Chapter 11

Millie

I can’t stop thinking about Tripp Atwood. What is wrong with me? Ever since he got me off the other night in my bookshop, I can’t erase him from my mind.

I kind of don’t want to either.

I’ve been a complete bookwhore for his chapters he sends, and at night I think about him while I touch myself.

It’s wrong. I know it’s wrong. Here I am, the good girl, having this secret affair with a man who just happens to be the younger brother of my ex-boyfriend. I’m sure they have some bro code or something about not dating each other’s exes.

Why am I even thinking about dating Tripp? That’ll never happen.

But his book he’s writing has me thinking he’d be the perfect guy. It’s about a man who’s been pining away for months about a woman he can’t ever pursue. I feel for the hero in the story. I can see the pain and anguish he suffers daily by not being with the woman he loves.

It’s sad, and it’s oh so hot. Like scorching hot. As I read the chapters I can’t help imagining I’m the woman the hero is pining after.

What I wouldn’t give for a man to want me like the hero wants the heroine. And when Tripp was touching me, making me see stars, I imagined he was the hero he writes about. I imagined he’d been pining for me for months, even years.

That he had this desire for me that he couldn’t handle anymore.

It’s silly, and I need to get my head in check before I end up getting my heart broken.

I’m sitting in my cozy little shop, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the faint aroma of old books, as I wait for the book club meeting later today. The soft hum of background music fills the space, keeping me company as I absentmindedly rearrange a stack of novels on the counter.

The door swings open, the bell above it chiming cheerfully, and in walks Oliver Moore. My hand freezes mid-air, book forgotten as I take in the sight of him.

I’ve heard plenty about the Moores—small-town gossip makes sure of that—but I don’t know any of them personally. I do know that Willow, the youngest of the Moore clan, is now dating Brock, a fact that’s been the talk of the town for weeks.

But Oliver... he’s something else entirely. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a confident stride that seems to command the room without even trying. His eyes, a deep shade of hazel, scan the shop as if taking everything in. He’s clearly a few years older than my twenty-four years, but that only adds to the air of maturity and quiet strength he carries with him.

As he approaches the counter, I give him a friendly smile.

“How can I help you?”

He smiles, and I realize it’s got nothing on Tripp’s smile. “I’m looking for a book on management. My parents are retiring this year and I’ll be taking over at Moore’s Restaurant.”

“Oh, that’s lovely,” I say, leading him toward the nonfiction section of the shop. “Are you excited to run things?”

He nods. “I’ve been working at the restaurant since I was sixteen, so I guess I know everything, but I feel like I can always learn more.”

I smile as I move to a shelf on management. “I love your restaurant,” I tell him. I try to remember the last time I was even there.

I think it was one night when Brock took me there on a date. We ended up spending most of the time in silence because we really had nothing to talk about.

“You should come by. Let me buy you a meal,” he says, leaning casually against the bookshelf. “Maybe I can get a night off to join you.”

I smile, my eyes widening slightly when I realize Oliver Moore is asking me out.

Another customer waltzes into the shop, and I blush at Oliver, blinking as he waits for a response.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, and then I point to a few books which are exactly what he’s looking for. “These books should help.”

He turns his attention to the books and thanks me.

“If you need anything else… I’m here,” I say as I walk away to help the new customer.

“Thanks,” he calls over his shoulder at me.

I wander through my shop as I make my way toward a woman browsing the shelves. Her long red hair cascades down her back, catching the soft light filtering through the windows. There’s something about her that tugs at the edges of my memory, but I can’t quite place it.

“Hi, can I help you find something?” I ask, my voice gentle as I approach her.

She spins around, her blue eyes locking onto mine. There’s a flicker of recognition in them, a flash of something that makes me think we’ve met before. But before I can dwell on it, she speaks.

“Hi, I’m looking for some books about cancer, specifically colon cancer.”

Her words hang in the air between us, heavy with the weight of what they mean. I don’t need to ask to see the pain etched into her expression, the way her eyes seem to carry the burden of a thousand unshed tears. I nod, my heart aching for her.

“I’m so sorry,” I say softly, unsure if she wants me to jump to conclusions, but unable to stop myself from offering some small comfort.

She bows her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “My father.”

The two words say everything. I feel a pang of empathy deep in my chest, understanding all too well the fear and helplessness that come with those dreaded diagnoses. “I understand. Let’s see what we have,” I say, my tone gentle as I guide her over to the nonfiction section.

As I search the shelves, I can’t help but hope that we have something that might offer her even a small measure of solace.

“I’m Violet. I don’t think I’ve ever been in here before,” she says, breaking the silence.

“Hi, Violet. I’m Millie.” I give her a warm smile, hoping to ease some of the tension in her shoulders. “You look familiar.”

She nods, a faint smile touching her lips. “Lived here all my life. Violet Daniels. My father owns Daniels’ Farm.”

And just like that, the pieces fall into place. The farm at the edge of town, where the fields stretch out like an endless sea of green. I’ve heard the name before, seen it in the local news, at the farmer’s market.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I tell her.

“I don’t get out much. Normally I work long hours on the farm, but I’m trying to.”

Oliver brings his purchases up to the checkout counter just as Hazel and Arlene bound through the door, laughing.

“Oh, well we offer a book club. We’re actually having a meeting here soon, if you wanted to join in.”

Violet smiles, her blue eyes softening. “I’d like that.”

I beam. “Great, hang tight. I’m just going to check out the customer at the counter.”

She smiles, looking in that direction. “He’s really cute.”

I blush. “Yeah, he seems nice, but…” my words quickly fall away. How can I tell her that Oliver Moore’s got nothing on Tripp Atwood.

Before I can even say a thing, Tripp enters through the door, and it’s like all the air is sucked out of the shop. I can’t keep my eyes off him, and when he sees me his face lights up.

“Oh, I see,” Violet says. “There’s somebody else in the picture.”

Her words startle me. “I’m sorry,” I say, tearing my attention from Tripp to focus on Violet.

Violet only laughs. “Oh, you’ve got it bad.”

It’s like the whole world stands still as I nod. “I should check Oliver out,” I say, slowly stepping away from Violet. “You can follow the ladies to the back and get ready for book club.” I point over at Hazel and Arlene who are busily setting things up.

Violet nods. “Sure thing.”

I head over to the counter to check out Oliver as Tripp moves closer toward me.

“Think anymore about that dinner invite?” Oliver asks with a widening grin.

I rush behind the back of the counter, giving Oliver a small smile. Tripp’s eyes collide with mine, and my face grows hot.

Why do I feel like I’d be cheating on Tripp if I accepted Oliver’s invitation?