I snuck them into your suitcase, but I haven’t made you read them. You could have used them for kindling, but you’ve read at least some of them, judging by those cracked spines. Why?” Staring down at my coffee, I tip my cup side to side, watching the dark liquid slide and kiss the ceramic surface. “Because I’m curious, I guess. I’m not…against romance. I just don’t know that I’m cut out for it, either.” Viggo’s uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. He eases onto a seat closer to me and softly fans through the book’s pages, over and over. “And after having read a few of these?” he asks.
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