Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

JESSICA

There’s nothing better than listening to a handsome man read.

Especially when it’s Knox Miller dressed in his firefighter station-wear blues. His voice is dreamy, alternating between a low rumble and a high-pitched cackle, depending on which character he’s voicing. The kids hang on his every word, leaning forward to hear what comes next.

The kids aren’t the only ones staring at Knox. Mrs. Witherspoon and I are guilty, too. Anyone who finds men attractive would stare at Knox. He has the best smile, and the prettiest blue eyes framed by dark, thick lashes. Knox was born and raised in Mossy Oak, North Carolina, and he has the accent to show for it. I could listen all day. He could read the menu at Hawthorne’s Pizza, and I would hang on every single syllable.

There is nothing sharp or harsh about Knox’s voice or any other part of him. He is all warm honey and lush green hills, summertime in the Blue Ridge mountains.

Mrs. Witherspoon plants her elbows on the counter and sighs dramatically. “He makes me wish I was twenty years younger.”

I bite my lip to hold back a smile. Mrs. Witherspoon is seventy-five, if a day. She has a puff of hair as white as cotton and blush-tinted chubby cheeks. She might need to knock off a few more decades before attempting to seduce Knox Miller.

Do all the firemen wear shirts so tight? He turns the page, and the seams of his shirt stretch around his thick biceps. I can see the black swirls of a tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve. I wish I could see the rest of it. The rest of him.

“The kids love him,” I say.

“They aren’t the only ones. Why do you think I skip my painting lessons on the first Friday of the month. It’s not for your company, dear.” She pats my hand, and I can almost hear the silent Bless your heart.

I first met Knox Miller in third grade, when I saved him from Jenny Sanders, the class bully.

Back then, Knox was the nerdy kid with glasses who was always drawing in his notebook, and I was the bookworm with my nose permanently buried in a book.

Now, he’s all glown up. At well over six feet tall with a superhero build, even his muscles have muscles.

We’d gone to school together for a few years, then I moved to Charlotte so my mom could get a job. I hadn’t stayed in touch with anyone from Mossy Oak, but I’d always dreamed of coming back someday. It was an idyllic town with plenty of hiking trails, a lake, and a world-class vineyard.

I’d never forgotten the town library. It was one of the most special places in the world. Outside, the low branches of tall magnolia trees made ideal reading spots, and inside, large bean bags strewn across the wooden floor invited kids to read all day.

Mrs. Johnson, the kindly librarian, had let me check out whatever I wanted. She’d encouraged me to devour as many books as possible.

I became a librarian because of Mrs. Johnson. But I came back to Mossy Oak for myself.

Mossy Oak had occupied a special place in my mind for years. It seemed like the perfect town, and I wanted a piece of that perfection for myself.

After college, I’d moved back to Mossy Oak and worked my way up in the library. Now that I’m director of operations and assistant to the head librarian, we’ve started several new programs. We have book clubs in every genre, and on Friday evenings, a volunteer reads to the children.

The volunteers are some of the most influential people of Mossy Oak, including the mayor, the principal of the elementary school, and my childhood crush, Knox Miller.

Knox is everyone’s favorite. He was always a comedian in elementary school. His spot-on impressions used to make everyone laugh. He’s honed his skills since then, creating special voices for all the characters.

When Knox reads, the parents clap, especially the moms.

Tonight, he finishes the book with a flourish, closing the book, then telling the children it’s time to vote. They are supposed to pick their favorite book or character in the entire library, and the volunteer will blindly choose one of their suggestions from a hat.

Mrs. Witherspoon and I pass around scraps of paper and pencils for the children. Those who can write do it themselves, others get help or draw pictures.

While the children scribble on their papers, Knox waits patiently on his stool, holding out his fireman’s hat for the kids to place their selections.

When I pass by him, he smiles. My heart flips, and I can feel my face flushing. I try to smile back, but my lips won’t cooperate. He makes every cell in my body go haywire.

I’ve never been the kind of woman who gets attention from men. I’m short and curvy, and my best feature—my eyes—are hidden behind glasses.

I get a whiff of Knox’s clean, woodsy scent, and it reminds me of sitting under a tree, reading Tolkien.

His eyes meet mine. They are pale blue, so light they’re almost gray, and crinkle in the corners when he smiles. “You look pretty tonight,” he says.

His compliment catches me off guard. I glance around to see if one of the moms is standing behind me and he’s referring to her, but there’s only Mrs. Witherspoon in her cat sweater, passing out the remaining scraps of paper.

She does look nice tonight. Her “Happy Meowentine’s Day” sweater is festive, and she’s done something different with her hair.

Knox chuckles, and I turn back to look at him. He’s shorter than me perched on the stool, and the height advantage gives me a view of him I’ve never seen before. Even the top of his head is gorgeous. He has thick sandy hair, cut shorter on the sides than on the top. It’s the kind of hair that won’t lay down, and I remember it vividly from third grade, when it flopped onto his forehead and over the rim of his glasses.

“I was talking about you,” Knox says. He lifts his hand and waves at Mrs. Witherspoon. Then those blue eyes are back on me again. “Do you have plans tonight?”

I’m wearing a tunic dress over leggings with heeled boots. I’m five-feet-two, so heels are necessary for almost every occasion. Especially a Friday night, when Fireman Knox is the guest reader.

“Just the usual Friday night.” My standing date with Netflix and a bowl of noodles.

His brow creases. “A hot date?”

I shake my head. Not unless Henry Cavil counts. “Not tonight.”

Knox smiles, and butterflies take flight in my belly. “You ever go up to Sky Valley on Fridays?”

I’ve never been to Sky Valley Resort. It is a high-class winery for rich people. I’m not rich, and I don’t drink wine.

“I know what you're thinking.” Knox pushes his hair off his forehead and looks up at me. “It has a reputation for being uppity. But a lot more locals go now since the new management took over. They’re trying to make it fun.”

I watch his mouth move, mesmerized by his crooked smile. Knox Miller is so gorgeous when he talks. I can’t be expected to listen to everything he says.

“Here’s mine, Mr. Knox,” says a little boy, adding his paper to Knox’s hat.

“Thanks, buddy.” Knox shakes the hat to ruffle the papers. “That’s the last one. Time to pick.”

I move as if to give him space, but Knox snags my wrist and pulls me back. “Stay here,” he says. “You can help me interpret.”

My skin tingles from his touch, and my heart melts. I shift closer, peering over his shoulder as he unfolds the first paper.

The kids gather around as Knox reads their suggestions. Some of them are barely legible, others are simple drawings which I help decipher.

“Mouse on a motorcycle,” I say, smiling at the drawing of a large rodent on a tiny bike.

Knox smiles gratefully and pulls out the next scrap of paper. He unfolds it and shows it to me. I look down and see my name printed in bold, masculine letters.

“What about this one?” His voice is pitched low and husky.

I clear my throat, my eyes jumping up from the paper to meet his gaze. His blue eyes twinkle mischievously.

“It says ‘Miss Jessica,” I say.

“Miss Jessica isn’t in a book,” one of the kids says, giggling.

“No, she isn’t,” Knox agrees. “But she’s my favorite.”