Page 53 of Just One More Thing

“I know.” She grins. “Come see me sometime. I’ll have you joining a book club before you walk out the door.”

We give one another one more sideways hug around her books and my doughnut box. “It’s really good to see you,” she says, softer this time.

“You too.”

I step inside Tall Tales, and every head turns.

Of course it’s packed.

Walt takes the box and hands me a fresh iced latte without asking. The cup reads:

TO LOVE IS TO BURN

I groan. “Seriously, Walt.”

He shrugs. “The spirit of Jane Austen.”

A teenager near the travel section calls out, “Hey, Emory, you give new meaning to smokin’ hot.”

A woman pops out from behind a shelf holding the newest Vi Keeland book. “Tommy, you mind your tongue or I’ll drag you straight to your mama.”

Someone stage-whispers, “She’s got the afterglow.”

“I have a latte,” I announce to no one and everyone. “That is the only glow currently happening.”

Nobody believes me.

I pivot and walk out before I actually combust.

The bell jingles behind me with the same cheerful audacity it had the day I ran out after Jake said my name in this exact shop. Honestly, Tall Tales’ bell may need to be investigated for emotional crimes.

I make it halfway back to Holey Moley when I hear him before I see him.

Heavy paws. Determined snort. Hank barrels into me, bandana crooked, jowls flapping like wind caught curtains. I drop to my knees automatically, latte somehow surviving thanks to reflexes I did not know I possessed. “Well, hello to you too.”

He snorts and licks my chin. “Thank you. I was missing exfoliation.”

He wiggles harder, all wrinkles and enthusiasm, and I sink both hands into his warm bulldog cheeks because apparently I’m helpless against this dog. “Where’s your dad?” I mumble into his wrinkled forehead.

“Right here.” Jake jogs up behind him, hair damp, sleeves pushed up.

My stomach does a little loop-de-loop.

“Sorry,” he says. “He saw you and?—“

“I’m glad he did,” I say too fast.

Subtle, Emory. Real subtle.

Hank wedges himself between us, eyes locked on French Fry circling above. Jake rubs the back of his neck. “About last night?—“

“Fire alarms, ” I cut in.

His mouth curves.

It’s a beautiful mouth.

Which isn’t relevant.