“He wants Inglenook to be the next Square Books, so on that front it is. He wants me to see first-hand what that means. But it’s not just that. And I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Do you need to do something about it? You’re still going, right?”
“Yes, I’m going. But I’m so conflicted about the whole thing. Part of me wants to be sensible and smart and keep things entirely professional. Because I could land my dream job any day.”
“And the other part?”
“He’s my unfinished business. If I hadn’t put on the brakes in June, I know we’d have been dating. Doing all that get to know each other stuff and figuring out if what’s between us is more than just chemistry. If I hadn’t put on the brakes, I’d know by now whether he needed to factor into my decision about what comes next. But I did put on the brakes, and I don’t know if it’s smart to start anything with that ticking time clock hanging over my head.”
Norah offered a sympathetic smile. “You want my advice?”
“I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t.”
“Go on your date. Let it be a date. And tell him who you are. I know you’re worried about discretion and you don’t want it to get out. Reed’s not the kind to gossip. But tell him and see how he reacts. If you were right, and he can’t handle it, then at least you’ll know and can move on with a clear conscience and without having gotten further attached. And if you were wrong, wouldn’t you rather know it and make up for lost time, however long you’re still here?”
Cecily blew out a breath. “I guess knowing either way is better than second guessing myself. Can I ask you something else?”
“Of course.”
“What the heck should I wear?”
~*~
“Sorry about the walk. I didn’t realize it was a game weekend.” Reed hoped the half-mile hike in those heeled boots wasn’t going to hurt Cecily’s feet.
She looped her arm through his and smiled. “I don’t mind. It feels good to stretch my legs, and it’s nice to see a little more of Oxford. I’ve heard Norah talk about it often, but I haven’t actually been up here in the entire time I’ve lived in Mississippi. It’s a lovely town. An interesting blend of old and new.”
“It used to be more old, but over the last decade or two, they’ve built tons of these fancy condos for people who want game houses.” They’d passed at least a dozen on their walk up Van Buren Avenue.
“Game houses?”
Reed shrugged. “Some people have weekend cabins. A lot of Ole Miss alums want a permanent base for weekend football. SEC football is serious business down here.”
“Takes all kinds, I guess. I’d rather spend my weekends at the beach.”
He wondered if her family had a beach house. Hell, with that kind of money, they probably had more than one. Maybe they own a beach. But he didn’t ask. Instead, he gave himself over to telling her about Oxford, showing her the quirks and landmarks that hadn’t changed on the way to the Square.
By the time they arrived for the reading, the place was pretty packed. People mingled in clusters
all through the store, sipping at wine and eating canapés. Several rows of folding chairs were set up facing a podium at the back of the store. Reed paused to inhale the heady scent of old books from the locked wire cages around the shelves of first editions and rare books lining the entry wall. Beside him, Cecily clapped her hands once and bounced like a kid in a candy store, her eyes taking on the avaricious gleam of the book lover in paradise. It was sexy as hell.
“Go ahead and look around,” he invited.
With a flashing grin, she began to browse. She had five titles tucked in one arm in almost as many minutes—a wide array from folklore to poetry to gardening. As she was flipping through the Greg Iles books available for purchase, the current bookstore cat leaped up on the table and demanded her attention.
“Well aren’t you a beautiful thing?” She set the books aside and reached for the cat, who climbed quite willingly into her arms, then seemed content to lie there like a queen on a litter, her gray fur blending with the gray of Cecily’s sweater.
“Clearly you stroked her ego in exactly the right way,” he said.
Cecily rubbed her cheek against the cat’s head. “She just has discerning taste. Don’t you, gorgeous?”
The cat began to purr. Reed suspected he would too, if Cecily petted him.
“You should totally get a bookstore cat,” she told him.
“I’d need to make sure Brenda’s not allergic.” He trailed off before voicing the suggestion that Cecily ought to come to the shelter with him to help pick one out.
Across the room, he saw a flash of blonde hair. It was just blonde hair. Every other woman in town had blonde hair by God or by design. But there was something in the tilt of her head that pulled at him, made him watch until she turned and he could see her face.