Magnus had to wipe his eyes and swallow. But he forced his voice to be cool and matter of fact as he said, “Nickolas, it’s not that easy. Page Turner Books is dead, and I—”
“No, it’s not. It doesn’t have to be.”
“I don’t want your money, Nickolas. I won’t accept it.”
“But the bookstore doesn’t have to close—”
“I don’t care if you see it as a business investment or as an opportunity. I’m not taking your money. I want Page Turner Books to stand on its own, and I—”
Laughing, Knight grabbed his arm and squeezed. “Let me finish one sentence. God, you’re a tiger when it comes to that place. Page Turner Books is going to be just fine. On its own, without any help from me. I just talked to Narcisa—she’s been trying to call you, but your phone is off. She finally figured out those strange account entries. Your aunt had sent several rare books to auction, and they just sold.” Knight grinned as his hand slid down to squeeze Magnus’s. “It’s a lot of money, Mag. A lot. More than enough.”
Magnus could barely hear him; he was focused on the thought of money, lots of money, coming in. All the debts he could pay off. All the improvements he could make. For a moment, with Knight’s touch connecting them, Magnus could believe everything was perfect. Then, shaking his head, he tried to work his hand free.
“No,” Magnus said, “it’s not going to be enough. Moving the store and rebuilding—”
“You don’t have to. I called an emergency meeting with the city planner and my guys. I told them I’m pulling out of the project, no matter how much money I lose, unless they find a way to do this without tearing down Main Street.”
Magnus blinked. “What?”
“It was the right thing to do, Mag. I should have done it a long time ago. I knew it was the right thing from the minute you assaulted me in my barn.”
“I did not assault you,” Magnus said, but he was smiling now, letting Knight pull him into an embrace. “I was the one who ended up with a concussion.”
“I want to kiss you,” Knight whispered in his ear. “Right here. Right now.”
Magnus had learned early on that the only way to keep up with Nickolas Knight was to try to get a head start. All around them, cheers erupted as Magnus kissed the hell out of his man.
VI
FEBRUARY 24
SUNDAY
1:02 AM
BACK IN THE HOUSE that Hazard had rented for the night, he kicked off his jeans and flopped back on the bed.
“That was exhausting.”
“That was incredible.” Somers bounced on the mattress next to him, then rolled onto his side. “That was, no exaggeration, the most fun I have ever had.”
Hazard scowled. “You improvised. That part about Narcisa and the books at auction.”
“Oh, come on, Ree. The material was perfect: the weird ledgers, all that stuff about the debts. It was such a great way to tie things up.”
“It was unrealistic. A struggling used-book store in a small town isn’t going to have the resources to find, acquire, and then sell at auction rare books worth enough to cover any outstanding debts.” He played with his sweatshirt, trying not to add the next part, but it slipped out anyway. “And I wrote a good solution to that problem in the original script.”
“Right.” Somers bounced off the bed, papers rustled, and he came back with a sheaf of pages. “You’re referring to pages two through twelve of our final scene? When Nickolas Knight and Magnus Shelton sit down in the airport and make a solid plan for investing, including a list of specific index funds that Nickolas Knight personally recommends, and then their vigorous debate about the pros and cons of ETF vs mutual funds.”
“It’s very thoroughly researched. And accurate.”
“People watching a romantic movie don’t want thorough and accurate. They want sappy and melodramatic and heartbreaking and huge, warm, fuzzy feelings that make you think you’re going to explode you’re so happy.”
Hazard grunted as Somers snuggled up against him, and he played with Somers’s hair as he said, “They’d be better prepared for retirement.”
Laughing into Hazard’s chest, Somers nodded. “Yes, they would. And, for the record, you wrote a kick-ass romance story.”
“It’s very easy once you—” Hazard tried to explain, but then Somers kissed Hazard’s throat, and he gulped. The rest of the sentence sounded reedy. “—know the formula.”
“And you’re a very good actor,” Somers whispered, swinging a leg over Hazard and running his hands up Hazard’s chest.
“I just—God damn, John.” Hazard’s breathing altered as Somers tugged on the sweater and nipped at Hazard’s collarbone. “I just played myself. Stiff. Awkward. Although I would never make an idiotic investment like a used-book store. I’d be better off burning cash in a barrel.”
Somers hummed something that might have been agreement. “How’d you get permission for me to run through the airport like that? And how’d you get all those volunteers to play the parts of regular people?”
Heat sifted into Hazard’s cheeks, and he said, “A magician never reveals his secrets.”
“Oh my God,” Somers said, burying his face in Hazard’s sweater. “They weren’t actors.”
“Well, Shakespeare once said, ‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.’ So in a philosophical sense—”
Somers’s head came up. “I thought I recognized Mrs. Jacko.” Then he laughed and burrowed into the sweater again, his face warm against Hazard’s chest. “Oh my God, people are going to be talking about us for a decade.”
“You’re not mad?”
“Mad?” Somers slid up and kissed him. “Emery Hazard, who has to be one of the most intensely private people I have had the privilege to know, just performed an amateur play in
