Page 50 of Bonfire and Bliss Bookstore

I always loved Crock-Pot days and though Vovo glared at me the entire time I prepared this meal in her kitchen—“that’s not cooking, amor”—I enjoyed preparing dinner for Penny today.

Could I have asked Vovo to make something? Sure. But I wanted to do this for Penny. I’m not even going to consider why.

The second I enter Bonfire and Bliss, my heart rate increases. It smells of a perfect autumn evening: like cinnamon and sugar mixed with a touch of fresh apple.

I spot the candle responsible for the scent near the register as I search around for Penny.

“Welcome to Bonfire and Bliss Books,” she hollers from somewhere in the back. “I’ll be right there!”

I set the Crock-Pot down on a counter and browse the shelves while I wait. Every time I’ve visited the store, I’ve noticed a new detail: the golden-leaf design that decorates the burgundy shelves, or the navy crushed-velvet chairs for customers to curl up in, or the Edison-bulb chandelier that casts a warm glow over the entire space. Today, I focus on the books she’s placed on a shelf labeled Owner’s Favorites.

There’s nothing quite as intimate as insight into what Penny Darling reads; it feels more personal than knowing the color of her panties, more telling than the words she gives me. Knowing what books she escapes into is like being given a portal into her mind—one that will show me what makes her tick, or gets her off.

I rough a hand over the scruff of my jaw and growl. I shouldn’t be thinking about getting my best friend off. Still, I find myself picking up each individual novel and flipping through them. There’s a rom-com by Julie Rose that I knew would be there. A historical romance I’m unfamiliar with, and a book with a mask on the cover that surprises me. When my eyes drop to the second row and I spot my name—on not just one, but six of the spines—I squeeze my fists into tight balls by my side.

Why does she have my books on her favorites shelf? I know for a fact that she thinks my books are a mess—she told me so. Plus, Penny strictly reads romance, and these books have none of that. Though a part of me glows from the inside at seeing my name in her store.

“Oh, hi.”

At the sound of Penny’s voice, I turn, unprepared for how damn good she looks. Pulling my hand up to my mouth, I graze my teeth along my fingers and bite down on my knuckles to stop myself from saying something I might regret. Like “Please, can I kiss you?”

Normally, Penny is in sweaters or baggy overalls. Normally, I can’t see the swell of her tits or the freckles that cascade down between her cleavage. Normally, she isn’t wearing a halter top that molds to her skin, coupled with a pair of tights that cling to her thighs.

Head tilted to the side, Penny frowns at me. “You okay?”

“You just— I— You—” I wave at her, unable to explain what she is doing to me. The last fucking thing I want to do is make her uncomfortable. Penny is my best friend in this town—and best friends don’t look at each other like they’re starving. But fuck if I’m not ravenous for Penny Darling right now.

Her lips tip up in an amused smile. “You’re acting weird.”

I nod, working hard to swallow through my tight throat. “You look nice.”

“Thank you.” Penny’s face settles as she gestures to where she came from. “I was just in the back going through some books. Let me grab my sweater and then we can eat.”

I nod again—still unable to string a sentence together—as I watch her disappear behind the counter and then return with a sweater. Even with it on, I can still see that delicious cleavage, though it’s slightly easier to breathe when there aren’t miles of skin on display.

“I was just looking at your books.” I tilt my head to the shelf I was just perusing.

“Oh yeah? See anything you want to read?” she teases.

Clearing my throat, I turn my head to the far side of the store, debating whether I should ask why my books are on her favorites shelf. Though I’m not sure I can handle the answer right now. Not after my brain just malfunctioned so spectacularly.

“Is there a method to your madness?” I ask instead.

For the next ten minutes Penny gives me a tour of each shelf, explaining how she’s separated the books by trope rather than genre.

“Most stores will have all the dark romance in one section and the spicy small-town in another. But honestly, though I love reading all types of romance, I don’t love every trope.” Her auburn hair bounces as she guides me through the store. “Okay, maybe that’s not entirely true. If a book is written well, even my most hated trope can be redeemed.”

“And what’s your most hated trope?” I ask, unable to hide the smile on my lips.

“Ugh.” She rolls her teeth over her bottom lip. “Surprise pregnancy at the end of a book when it’s used to bring a couple back together. I don’t mind pregnancy, in fact I love it—especially when it’s not his baby.”

I cough out a laugh. “What?”

“You know, when it’s another guy’s baby who she’s not with and the main character steps up for both of them.” Penny shivers. “That’s hot.”

“Got it. Okay, no pregnancy to save the couple but yes to other men.”

She lets out a throaty laugh. “That’s not what I said…” Her eyes drift to the Crock-Pot and she groans. “I’m sorry, I’m starving. I know I promised you another lesson, but can we eat and talk at the same time?”