6. Naomi

The rain didn't seemto stop anyone in Kensington, that was for sure. I tried to give Colder space on the sidewalk, but he kept urging me under the umbrella with him.

"I know that pretty slicker is waterproof, but it's pouring. I won't bite." His dimple popped for a moment. "Probably."

I laughed. The way he said it didn't have any leering qualities. Just that pure teasing vibe that seemed to come off him like a pheromone. Or cologne. Distracting as hell. He smelled like rain and something else warm. The kind of something that made me want to snuggle right into him.

Which wasn't like me at all.

But then he slid his arm around my waist and tucked me in close under the big black umbrella and I lost my breath.

"Oops, sorry. Didn't want you to get splashed."

Not like I'd even heard the car, thanks to the buzzing in my ears at how big and warm he was.

"That's okay. Thanks."

Did I sound as breathless as I felt? My heart roared in my ears and that warmth slid around me like his arm. And jeez, there were muscles all over him. Chest, the rock-hard slab of his middle, and those shoulders that blocked just as much of the rain as the umbrella.

"Just around the corner here and we're almost there." He grinned down at me, those little crinkles by his eyes just as distracting as his scent.

What the heck was wrong with me? Not like I hadn't been touched before, for God's sake. Not that Trent had possessed a quarter of his chivalry in the entire two years we were together.

"Here, switch with me." He pulled me in front and to the other side, so he was on the outside of the sidewalk. "No sense you getting splashed or dirty."

"Are you for real?"

His brows lifted. "Real how?"

I'd heard of the gentlemanly thing, but I was pretty sure I'd only read about it in books. In fact, I wasn't sure the last time I'd been with someone who wasn't on their phone the entire time. He hadn't reached for his once.

"Never mind."

He laughed. "Okay. But I'm definitely real, and you're going to forget all about me in about three seconds."

"Not likely," I muttered.

He pulled me in front of him as we passed a flower shop. Huge Gerbera daisies filled white pails in an array of pinks, yellows, and purples. The doors to the shop were old and the paint chipped around the windowpanes, but in that shabby chic way. The name Daisy Rae's was etched into the huge bay window with an old wheelbarrow full of mugs, mason jars, and old jars jumbled together with happy ribbons around their necks.

A sign stating you could make your own bouquets for five bucks a jar was one heck of an invite inside. Maybe we could stop after Colder's surprise.

It would liven up my dull bedroom with some welcome color.

"We'll stop after."

I blinked up at him. How did he know? Was I that obvious?

"It's a great place. You'll like Daisy."

"Do you know everyone?"

He gave an easy shrug. "I like people." His big hand cupped my shoulder as he pushed me forward. "Let's dry out in here first."

The dark building took up the entire corner of the street. I noticed the street name and giggled at a flower shop being on Garden Lane. The rich scent of coffee rolled out, taking over the hint of clean rain and even Colder's cologne.

I pushed my hood back and tipped my head back as I took in the massive space. The building was all dark, glossy wood with intricate corbels framing out the narrow doorway. Large windows dominated either side with Art Deco style fonts, one said books and the other coffee and bakery. The Library Café was scrolled in a dull gold across the top of the corbels.

I twirled around and he was grinning down at me. "I thought you might like it. Wait until you see inside. Go on."

I rushed forward and opened the door to the café before Colder could get his umbrella down. The moment I got inside, the punch of espresso and warm bread nearly knocked me over. The lower level of the space held massive bakery glass cases with cakes, breads, and pastries. An espresso machine was steaming away, as well as a surprising number of pour over coffees and French presses.

There were small tables for intimate conversations as well as larger worktables full of people on laptops typing away. A fireplace was crackling near another window that faced out to the other side of the street. The corner placement of the building made it seem even larger inside than it looked outside.

As much as my system wanted the coffee, I couldn't resist the winding staircase. Books lined every spare crevice with little trinkets on the shelves. A whole row of music boxes was offset by a scatter of crystals, and in the next bookcase, tarot cards were faced out to show off their shiny colors with books about all manner of divination right beside them. Oversized books were shelved with mass market and hardcovers in a delightful mishmash of color and topic.

A card catalog with the old-fashioned drawers seemed to be in actual use since people were flipping through them just like they were at an old school library. I reached out to touch a crystal dragon at the top of a shelf as I wound around the stairs.

It was a labyrinth of books and media that shouldn't work. No retail space should be this chaotic and beautiful, but sure enough, there was a dewey decimal system that should match up with the card catalog on the bottom floor.

I was pretty sure it wasn't the official one that I'd learned in library sciences, but it was charming and a great way to find things around the library-esque store. I finished climbing the steps and gasped at the top floor. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined the entire space. These were much more traditional with sections for fiction, non-fiction, and genre fiction. I was happy to see the genre fiction actually outnumbered the rest.

Fantasy, Romance, Sci-Fi, and Mystery dominated half of the room along with smaller sub-genres like Horror and the up-and-coming Romantasy—my current favorite.

Chunky tables lined the space with heavy chairs reminiscent of every library I'd been in as a kid. Instead of the dusty lamps I remembered, these had LED lamps and discreet plug-in strips for laptops. There was a hushed murmur of voices just like a library.

As if no one wanted to break the spell of the space.

"Third floor is the kids" floor," Colder said from behind me.

I turned and pressed a hand to my chest, my heart skipping. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to leave you like that."

"No problem. The Library Café has that effect on most people, but anyone who loves books…"

"Are you a reader?"

He lifted a shoulder. "A bit. Nothing fancy."

I grinned as his cheeks reddened a little. "I read fantasy and romantasy."

"Oh, yeah? I'm a fantasy guy. Wasn't sure if you were more literary." He cleared his throat. "Some of my coworkers give me shit about having my nose in my Kindle at work."

I followed the signs for the fantasy section, and he followed behind me. "I love the feel of a book in my hands, but my reading app on my iPad does in a pinch. Especially when I'm not sure what I want to read. But these covers."

"I don't have much space in my studio apartment, so the Kindle usually does it for me. But I love to come up here and read sometimes. They don't mind if you hang out."

"I wouldn't have taken you for a reader." I winced. "Not that I mean?—"

"It's okay. I get it. I learned to love reading from my mom. She loved music and books." His eyes got a little sad before he swallowed hard. "Anyway, she used to bring me to the library since we didn't have a lot of money. We'd spend the day sprawled out with books all around us then I'd check out the maximum allowed to make it through until the next Saturday morning."

"That sounds like the best way to grow up. Sounds like your mom is amazing."

"She was," he said softly.

I touched his arm. "Oh, Colder, I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Was a long time ago. But I still love to read. In fact, I re-read The Hobbit for her birthday every year." He stepped back as if shocked he'd mentioned it. "Anyway, tell me what you want to drink, and I'll go get us some coffee."

"Oh, you don't have to."

"I insist. You can look around while I'm gone."

"Okay, if you're sure." I dug into my bag.

"No, I got it. I asked you here."

"It's not a date." I looked up at him. Was it a date? Was I that oblivious? No, there hadn't been an explicit asking. Just two people going to the same place.

Like a date, dumbass.

"Just two friends. I think we're becoming friends." That dimple again. How was I supposed to hold out against that dimple? "So what's your poison?"

"Anything chocolate and espresso."

"That I can handle. Go on, you know you want to touch all the books."

I did. Oh, how I did. "Okay, if you're sure."

"Take your time."

I watched him go back down those winding stairs, his messy flop of damp hair curling around his angular face as he glanced back at me before disappearing.

I tried to ignore the knots in my stomach from the unexpected mutual attraction that seemed to be going on between us. Why did it have to happen now when my life was in such a weird space? The liminal call to a future and the fading past, and in all of it, I had no idea where the heck I was going.

Just perfect.

However, the call of the books pushed that to the back of my brain for now and I was grateful for it. My fingers brushed over the ornate spines. The fact that so many fantasy and romance novels were embracing the beauty of the physical book again made my heart happy. I plucked one after another off the shelves and flipped through them to see the insides.

Illustrated pages, even special vellum pages drew me deeper into the pure joy of savoring a book. The open window into another world that I didn't have to control or pretend I had control over.

I replaced one of my favorites with a little sigh. The special version was so very tempting, but it was definitely the kind that would need to be a reward. Maybe when I found a new job. But right now, I couldn't allow myself to spend on the art.

Without thought, I found myself sitting cross-legged in front of the lower shelves as I was drawn to a dark cover that promised spice. The dark and delicious slide into sensuality that I secretly loved.

The story sucked me in quickly with earthy prose and a woman who longed for the exploration of what two bodies could provide. If she was open to it.

I felt that.

No one had ever found the key to my passions. Mostly because it required a patience most men wouldn't offer. I even tried to write it myself, to allow my characters to feel it at least, but no matter how creative I was, I never could quite find the words to give to the story.

But this author did.

This book must have been the second in a series the way it jumped into the scene with the dragon shifter and his mate.

My heart flipped and tumbled as the scene unfolded. The slow glide up and into destruction for the character as she discovered what it was to give herself to someone. To find her other half.

"That kind of scene is definitely missing from the books I read."

I jumped and flattened the book against my chest. "I?—"

Colder stood behind me, leaning on the bookcase with two to-go cups of coffee. "What's the title?"

My face had to be scarlet. I mean, the heat in my flushing cheeks went right beyond a blush into oblivion.

Saying nothing, I drew my knees up as if to protect the book and the knowledge inside of it.

He grinned. "It looks pretty hot and heavy." He crouched in front of me. "I had no idea the fantasy books included that. Not that there's a lack of romance in some of the books I read, but there's definitely not that kind of description."

"How long were you reading over my shoulder?"

"Just a page or three."

Could my face get hotter? Pretty sure that was a no.

He held the cup out to me. "Is that what you write?"

"What? No. Definitely not." Quickly, I shoved the book back on the shelf and took the cup from him.

His gaze shifted to the shelf then back to me. "Why not?"

"I'm a tech writer."

"Pretty sure most authors don't set out to write tech books."

I took a sip of my coffee and my eyes almost rolled back in my head at the rich chocolate and dark espresso combination. "No, but that's what pays the bills."

He lowered himself to the floor in front of me, leaning on the bookcase as he looped an arm around his long legs. He reached onto the shelf and took the book back out. "If this is what excites you, why wouldn't you write these kinds of stories?"

At my widened eyes, he laughed.

"Maybe a poor choice of words based on the pages I was reading over your shoulder. But if those books make you happy, shouldn't that be what you do? Surely you have ideas for a book."

"I do." I made myself relax. I wasn't embarrassed about what I was reading, just that I'd been so engrossed. Okay, maybe a little embarrassed, but only because I'd completely lost myself in it. "I actually do have a dragon story I've always wanted to write. I just never had the time with the deadlines at Webster."

"But now you have time, right?"

"No, I have to find another job."

"Okay, but while you're interviewing…or hunting. Only so many hours in the day you can actually submit your resume. And you have unemployment, right?"

"No, but I do have a severance package."

"Well, there you go." He flipped the book around and looked at the back of the jacket. His eyes widened. "Especially if you can get that kind of money."

I peered at the price on the UPC. "Not likely. Besides, I know too much about the publishing field. I know that authors definitely don't make that. And that it's not so easy to get published these days."

"Just because it's not easy, doesn't mean it's not worth it to try."

"Easy for you to say."

"Maybe." He slid the book back onto the shelf. "But there are tons of readers out there that might just want to read your story."

"I appreciate the idea of it." I curled my hands around the cup, happy for the warmth. "But there's also the research and the planning and…"

"And, and, and…bet you're not afraid of work, Naomi."

"No." I sighed. "But I also don't think I'm good enough to write like that."

"No, you write like you. You wouldn't want to copy this author, anyway, right?"

I laughed. "You've got an answer for everything."

"Not really." He linked his fingers around his cup. "I just remember how powerful books were when I was a kid. I wish I had that kind of talent. Why would you hide it away if it's inside you?"

Encouragement hadn't been a big part of my life. My parents had been happy I went into technical writing because it was a far safer bet. I'd thought about going into teaching, but I didn't have a great love for the classics. I appreciated them, but I'd always been pulled to genre fiction.

Even when my teachers had put me down about wasting my talents there. For many professors, literary fiction still was king.

"Can I ask why you were let go? If it's not too personal."

"Downsized. Lots of my kind of writing is now being done by artificial intelligence and then edited to clean it up. Which is offensive, but there it is."

"So, what makes you think you won't get downsized again if you find another of the same kind of job?"

I sighed. "Now you sound like Iona."

"Iona is pretty smart."

"I'm looking for stability, not dreams."

"Maybe stability isn't the answer here." He took a sip. "What's your severance?"

"Two months. And I have some savings."

I could hear the longing in my own voice. But it wasn't the smart thing to do. I'd always been smart. Always been careful.

"Well, maybe you should take half the time for yourself. How's that sound?"

"I can't write a book in a month." Okay, so I'd written a several hundred-page manual in the same time span, but creative writing was far different. Especially when I was only updating manuals.

"But maybe if you give yourself the time, you can at least make a good start."

"You're a bad influence." And the book I'd been working on was more than halfway done.

"I'm willing to read it. Especially if you have those kinds of scenes in it."

I laughed. The idea of him reading my work was horrifying. Especially when I'd never felt a third of that kind of passion in my life. "That's what worries me."

"Being a writer means people reading it, right?"

"That's the problem."

"People reading it?" His blue eyes were so intent on mine. The surprising belief in there shocked me—especially since he didn't know me.

The heat in my cheeks was returning at double strength. "No, that I could write that kind of believable scene."