“And you. Thank you,” I say again, and I dash out the door and down the steps. I pause only to grab my bag from the apartment, then walk as quickly as I can to work, my mind in overdrive.
Geoff is cashing up the register when I arrive at the store, breathless.
“Alex!” He looks up, concerned. “Everything okay?”
“Just a second,” I call over my shoulder as I stride down the aisle to the travel section. I stop right at the spot where Michael leaned across me, the first time I smelled his scent and my heart skipped a beat. My eyes search the shelf and land on the book, the one I told him was terrible. I grab the spine and pull it out, reading the cover: Three Months on the Appalachian Trail by Michael Hawkins. My pulse is racing as I flip to the inside of the back cover. And there he is, staring right back at me: a slightly younger—but still insanely sexy—Michael.
Oh my God.
Geoff has appeared beside me, his face lined with worry. “What’s going on?”
I turn to him, wide-eyed, and hold up the back inside cover to show him.
“Wait…” His brows draw together in confusion. “Is that the hot guy who was in here a while back?”
I nod dumbly.
Geoff leans in closer to inspect the picture and his shoulders start to shake.
“I can’t believe it,” I mutter as Geoff howls with laughter. “I told him all kinds of crap about how this book had bad reviews and the author wasn’t well-respected.” I grimace, thinking of the awful things I said.
Geoff is wiping tears from his eyes with exaggerated mirth. “This is brilliant. You told him his book was shit, right to his face.”
I nod again. Fuck, I’m an idiot.
“I haven’t even read it,” I mumble, feeling a wash of shame. No wonder he was so annoyed with me.
Eventually Geoff calms down and takes a deep breath. “So, read it.”
“I think I will.” I owe him that much, I guess.
Geoff takes the book and examines the photo in the back. “Michael Hawkins. God, he’s sexy. Sexy Michael.” Geoff gets hearts in his eyes and I roll my own.
“Well, he might be sexy but he’s been an ass to me. Seriously, every time I see him—”
“What? How many times have you seen him?”
Whoops.
Geoff lowers the book, narrowing his eyes at me, and I release a long breath.
“He’s my neighbor, Geoff. He lives upstairs from Cat.”
“Really? Why didn’t you say anything?”
I shrug, feeling my cheeks warm. “I don’t know. He and I haven’t exactly seen eye to eye. I was worried you might tell Cat and she might get annoyed, or something.”
“Oh. Well, I won’t say anything.” Geoff hands me the book, and I think about what Agnes said.
“There’s this sweet old lady in our building called Agnes, and she told me he’s divorced. She also said he’s a lovely man, even though I’ve never seen it.”
Geoff raises his eyebrows and I shrug again.
“Maybe he’s one of those guys who’s not normally nice, but is nice to little old ladies.”
Geoff practically melts. “That’s still kind of endearing.”
“I guess.” I turn and we wander back down the aisle. “But would it hurt him to be kind to others, too?”
“Did she say anything about the divorce?” Geoff inquires as he steps back behind the register. “Like maybe it turns out he’s gay?”
I smother a smile. “No. She didn’t out him to me, Geoff.”
“Oh well. There’s still hope.”
I tuck the book inside my bag and Geoff gives me a funny smile.
“He is a dark horse, this Sexy Michael. A writer who is nice to little old ladies, but not to young, cute ones.”
I laugh as I head out the door and turn towards home. Geoff’s words linger in my head, and for the first time, I start to wonder if maybe I’ve misread Michael.
14
I stay up most of the night reading Michael’s book. I’m not lying when I say I can’t put it down. I don’t know what the customer back home was carrying on about. It’s so good. And I’m not just saying that because I sort of like him.
Because I think I do like him.
Maybe.
I mean, beyond the physical attraction, which is undeniable. But reading his book, I realize he’s nothing like I thought. The book is about a lot more than his time on the trail; it’s about him and his life. He’s funny and caring and really smart. He’s passionate about nature and travel and history, about his son, and he was completely ripped apart by his divorce, which surprises me. In person, he’s come across as so rude and cynical, but I wonder if he’s still just dealing with the fallout of his marriage. He doesn’t go into any detail about what happened—hell, he doesn’t even name his ex-wife—but it’s clear that it’s scarred him. That’s the reason he gives for going to walk the trail in the first place.
And he is a brilliant writer. He writes with such openness and honesty and emotion. More than once I’m moved to tears by his writing.
I owe him a massive apology. I can’t believe I told him this book was bad.
I read for hours, curled up with Stevie. Eventually, I fall asleep, Michael’s book in bed with me. I’m not sure what time it is that I doze off, but when I wake there’s sun coming in through the living room windows and Cat is in the kitchen, making coffee. I was so engrossed in the book I didn’t even close the curtains to my nook last night.
“Morning,” Cat calls from the kitchen. She wanders over to my bed with a travel coffee cup in her hand, and pats Stevie on the head. “She looks so cozy. Do you mind if I leave her here with you today?”
I yawn and sit up on my elbows. I don’t have work today. I was planning to stay in and keep reading Michael’s
