Booked for the Holidays (Park Cove Series Book 1)

by Chelsea Curto

Books have always been my happy place. As the one true joy and a constant fixture in my life, they’ve loved me back unconditionally and unwaveringly over the years.

I was going to own a bookstore.

there aren't many things in life better than a coffee and a good book on a cloudy afternoon.

When he finally turns away and breaks our staring contest, just as he reaches the door, I notice his lips tugging up in the corner. A hint of a smile–small, but there–briefly brightens his weary face. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“He’s the captain of the hockey team. She’s a figure skater. The tension was so good. I couldn’t put it down until they kissed for the first time.”

Hockey books>

That’s what makes literature so wonderfully beautiful and poetic. There’s quite literally something for everyone. What one person considers a two-star read with little purpose and merit might be someone’s most prized possession. A book they return to because it offers solace in times of great need or a friend they long for on a lonely day. It’s a subjective love affair that varies from person to person with enough sub-genres and obscure branches to satisfy even the most hard-to-please readers.

“So I’d rather be home with an Emily Henry book than listening to another man tell me about the fishing trip he took with his friends, Brad and Chad,” I say. “Big deal. What’s your point?”

I don’t give her the opportunity to share what she’s sure about, because my hand reaches out and grabs her arm, abruptly ending the conversation. I yank her toward the sidewalk, out of the path of a car running a red light. Another step closer, and she would have been hit by the speeding vehicle.

Warmth flares behind my ribs at the demeaning lob tossed Bridget’s way. I know I was an ass to her a short while ago, but this is different. This feels intentionally cruel, and someone like Bridget doesn’t deserve that kind of childish temperament.

Her eyes–not quite green, not quite brown, a color stuck somewhere in the middle–are creased around the edges, laugh lines indicating years of pure euphoria. Her smile stretches from corner to corner. I’m not sure I’ve seen a more stunning sight.

I don’t know why I jumped in, inserting myself into gossip I don’t want to be a part of, but something compelled me to… protect her, almost. Defend and keep out of harm’s way. It’s the same something that ran through me when she almost got hit by the car, safe, safe, safe, chanting in my head until she was.

She’s really fucking pretty. I knew she was good looking, but I never paused to stare at her from head to toe, appreciating the stops along the way. I’m so close to asking what the hell I can do to fix her day. How can I help? What else does she need?

“You should do that more,” I whisper. His eyes, cautious and guarded, meet mine. “Do what?” “Be happy.” “Not many people give me a reason to be happy.” A pause, then, “But I think you might. Maybe.”

He leans forward and keeps his voice low as he whispers, “Careful, Brownie. That mouth will get you in trouble one day.”

The positivity–and the shift in my thinking–is brought on by the brunette next door. Her warm smile, encouraging eyes. That goddamn mouth and the way she looks at me not like I’m someone to toss to the side, but like I’m someone to keep around. No one’s looked at me like that for a long time.

“I think I could get used to being around you, Bridget Boylston.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder, brown waves floating down her back. She meets my gaze, eyes dancing in the dim glow of the room. “I’ve been used to you for a while now, Theo Gardner, but take your time catching up. I want you to be sure. Once you start, there’s no going back.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to getting on my knees for you, Boylston, if that’s where you want me. But it wouldn’t just be to ask for forgiveness.”

“You’re a good guy, Theo,” she continues. Her tone is reverent. Tender. It makes me feel like I’m the only guy in the room. The only guy in the whole damn world. And fuck it makes me want to be the best guy in the world. For her.

This is the moment–the horrifyingly, spectacular, incredible moment–I realize I have a crush on Theo Gardner.

A car speeds down the road, a spray of water dousing the sidewalk. I slow my steps so I can switch sides with Bridget, nudging her toward the buildings and away from the street.

SIDE WALK RULEEE

“Took you long enough,” she breathes out, an exhale of a laugh I feel against my neck. “Guess I need to walk around in your shirt more often to get your attention.”

“Seeing you like this makes me want to die,” he whispers into the still of the night. Special words meant for me and me alone. “Like what?” I whisper back. “Under the stars. In the light of the moon. Wearing my clothes and paint on your face. A smile, a beautiful fucking smile.” He huffs and shakes his head. Reverence, I think, in his next words. “It makes me feel like I’m the luckiest guy in the world. I am the luckiest guy in the world.”

Because I’m falling in love with someone who brings me the kind of hot chocolate I like. A man who tells me he’s proud of me and acknowledges my efforts. A man who pulls out his cell phone, shyly asks if he can take a photo with me, and blushes when I say yes. We grin from ear to ear, a chocolate mustache coating Theo’s top lip.

“I’ll like you then, too. Over and over again, I’ll keep choosing you. And then we’ll do it year after year.” “I’ll keep choosing you, too, Theo,” she whispers back.

“I finally figured it out. It’s ours. Our story is my favorite. In every realm, on every page, I’m yours. The chapters with you are my favorite, and it’s a tale I could read over and over again, never growing tired of it. You are the love of my life, Bridget Boylston. The reason I went through years of suffering, because whatever higher power out there knew I needed you, specifically, to be complete. And, fuck, are you not my perfect other half.”