The Story Of Us - Teri Wilson Page 0,10

I’m talking about,” Rick said.

“I do.” Sawyer knew it well, even though he hadn’t actually experienced a kerpow moment of his own in years. Not since high school, to be exact. He’d fallen head over heels for Jamie Vaughn the moment he first saw her reaching for the same book that he’d been looking for. Kerpow, indeed.

He took a gulp of his water. Again, being back in Waterford was messing with his head.

Meanwhile, Rick was still waxing poetic about his dream girl. “And I can’t forget it. She liked me, too. I know she did.”

“Why didn’t you ask her out then?” This seemed like a no-brainer.

“I was dating Megan.” Rick pulled a face.

“Megan.” Wow. If memory served, she’d already had their wedding planned by the second date. Sawyer was fairly certain the wedding party included fourteen bridesmaids. “That disaster.”

Rick sighed. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“Never mind. Sorry.” There was no sense revisiting past mistakes. Sawyer was all about moving forward. “You were telling me about…”

“Lucy. Yeah.” Rick’s face split into dopey grin. “But I made the classic mistake of letting too much time pass after we first met, and now I’m not sure if she only sees me as a friend, or…”

Sawyer burst out laughing. He just couldn’t help it. “I can’t believe the day has arrived when Rick the Romancer has met his match. Now when do I get to meet this girl?”

“Ah. Tomorrow night. I’m doing this Valentine’s thing—a cooking class down at the restaurant, and Lucy said she’d come.” There was the dopey grin again. Sawyer was suddenly very glad Dana had all but forced him to come for the town council vote. Seeing Rick reduced to a lovesick puppy was well worth the trip. “Do you think that you could…?”

“Count me in.” He wouldn’t miss it for the world. “You know, just obviously don’t expect me to cook anything edible.”

Unpacked boxes labeled kitchen had been sitting around his apartment for nearly a year. Or was it two?

“Oh, I know better. No, no, no, I’m the chef.” He pointed double finger guns at Sawyer. “You’re the wingman.”

Rick the Romancer needed a wingman. There truly was a first time for everything.

“Yes, chef.” Sawyer nodded with exaggerated seriousness.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” He smiled, and glanced out the window at the soft streetlights casting a luminous glow over the quiet streets below—streets where he’d first learned how to ride a bike without training wheels, where he’d played catch with his mom, where he’d walked his high school sweetheart home from school.

Why had he stayed away for so long? He hadn’t intentionally turned his back on his hometown. It had just sort of it happened. He’d gone away to college and one year had turned into two, two into four. His mother had come up to Columbia during the holidays so they could spend Christmases in New York. After graduation, he’d been consumed by his work. Then his mom had moved across the country, and he hadn’t had any reason to come back. Waterford had simply faded further and further into his past until it had become nothing but a memory.

He’d thought it had, anyway. Now he wasn’t so sure. Sitting across from Rick, laughing and making plans, he didn’t feel like he’d stepped into a memory.

He almost felt like he’d come home.

The following day was Tuesday, more commonly known throughout the book world as pub day. For as long as Jamie had worked at True Love Books—even back in high school—Tuesday had been the day of the week when newly published books became available to sell. She had no idea how or when this literary tradition first came to be, but it was very much a thing. Publishers large and small released their latest offerings on Tuesday mornings, just like clockwork. So of course it was Jamie’s favorite day of the week.

Too bad the town council meeting was scheduled for lunchtime, ruining what should have been a perfectly lovely Tuesday. At least after the meeting, she’d have a better idea of what the developers had in mind. Until then, she’d just have to busy herself with celebrating all the new book birthdays and properly displaying her latest inventory.

She spent the morning unpacking boxes in the storeroom and getting the new novels shelved. Eliot tiptoed behind her, pausing every so often to wrap his ginger tail around her leg, which Jamie liked to think of as a kitty hug. Lucy worked the sales floor, darting back and forth between the café counter and the