Page 13 of Hottie on Her Shelf
“Okay, Hallie. You can call me Mr. Mayor.” He waited precisely two beats—long enough for her outrage to flare to life—before laughing again. “I’m pulling your leg. Call me Fitz.”
So that was how it was going to be?
Well. She could be equally laidback. Hallie pulled out a wooden chair and sat, crossing her legs, and was inordinately relieved she’d gone home and changed into clean clothes before arriving. “You enjoy laughing at my expense?”
“You walked right into that one. And, come to think of it, the previous one. If you give me a perfect setup, I’m going to spike the ball.” He hinged forward from the waist. “I’m also going to assume you get that sports reference, despite all the librarian clichés.”
How had he known?
She jerked in surprise. The wedge sandal she’d been attempting to casually dangle from her toes fell off completely. Because apparently the universe had decided that it was to be an all-you-can-eat buffet of humiliation in front of this man.
“You spent the day researching me, going through my yearbooks?”
Now Fitz jerked, jackknifing right up off the table. “What? That’s creepy. No. I spent the day doing all the glamorous mayoral shit you want to take over. Why do you think I yearbook-stalked you?”
Whoops. She could not get a read on this man. Hallie toyed with her bracelet, heavy with bookish charms. “I…well…I was captain of my high school volleyball team.”
Another laugh almost slipped from his lips. Fitz choked it back at her steely glare. “That’s a handy coincidence.”
Too much of one for her liking. And now that he was standing, he positively towered over her. Fitz had to be more than a few inches over six feet. Tipping her head back—which felt ludicrous, she asked, “Why’d you assume I’d get the volleyball reference if you didn’t go scrabbling through my past?”
“I was making a point, attempting to, anyway, of not just seeing you as a librarian cliché.”
Oh. That was thoughtful. Polite.
Damn it.
Plus, she still owed him an apology for spouting off with her friends where everyone and their dog could hear. It was necessary to give him something to make it right.
“I appreciate that. I do embody some of the ubiquitous traits of my career. A love of reading, a preference for tea over coffee, and…I occasionally take myself a bit too seriously.”
His lips twisted downward. The veneer of charm cracked. “Whereas there are some who say I don’t take myself seriously enough.” There was a certain hollowness to his words. A shuttering coldness to his blue eyes.
Suddenly, unequivocally, Hallie knew that someone had hurt him. And it made Fitz Montgomery a tiny bit more approachable to her.
She tucked her hands beneath her thighs. “Sounds like Goldilocks would say that what Swan Cove needs is a third candidate.”
“Do you have a daily goal to hit? Of book references to slip into conversation?”
“Of course. You only get one under-target day per week. Anything more than that, and you get dinged. Three of them, and my librarian’s license gets pulled.”
Fitz put his hands over his heart. Staggered back a few steps until his shoulder blades hit the toucan on the vintage Guinness poster. “Stop the presses. You got my joke, and you built on it and volleyed it back.”
“Another sports metaphor? Do you have a daily goal to hit of slipping those into conversation?”
Laughter roared out of him. And after only a second, Hallie joined in. Because that exchange hadn’t been about maintaining their adversarial distance. It had just been fun.
He pushed off the wall, straightened the poster behind him, then extended his hand. “How about we start over?”
Hallie stared down at the long fingers. At how his cuff was caught on the big platinum and navy-faced watch. At the dusting of blond hair just below the edge of the cuff. There was something about the forearms…and wrists…on a man. Like a caffeine shot to her libido.
That extended hand had danger written all over it.
She sighed. “What would be the point? We’re always going to be on opposite sides.”
Fitz slid his hand into his pocket, smooth as a runway model. “Always? You’re already planning to hold a lifelong grudge against me? At most, shouldn’t it only last the month until the election? I’m polite. I donate blood, give to charities. Help little old ladies across the street.”
She wriggled back into her sandal, then pointed her toe to draw a line across the green carpet. “As far as right now is concerned? That month is all that matters. You’re over there. I’m here.”
