“It’s about pirates,” he continued.
I gasped. “Please tell me it’s His Pirate Princess.”
“Yes.”
“With Johanna?”
“Yes.”
I faked a swoon. “So good, JJ! What do you think?”
His chuckle was a low, cavernous rumble. He hadn’t shaved, so glints of stubble illuminated his cheeks in the right light, like a fractured diamond. I wanted to run my fingers across it.
“I think it’s oddly suspicious that the same woman keeps getting mixed up in situations where she needs saving.”
I burst out laughing.
“How does the hero always happen to be there?” He looked at me. “Seriously? How do you explain that?”
“It’s great plotting, that’s what.”
He rolled his eyes, then kept going. “And how do these women get into these dramatic situations? I mean, Johanna was kidnapped by one pirate. Okay, I can get behind that. But that was the bad pirate. Then a supposedly good pirate—which isn’t a thing—rescues her from the first one. In the meantime, the military guy who’s a good guy and genuinely wants to help her not live a life of crime is kind of the loser. It’s a love square!”
My laughter deepened.
“Then what about all these first kisses?” he continued without stopping. “What does toe-curling even mean? I—”
“It’s supposed to be that way!” I said as I stopped to catch my breath. He did the same. I could feel his skepticism.
“What?” he asked.
“It’s what every reader wants to happen. The woman is supposed to be in trouble and is supposed to be saved. That’s when the romance happens. Otherwise it’s just a really boring exposition on life as a pirate.”
He stared at the wall across from us. “Oh.”
“This isn’t about reality, JJ. This is about the experience of romance. It doesn’t matter if what happens is closely aligned with reality. In fact, the less real, the better.”
“So you agree that romance isn’t realistic?”
I opened my mouth to protest, then shut it again. He grinned a little too roguishly for my liking. In fact, I couldn’t turn away even though I wanted to. Because he’d trapped me. Really and truly trapped me.
“Uh-huh,” he sang. “Point for JJ.”
With an annoyed sigh, I muttered, “Point for JJ.”
I’d never live that one down. Now we were uneven again.
“Mark left this morning to meet with the bank early.” JJ half-yawned and ran a hand through his hair. “Apparently the City of Pineville is putting up a stink about the spa. Anyway, he told me I had strict instructions to take you into Jackson City and buy you books.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Your books were all burned, right?”
“I think so. I haven’t gone back yet.” I cleared my throat. “Maverick said most of the attic was unsalvageable.”
“Right. So Mark, as a thank-you for your work so far, wants me to buy you more books.”
“But he’s paying me a ridiculous amount per hour.”
JJ shrugged. “Mark may not be great with details, but he appreciates people. I think you should take the offer.”
Several seconds passed before I recognized this for what it was: a gift from a friend. The Bailey boys might be the two most frustrating men on the planet, for different reasons, but they were my friends now.
I nodded slowly. “Well, that sounds great.”
JJ held out a hand. “Good. I know just the place.”
Bells clanged in my head as we drove up the canyon.
The twists and turns made me sick to my stomach, even on a beautiful, clear day like this. At least I hadn’t had to drive it alone yet. That would happen in the summer, with no ice and safe roads.
JJ distracted me with a story about a time he and Mark had cruised around South America and Mark got in a fight at a bar—which led to them meeting the mysterious and infamous Justin. All the while, my mind spun.
Did Mark really come up with this idea?
Was JJ letting him have the credit?
Mark did have a thoughtful side that often surprised me, but this kind of specificity had JJ written all over it.
So why did I feel so hesitant?
With great effort, I forced those thoughts to the back of my mind and just enjoyed the time with him. He’d grabbed my arm and pulled me close the moment I climbed into the Zombie Mobile. Even if we didn’t speak, I liked being close to him. Romance books had that right—point for romance.
Twenty minutes later, JJ announced, “Here it is.”
We pulled into the parking lot of a used bookstore I’d frequented so many times I knew most of the workers by name. Inside, the smell of old paper and ink overwhelmed me. Books rested on every available surface. A spot on the counter had been cleared so customers could pay, but towers of books ringed either side.
The curator, a middle-aged man named Leroy, waved. “Haven’t seen you in a while!” he called to me.
“Been a bit busy.”
“Heard about the car.” He grimaced. “Glad you’re okay. Got lots of new romance titles in. You know where they are!”
With another wave, I strode farther into the shop. Instinct took me to the back-left corner, where women in busty dresses and men with half-lidded eyes populated almost every cover. JJ trailed behind.
Halfway there, I stopped. For some reason, my feet wouldn’t move. My throat felt itchy, and a rush of heat spread through my body. My palms turned sweaty. Books awaited me back there. Romance books. Books that were once my best friends. Books that had filled my entire room to a ridiculous degree.
Books that were now completely gone.
“Oh!” I cried. “A new fantasy book. Check this one out.” I snatched a book with a goblin on the cover that made me queasy.
“Fantasy?” JJ asked, looking puzzled. “What about—”
“Yeah, in just a second.”
He followed as I moved to a different shelf and perused the back of a book about elf maidens. My mind didn’t catch the words even as I cruised through the first chapter. I was too busy trying not to think about all the romance books in the corner. Of flames, and cinders, and ashes—and of
