“Nah. Too timid to try that stuff.” Her mother had issued a stern warning—if she stepped out of line, her scholarship to St. Dymphna’s would be in jeopardy. Then she’d have to ride the bus to the scary, overcrowded school down the hill. Now that she knew Dean had been behind her tuition payments, she felt a stab of resentment. Why hadn’t her mother told her?

“How about you?” she asked Trevor. “Were you a rebel?”

He chuckled. “I was lost in a world of books. Still am, most of the time.”

They stopped at the residential entry door beside the bookstore. Natalie briefly flirted with the idea of inviting him up, but shut herself down with a vengeance. The last thing she needed was to complicate things with a man who was going to do the biggest event the shop had ever seen.

“This was fun,” she said. “Thanks, Trevor.”

He smiled down at her, his gaze lingering on her lips.

No, don’t do that, she thought. Not yet, anyway.

He seemed to read her well, stepping back toward his parked car. “Let’s hang out again soon,” he said, keeping hold of her hand as he stepped back.

“I’d like that. But I’m going to be busy getting ready for this event. It’s so incredible, Trevor. Thanks again.”

“Got it,” he said easily. “One thing at a time.”

18

Peach trolled the block, looking for a place to park near the bookstore. It was raining—the wet, slick, chilly kind of rain that slapped like an insult—and the nearest spot was half a block away. The walk through the pissing weather made him wonder why he had bothered with a morning shower.

By the time he reached the store and set down his gear with a metallic clank, he acknowledged that he was in a foul mood. This happened sometimes, particularly when Dorothy was with her mom and Regis. He missed his kid. Last night, he’d stayed up too late, and—it had to be said—Natalie Harper had shown up at the Chalk Bar with a date.

Not just any date, but Bachelor Number One. That literary darling auteur who sold all the books to adoring fans and made all the women swoon.

Well. It wouldn’t be the first time Peach had ended a relationship before it began.

It might, however, be the first time he regretted it.

Whatever.

He used the entry code Natalie had given him, then let himself in. As he wiped his feet on the mat, the cat slipped past, giving him a disdainful glare. “Good morning to you, too,” he muttered, shaking the rain from his jacket. The dry, papery aroma of the books mingled with the scent of fresh coffee and something from the bakery.