Once Upon a Date - Susan Hatler Page 0,22

braced for his annoyance by closing my eyes. My eyes opened sharply as I felt his lips on mine. Only this time it wasn’t a light and feathery kiss. This time, his mouth claimed mine. I opened my mouth and we tasted each other, hungry and devouring. I’d missed this. I’d missed him.

But then I remembered why we’d ended. How he’d hurt me.

I pulled back abruptly, noticing over his shoulder that a small crowd had gathered on the bank to watch as the rescue boat drew near. Without a look at Brooks, I swam for the boat. The spectators cheered as we were pulled aboard, and warm blankets were wrapped around us.

Once we were seated on the back of the boat, I dared to glance at Brooks. His blue eyes were on mine. “I’ve missed you, Michelle. More than even I knew,” he said.

My belly unwittingly fluttered at his words. Then he kissed me again and again, even though that most definitely was not in the book.

Chapter Nine

After giving us towels so we could dry off and making sure we weren’t suffering from hypothermia, the rescue crew dropped us off on the riverbank. I assumed that meant the date-that-wasn’t-a-date was over, even though my lips were still tingling from his kisses.

Brooks held out his hand to me. “So, where to now?”

“Well, the picnic basket is at the bottom of the river. But I don’t think we’re dressed for dinner, do you?” I laughed to hide my nervousness, my teeth chattering as the rain continued pelting down.

He reached for my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. “C’mon, we need to get out of this rain before we both catch pneumonia.”

I glanced down at our entwined fingers. “Okay . . .”

We ran from tree to tree along the riverbank, trying to stay out of the deluge as much as possible until we ran out of trees. Making a dash for the street, Brooks spotted a cab coming our way and flagged it. He waited in the rain while I climbed in, before taking a seat next to me. The cab driver didn’t look too thrilled about having his seats soaked, but he seemed mollified with the rather large tip Brooks gave him when we got out several minutes later.

“It’s a good thing I had my wallet in my pocket instead of my backpack,” Brooks said, as the cab drove off. We walked along the sidewalk and people were hurrying, trying to avoid the heavy rain, which we Californians so rarely got to enjoy.

Brooks and I looked around, trying to decide where to go. We couldn’t get any wetter than we already were, but I was dying to warm up.

We both spotted it at the same time—an old fashioned bookstore, nestled in between a café and a clothing boutique. The bookstore’s windows were crammed with piles of books enticingly labeled as ‘book of the week’, or ‘best seller’, or ‘local author.’ I couldn’t help hoping that last category would be me someday.

Brooks and I looked at each other, and I wondered if he were thinking the same two things—one, that there was no better place to warm up than a cozy bookstore, and two, that one day maybe my book would be displayed in that window.

He held my hand and we made a dash across the street, dodging traffic as we ran. The heavy rain had created huge puddles beside the sidewalk. I grimaced at the thought of my feet getting another soaking but I needed to get up off the street. Brooks stood with one foot in the street and the other on the sidewalk, and suddenly lifted me into his arms and carried me over the puddle.

Finally, he set me down on the sidewalk, but didn’t remove his hands from my waist. We stood like that, in the rain, with his arms around me and me looking up at him, rainwater dripping from his hair as it fell into his eyes. I reached up and brushed the hair away from his face, smiling at him even though we were getting drenched.

The bookstore door opened with an old fashioned tinkle as someone left, and we took the opportunity to dash inside, where the warmth immediately enveloped us. Walking into a bookstore was like coming home. I stood still for a moment, breathing in the unmistakable scent of old books and leather chairs.

“Biblichor,” he said.

I looked up at Brooks. “What did you say?”

“Biblichor. It’s a word I once read about that describes the