More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
it isn’t the thousands of leather- and cloth-covered books that lured me here. No, it’s the ladder. The fairytale ladder. The rolling ladder. The Professor Henry Higgins in his library ladder. The Belle in the bookseller’s shop, singing about her provincial life ladder.
I need to save all my mental energy for my new job tomorrow, because right now, my instinct is to ignore all the education, training, and experience I have and instead google “How to be a museum director.”
“Are you doing a Spiderman impersonation?” I ask. “Yes.” He grins and straightens. “I decided to give it some flair since I have an audience.”
“Ooh, finding someone irritatingly attractive is how all my favorite romance novels begin.”
I honestly don’t think you can even help being charming—” “Thank you.” “Not a compliment.
My mind conjures an image of him in jeans and a handknit sweater, the picture of New England preppy ruggedness. Oof. Please let him be gone before the cool weather hits, because that combo is my weakness.
He hasn’t returned by the time I leave work. “That’s fine,” I say, locking up the house behind me as I head to my car. “That’s what I want.” Francie would be all over that statement. Who are you trying to convince? I have no illusions. I’m trying to convince me.
“Give me the address.” She hesitates. “Are you sure?” “Only if you want to get out,” I tell her. “Otherwise, no.”
She slides her hands into her back pockets. She’s also in sneakers, and with the cutoffs and sunflowers on her shirt, the effect should be wholesome. It is not. It’s hot, and not because we’ve left the cool of the basement.
If Phoebe was consistently standoffish with me, that would be one thing. But she’s not, and that inconsistency tells me something important: she relaxes around me in spite of herself.
Jay smiles. “I do have the advantage of a PhD in American history, an unofficial doctorate in Martin family history, and a deep love and knowledge of every atom of this estate.” That is unfortunately sexy. I make sure my expression doesn’t change even as the urge to fan myself strikes like I’m a Colonial woman in forty-seven petticoats and a wool dress and the Sixth Regiment just came to town after getting baths.
“I’m prepared to proceed at your prompting.” Why am I alliterating? Stop that.
“Hey, friend,” I say, stopping a few feet away to watch it. It sees me but doesn’t move. After a minute or so, it’s clear it doesn’t intend to entertain me with a turtle walk, so I skirt past it to the front door.
From the moment I caught her on the ladder, Phoebe has not been like any girl I’ve known. With other women, I’ve got game. I expect it to work because it always does. With Phoebe, I’m desperate for it to work, and I can never tell if it is. I work hard for every smile she gives me, and I want to high-five myself every time I say something that impresses her.
There’s a line ten-deep of people dying to get into those positions, and those of us in the jobs are fighting to keep them like it’s the Battle of Bunker Hill.” “I know you had many wars to choose from. Thank you for choosing the Revolutionary War.”
“Hold on. You got the urge to make out with me because I made a map and a plan?” “You’re forgetting the against the wall part. I like that part a lot.”
She thinks I don’t notice when she’s checking me out, but I do. She seems to be a fan of my shoulders and legs, and I do the thoughtful thing by coming around in shorts all the time.
The distance while he was gone worked great … ish, but in a catastrophic rebound effect, his powers seem to be twice as strong when he returns. A handsome man left on Tuesday, and I got breathing room. A devastatingly sexy man returned on Friday and took my breath away.
But she gnaws at her thumbnail and eyes me like she thinks I might bite … and she might be into it if I did.
If Catherine hasn’t figured it out yet, she will learn that the lean means Phoebe’s got an idea, and you might as well say yes, because it’ll be too good to say no to.
And there will be more. Kissing, not cookies.” I straighten. “What? No, I like cookies.” She glares at me, and for the first time since I’ve known her, a full blush sweeps up her throat to her face. “There will be kissing and cookies,” she amends, looking
“Because Jay isn’t just smart. He’s handsome, and a really good grandson and son and … guy. And he’s funny and helpful, and easy to work with. And he has good ideas. And he’s handsome.” “You said that one twice,” Catherine interjects. “Let her talk,” I tell Catherine. “You were saying handsome?” Phoebe sighs. “I told you, I don’t know how not to have something with you. But honestly, I don’t want to not have something with you. I mean, I do want to have something with you.”
“Seriously, a hundred restaurants in this town and you want sandwiches.” “You say that like it’s one food. Sandwiches are infinite food, Phoebe. Anything you can put between two pieces of bread, that’s a sandwich. The only limit is your imagination.”
She leans forward to kiss me in a way that has me thinking we might need to edit this video before it goes into the permanent archive.
