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August 7 - August 9, 2018
The books had been leather-bound adventures, pages and pages of distant worlds and remarkable people and learning. And simple, unadulterated happiness.
“Scoundrel! You cannot simply access women’s bosoms whenever you please!”
“You’re so arrogant. I have half a mind to die just to prove you wrong.”
King was not impressed. “Reform harder.”
“Mmm. And to think you are considered the weaker sex.” She cut him a look. “A label no doubt assigned by a man who never witnessed a childbirth.”
“He doused you in gin and slathered you with honey. While I wouldn’t turn away a cake that had received such a treatment, it seems a bit odd for medicinal purposes.”
Lord deliver him from long carriage rides with impossible, infuriating, remarkable women.
“Better a liar than an ass,” she said.
He released a breath he had not known he held,
“Happiness. That’s what books smell like. Happiness. That’s why I always wanted to have a bookshop. What better life than to trade in happiness?”
“I wanted to throw my soup at you.” He raised a brow. “You’re getting the hang of telling me the truth.”
He exhaled, as though he’d been holding his breath for an age,
Vaguely, it occurred to her that other people found love to be a pleasurable experience, filled with roses and doves and sweets and whatever else. Those people were obviously cabbageheads.
Normal women do not care about gentlemen’s shoulders. Normal women were in the wrong.
“It’s you who don’t see. I only ever wished you to be the man you are.”
“What if he doesn’t love me?” Sera was quiet for a long time, and then said, “What if he does?”
“Does no one in the goddamn country look at footwear?”
