Throwing my arms around him, I held on for several more, before easing back. His jaw wore only a five o’clock shadow this time, but his work slacks were wrinkled from the drive, his sleeves haphazardly rolled. Despite its perfect styling, his hair was a mess, and his eyes were tired. I searched for pleasure in them, but couldn’t see past the fatigue. He did have his arms around my waist. That was a good sign. But they were heavy and, once there, didn’t move. “Hey,” I whispered. “How’d you know we were here?” “Who’s we?” he whispered back. I might have called them book friends and left it at that, but something inside me wanted him to see—actually, wanted them to see. Later I would realize that the publicity of his being here was good. Now, though, all I could think was that, even tired, he looked gorgeous, and he was mine. Taking his hand, I led him to the others. “Hey, guys, this is my husband. James, meet Monica, Shelly, Jill, Angela, and Jane—and Vickie, the Book V, who owns the store.”
