a cheerful jingle of the brass bell above.

“Morning, Emma!” Sandy’s bright voice rang out before I’d even crossed the threshold. She stood behind the counter, her trademark mismatched earrings—a tiny teacup dangling from one ear, a saucer from the other—bobbing as she moved. Today, a vibrant scarf in shades of purple and blue was wrapped around her head, rebellious gray curls escaping in all directions.

“Morning, Sandy,” I replied with a grin. “Smells divine in here.”

“Just pulled a batch of blueberry scones out of the oven,” she chirped, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “Care to indulge?”

“You know me too well,” I laughed, stepping up to the counter. “And I’ll take a mocha latte—extra chocolate, because it’s one of those days.”

“Aren’t they all?” She chortled, already reaching for a mug. “Coming right up.”

I glanced around the cozy interior. Familiar faces occupied most of the tables—Mr. Thompson was deeply engrossed in his newspaper (probably a crossword), the knitting club ladies were in animated discussion (yarn shortages, perhaps), and a couple of tourists ogled the eclectic décor adorned with seashells and vibrant paintings by local artists.

“Here you go, love,” Sandy said, sliding the latte and scone toward me. “So, heard there was quite the excitement at the chili cook-off last yesterday.”

I felt a flush creep up my cheeks. “Oh, you know, the usual—beans, spices, competitive fire.”

“And perhaps a certain handsome neighbor making a scene?” She leaned forward, a conspiratorial gleam in her eye.

I raised an eyebrow. “Sandy, you wouldn’t happen to be indulging in town gossip, now would you?”

“Who, me?” She feigned innocence, placing a hand over her heart. “Just repeating what I’ve heard from reliable sources.”

I took a sip of my latte, savoring the rich chocolate. “Well, if you’re referring to Wade’s over-the-top antics, then yes, he was there.”

“And?”

“And nothing.” I tried for nonchalance. “We tied for first place. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh.” She arched a knowing eyebrow. “Because he kisses all his culinary competitors in front of a crowd?”

I nearly choked on my sip. “He what? Who told you that?”

She chuckled. “Sweetheart, this is Seashell Cove. News travels faster than a gull after a french fry.”

“Great,” I muttered, sinking onto a stool. “Just what I need—the whole damn town thinking I’m canoodling with Wade James.”

“Could be worse,” she teased. “He is easy on the eyes.”

I threw her a playful glare. “He’s also arrogant and infuriating and?—“

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Sandy quipped, interrupting my tirade with a wink.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Who’s side are you on, anyway?”

“One hundred percent yours, Emma sweetheart.” Her tone softened. “Just don’t rule the man out. Sometimes the ones who ruffle our feathers the most are the ones worth flying with.”

“Profound as always,” I mused, nibbling on the scone. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good girl.” She gave my hand a maternal pat, before bustling off to attend to another customer.

Hopping off the stool, I settled into a corner table by the window to watch Seashell Cove go about its morning. The sun climbed ever higher, casting a golden glow over the pastel storefronts and picket fences.

Meg and Ryker strolled by, hand in hand, Meg’s gorgeous waves catching the light, Ryker’s easy smile directed solely at her.

God, those two were disgustingly adorable.

I waved them in, and they entered the café, grins plastered on their faces.

“Emma! Fancy meeting you here,” Meg exclaimed, pulling me into a hug.

“Imagine that,” I laughed. “Me, in a coffee shop. Shocking.”

Ryker chuckled, snagging a chair from a nearby table. “Mind if we join you?”

“Not at all. The more the merrier.”

“So,” Meg began without preamble, settling across from me, “we heard about the cook-off.”

I groaned. “Let me guess—Sandy’s ‘reliable sources’ have been busy.”

“Well, it’s not every day Wade James kisses someone in public,” she said, eyes gleaming. Ryker had a knowing look on his face as he stared at me contemplatively.

“It was a spur-of-the-moment thing,” I protested. “Hardly worth all this fuss.”

“Is that so?” Ryker snickered. “Because from what I hear, it was quite the spectacle.”

I shot him a look and he held up his hands defensively. “Just repeating the gossip.”

“Which you know I despise,” I retorted, though a smile tugged at my lips.

“Come on, Emma,” Meg pressed. “What’s the real story?”

I sighed, stirring my latte absentmindedly. “Honestly, I have no idea what’s going on. One minute the man is insufferable, the next he’s... Well, still insufferable, but also occasionally charming. And too hot for his own damn good.”

“Sounds complicated,” Meg observed.

“Understatement of the year,” I muttered.

“Maybe give him a chance?” Ryker suggested. “He might surprise you.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Oh, are you vouching for him now?”

He shrugged. “I’ve known Wade a long time. Beneath that cocky exterior, he’s not a bad guy.”

“See?” Meg nudged me, her expression sly. “Even Ryker says so.”

“Traitor,” I mumbled, but couldn’t suppress a grin. “I’ll consider it.”

“That’s all we ask,” Meg remarked, a satisfied smile curving her lips.

I finished my scone and glanced at the time. “Shoot. I should get back to the shop. Mountains of books await.”

“Don’t work too hard,” Ryker advised.

“Where’s the fun in that?” I teased, gathering my things. Everyone knew he was the biggest workaholic around.

As I stepped back onto the boardwalk, the sea breeze tousled my hair. Taking a deep breath, I savored the salty tang. Maybe my friends had a point.

Perhaps I was being too hard on Wade.

Then again, guarding my heart had always been necessary.

Back at the bookstore, I flipped the sign to “Open” and slipped behind the counter, pulling out the event proposal I’d been meaning to work on. Immersing myself in plans for children’s reading week, I lost track of time—ideas flowing freely as I mapped out story-time sessions, craft activities, and maybe even a costume parade.

The familiar chime of the doorbell pulled me from my reverie.

“Be right with you,” I called, not looking up.

“Take your time,” a deep voice responded, smooth as honey.

I froze, pen hovering above the notepad. That voice.

Slowly, I lifted my gaze to find Wade––in the flesh this time, not just my head––leaning casually against a bookshelf, that signature smirk firmly in place. He was impeccably dressed, as always—crisp white shirt rolled up at the sleeves, dark jeans that fit just right. His muscular forearms caught my gaze and a little flutter started low in my belly. I was a sucker for man hands and forearms.

“Hello, Emma,” he drawled, eyes gleaming with an amusement that said he knew I was checking him out.

“Wade,” I replied, straightening the papers on the counter to distract myself from staring at him. “What brings you to my modest establishment this time?”

He sauntered forward, hands tucked casually in his pockets. “Can’t a man indulge in a bit of literary exploration?”

I folded my arms. “I suppose he can, though you don’t strike me as the bookish type.”

He feigned a look of mock offense. “You wound me. I’ll have you know I’m quite well-read.”

“Is that so?” I raised an eyebrow. “Name your favorite book.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón.”

Huh. Impressive. “Not a bad choice.”

He leaned against the counter, a mere breath away. “See? I told you there’s more to me than meets the eye.”

“So it would seem,” I conceded, though I tried to appear unfazed.

We stood there for a moment, the air between us charged with unspoken words.

“So,” he began, breaking the silence, “about yesterday...”

I busied myself rearranging a stack of bookmarks. “What about it?”

“I wanted to apologize if I overstepped,” he said, his tone sincere.

I glanced up, meeting his gaze. “You mean the grandstanding kiss in front of half the town that everyone is now gossiping about?”

He had the decency to look a tad sheepish. “Yes. That.”

I shrugged, attempting nonchalance. “It’s fine. Heat of the moment and all that.”

“Is that what it was?” His dark eyes searched mine, the cockiness of earlier replaced with something more earnest.

Flushing, I dropped my gaze. “What else would it be?”

He took a step closer. “Perhaps something more?”

My heart did a little flip, but I wasn’t about to let him see that. “I’m not sure what you’re insinuating, Playboy.”

He sighed, his expression crumpling into a wry grimace at the pointed nickname. “Emma, I find you... intriguing.”

“Intriguing.” I rolled the word around, pretending to ponder it. “Is that billionaire-speak for ‘fascinated a woman is not swooning at your feet’?”

A ghost of a smile played on his lips. “Something like that.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, glad I can keep you entertained.”

He grinned, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “You truly have no idea.”

“Was there something you needed?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Actually, yes.” He straightened, pulling a book from the nearest shelf. “I was hoping for a recommendation.”

I eyed the book in his hand—some glossy hardback about yachts. Figures . “What are you in the mood for?”

“Surprise me.”

Challenging. I like it. “Fine. Follow me.”

Leading him to one of my favorite sections, I scanned the spines before selecting a worn copy of The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern. “Try this. It’s magical, mysterious, and beautifully written.”

He examined the cover, his fingers brushing mine as he took it. A spark of electricity zipped up my arm and the tiny hairs rose to attention. “The Night Circus,” he mused. “Intriguing.”

“There’s that word again,” I quipped.

He chuckled. “Seems fitting.”

We lingered, the silence stretching, but not uncomfortable.

“Emma,” he murmured, his gaze intent, “would you have dinner with me tonight?”

Blinking, I stared, momentarily caught off guard. His proposal at the cook-off was a drink.

Well, this escalated fast. “Dinner?” I parroted like a dummy.

“Yes. You know, that meal people usually eat in the evening.” His sexy lips curved in that confident smile that kept making my lower belly clench.

I hesitated, weighing my options. “I know when you asked me out before, I said maybe some other time, Wade, but I… I really don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” His brows furrowed in a frown that gave him a boyish air that almost changed my mind. Almost.

Meeting his gaze head-on, I decided not to mince words. Straight and direct, Emma girl. Keep your guard up. “Because I’m not interested in becoming another notch on your very expensive bedpost.” I lifted my brows, waiting for his response.

To his credit, he looked genuinely taken aback. “Is that what you think of me?”

I shrugged, forcing my tone to remain casual. “Your reputation precedes you, Playboy.”

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that seemed almost vulnerable, and met my gaze. “Maybe I’m tired of that reputation.”

“Maybe,” I allowed, glancing away. ‘But that’s not my problem.”

He sighed, a hint of frustration creeping into his eyes. “Fair enough. But if you change your mind, the offer stands.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

He placed the book on the counter. “I’ll take this, then.”

I rang up the purchase, careful to keep my eyes averted. “That’ll be twenty dollars.”

He handed me his card, and I swiped it, the transaction feeling oddly formal. More odd, I didn’t like it.

“Thank you,” he said as I handed back his card.

“You’re welcome.”

He hesitated for a moment, a tiny muscle ticking in his jaw as he studied me. “Have a good day, Emma.”

“You too, Wade.”

He turned to leave but paused at the door. “Oh, by the way,” he said, reaching into his back pocket, “I wanted you to have this.”

He walked back to the counter and set down a small, wrapped package.

I eyed it warily. “What’s this?”

“Just a little something I thought you’d appreciate.”

Before I could protest, he flashed me a disarming smile and slipped out the door, the bell chiming softly in his wake.

I stared after him, then down at the package. Curiosity gnawed at me. With a huff, I unwrapped it to reveal an exquisite book bound in rich, burgundy leather. My breath caught.

“Pride and Prejudice,” I whispered, running my fingers over the embossed gold lettering. Flipping it open, I found the publication date.

A freaking first edition. Shit balls.

Inside the cover was a note penned in elegant script.

“For the woman who looks at people the way she looks at books—with curiosity and discernment.

—Wade

I sank onto the stool behind the counter, emotions swirling. This was no ordinary gift. It was thoughtful, personal, and undoubtedly worth a small fortune.

“What are you up to, Wade James?” I muttered.

The bell jingled again, and Silvy breezed in, her mane of golden hair held back with a bright scarf, sunglasses perched atop her head.

“Hey, girl!” she called out, then noticed my expression. “Uh-oh. Who died?”

“No one,” I sighed, holding up the book. “But someone might if this keeps up.”

She gasped, rushing over. “OMG, is that a first edition Austen?”

“Yep.”

Her eyes widened. “Holy—Emma, this is huge!”

“Tell me about it.”

She plopped down beside me. “Did the billionaire give you this?”

“Who else?”

She let out a low whistle. “Wow. That man doesn’t mess around.”

“I can’t accept this,” I insisted, shaking my head. “It’s too much.”

“Too much? It’s amazing! And utterly romantic.”

“Or manipulative,” I countered.

She rolled her eyes. “Not everything is some maneuver or play, Emma. Maybe he’s just trying to show you he cares.”

“By throwing money at me?”

“By giving you something he knows you’d love,” she corrected.

I chewed my lip, uncertainty gnawing at my stomach. “I don’t know what to think.”

“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “you could always thank him and see where things go.”

I groaned. “I don’t want to encourage him.”

“Are you sure about that?” She leveled me with a knowing look. “Because I think at least part of you is all aboard the billionaire train.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but snapped it shut. She wasn’t wrong.

Silvy’s expression softened. “Just... try being open to something new. You deserve a little fun and happiness in your life.”

“I’m happy! I have fun!” I retorted.

My best friend merely lifted her brow with a knowing look and my shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Okay, how about we grab some lunch?” she grinned, changing the subject. “My treat. You can tell me all about what’s really going on in that head of yours.”

I glanced at the clock. Nearly noon, and my stomach was already protesting the morning’s coffee-only diet. “I suppose an early lunch break wouldn’t hurt.”

As we stepped outside, the sun warmed my face, and I felt a weight lift slightly. Maybe, just maybe, I could let my guard down. At least a little.

But as we walked down the boardwalk, the precious book cradled in my arms, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Wade James was a chapter I wasn’t sure I was ready to read.

Yet.

Right?