He held her hand and drew her to her feet. “You’re channeling the Sabines again.”

“I’m not.” She kept hold of his hand as they strolled through the torchlit gardens toward the inn adjacent to the restaurant. The night air chilled her skin, and she flashed on a memory of the moon garden with Peach. Go away, she told him.

The inn was called L’Auberge Magnifique, a Victorian mansion with a wraparound porch that spanned the front like a white-toothed smile. Inside was a wilderness of chintz and flounces, cabbage rose wallpaper and ornately carved wood.

“They haven’t embraced the minimalist aesthetic,” Trevor whispered. They were shown to a suite designated “The Parlour.”

Natalie couldn’t help saying “‘Step into my parlor,’” and Trevor finished, “‘said the spider to the fly.’”

She got the giggles as he put his arm around her and caught her against his chest.

Still giggling, she looked up at him, and they kissed. “Listen,” he said, whispering into her ear, “I’d like to do more than kiss you. I’d like to make out with you all night long. But not unless you say. I promise I’ll be a gentleman. I want to get this right, Natalie.”

“You don’t strike me as a person who makes many mistakes.”

“I love that you just said that, and I hate that you’re dead wrong.”

She took a step back. “You’re too good to be true. You know that, right?”

“I know that—wrong,” he said.

“Bertie thinks you’re acting.”

“Acting like what?”

“Like … an actor.”

“I’m not too good to be true. And I’m sure as hell not an actor. I’ve made my share of mistakes, and I’ve had more than my share of luck. And right now, I’m just a guy. A guy who likes you a lot. Hope you’re okay with that.”

“We flipped a coin for the big bed,” Natalie told Cleo the next day. On Sundays, the bookshop opened at eleven in the morning, and the two of them were getting set up. Trevor had dropped her off early so she could look in on her grandfather. She’d kissed Trevor goodbye, a lingering kiss, filled with yearning—and confusion. As in, why was she holding back from going all in with this amazing man?

The moment Cleo had arrived, she’d pounced, wanting details.

“What? Flipped a coin?” Cleo gave her shoulder a little shove. “Oh no you didn’t.”

Natalie laughed, setting up a stack of books Trevor had autographed the day before. “Yes, I did. It was a high four-poster bed with way too many pillows. Very pink. Very fluffy. The bed in the other room was more like a daybed. Not as fussy and a lot smaller. That’s where he slept, because I won the toss.”

“But … Trevor Dashwood.”