Right Kind of Wrong: Books & Brews, #3

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D o you want to hear the reasons why this is a terrible idea, or would you rather I keep quiet and continue taking notes?

Julia set her pen down and folded her arms, staring at the five exasperating siblings sitting across the desk from her. She was bluffing—not that she didn’t know exactly why everything coming out of their mouths was a recipe for disaster—but because she hadn’t really been taking notes at all. Her attention faded somewhere between the discussions of which of the kids’—the very adult kids—accolades should be listed in the program, and whose photo would show up first on the slideshow. Instead, each stroke of Julia’s pen filled in another line of the elaborate doodle on the otherwise blank page in front of her. Well, it was more of a cartoon than a doodle, really.

Okay, fine, maybe it was less of a cartoon and more of a porn-toon. Julia Hardin and the Tale of the Sexy Highlander Librarian.

No more books for you, lassie. You’re overdue on your fines.

Please, Fergus. Just one more. I need this book.

You need some discipline.

I’d rather have this book!

Come back here with that book or I’ll discipline you myself!

You’ll never take me alive!

Och, I’ll take you whatever way I want.

Her grasp of Scottish brogue left something to be desired, but she had to admit her ability to draw hands that didn’t look like dangling sausages was getting better, and her ability to draw things that should look like dangling sausages was improving nicely, too.

She cleared her throat when she didn’t get an answer. Sure, her question might have been a bit rude, but so was hiring her pro bono to plan their parents’ sixtieth wedding anniversary and then treating her like she was nothing more than a minute-taker.

Okay, let’s hear your plan, one of the female siblings finally grumbled.

Julia tore the sheet of paper off her notebook, folded it into a tiny square, and tucked it safely in her purse, ready to take notes in earnest this time. This anniversary party is in honor of your parents, not the five of you. Hell, just the fact their marriage even lasted after having five kids is something to be celebrated, but sixty years is an incredible accomplishment on its own. Second, you’re all adults. You’ve probably been out of your parents’ home longer than you were in it. Your parents’ lives didn’t begin and end with you. We need to make the celebration about them.

The Kiesselburger siblings looked at her like no one had ever pointed that out to them before. The silence that followed was uncomfortable—just how she liked. Uncomfortable meant they were actually listening to her.

You’re kind of bossy, one of the Kiesselburger brothers said. It was always a man who said it.

Thank you, she responded with a genuine smile. It’s my job to be.

Julia had known from the time she was a small child that her future was in event planning. She would organize the most elaborate tea parties in preschool, complete with color-coded place cards scribbled in her favorite crayons and a four-course meal, starting with an appetizer of M&Ms (the green ones had to be eaten last and no one was allowed to touch the brown ones), a salad of apple slices, a main course of fish crackers, and a dessert of graham wafers. In grade school, she was booked weeks in advance to plan schoolyard weddings and even the occasional surprise engagement. By the time she reached high school, she was on the orientation, yearbook, and dance committees. She was not on the cheerleading team, despite an ill-advised audition to Britney Spears’ Toxic, but she did take over the travel arrangements for the squad after the coach accidentally booked them to stay in a motel that charged by the hour. In other words, organizing other people’s business was as natural to her as breathing.

There was a time when she might have apologized for overstepping or cowered from a comment on her bossiness, but not anymore. She’d figured out long ago that as a thirty-year-old baby-faced woman with a soft voice, no one would take her seriously until she made them. She was the best damn event planner in Shadow Creek. It was her job to be bossy and she wasn’t going to apologize for it.

So what are you suggesting? the eldest—and in Julia’s estimation most reasonable—Kiesselburger sibling asked.

Julia uncapped her pen and set the nib to the lined page in front of her with a smile. Let me show you.

Two hours later, Julia had planned out every last detail of the one-hundred person gathering, which was an impressive feat considering the five discordant voices arguing over every idea. But eventually they saw the genius in her plans and agreed. They settled on holding it at Hartley Manor, which had a fantastic restaurant overlooking the San Juan Islands. Friends and family would be flown out from all over the country to attend. It was the perfect, tasteful event to recognize Carol and George Kiesselburger, and the incredible love between them.

A small pang of sadness stung in her heart as she described the finishing touch—recreating the elaborate lemon crème cake Carol had baked herself for their wedding all those years ago, which George still raved about to this day. She was genuinely happy for every couple of honor in every wedding and anniversary she organized—she couldn’t do this job if she wasn’t—but when would it be her turn? When would she get to be the one to look into her true love’s eyes and just know he was the one who would love and cherish her until death do them part?

Never. Because as much as she loved the romance and excitement of love, she’d learned the hard way that the people who were supposed to love you the most didn’t always stick around. Not forever, anyway.

Okay, here’s the down payment for Hartley Manor, one of them said, handing her a check. We trust you to take care of the next steps.

Finally, she could get out of here. A good book, a hot bath, and maybe a few more private fantasies about her sexy highlander librarian were calling her name. She accepted the check, wishing some of it was going into her own paltry bank account, and opened her purse to tuck it away.

Dammit. The bright purple spine of a paperback stared up at her. She’d forgotten that she needed to return the book to the library today. She checked the time on her phone and bit back another curse. She had seven minutes to get across town to the tiny Shadow Creek library in order to avoid yet another late fee, or the real-life sexy highlander librarian was going to swing his mighty sword down on her borrowing privileges.

The bell from the nearby clock tower rang out just as Julia stepped through the door to the library. Normally she loved the charm of the historic town monument, but it was currently signaling seven o’clock—closing time. And unlike every other library in the country, this one did not have an after-hours drop box due to a couple of drunken vandals who thought it would be funny to fill the box with superglue and fireworks. After the third time it happened, the town decided there wasn’t enough budget left for a new one.

And of course Fergus MacNair, the Sexy Highlander Librarian himself, was behind the counter as she approached, glaring at her like she was a mouse that skittered in from a hole in the baseboards rather than a valued patron. She still didn’t understand what he had against her. Surely she wasn’t the only person in Shadow Creek who maxed out her renewals and still racked up late fees. It wasn’t like she was proud of that, but with her job running all the marketing and event planning for her brother’s brewpub, and her bad habit of picking up side gigs like she was doing for the Kiesselburgers, she never seemed to get to the library before closing hours. Maybe it wasn’t just her. Maybe he hated everyone.

Just in the knick of time, she said sweetly, employing the tone of voice she’d use if she’d just been approached by a giant, angry dog.

You’re three minutes late. He didn’t look at her as he said it, but he did glance over her shoulder toward the door to where Mrs. Engquist was carrying an impossibly tall stack of mystery novels. Have a good night, Mrs. Engquist.

Nope. Just her.

No matter how many times she was at the other end of his angry stares, she couldn’t help but think it was a pity that Fergus didn’t actually have a Scottish accent or wear a kilt.

Oh, come on. You’re not really going to charge me late fees for being three minutes overdue?

He stood, revealing the full effect of his huge, broad, six foot five frame. Rules are rules, and breaking them has consequences.

It was difficult to straighten her back with the shiver rolling down her spine, but she managed to do so right before defiantly shoving the paperback through the slot in Fergus’s desk. I guess you’ll have to punish me.

His eyes narrowed, and even though she knew he disliked her, she couldn’t help but picture him reaching across the counter with his giant hands and dragging her toward him to have his filthy, wicked way with her. Instead, he sat down and turned his attention back to the computer screen and ignored her.

She sighed. This is why she was still single. She’d been asked out on three dates in the past year by three completely nice guys, but the only man she felt any kind of a spark with was the one currently Googling the quickest way to dispose of her body.

She cleared her throat to get his attention once more. "Have you placed the order for Torrents of the Heart yet?" She’d been desperately trying to find a copy of that book for almost a year now. It wasn’t in print anymore and there was no e-book version either. Unless she wanted to pay three hundred dollars for a battered copy on eBay, her only hope was that it could be found at another library somewhere in the state for a special order. If anyone could find it, Fergus could.

No.

Of course not. She leaned her forearms onto the counter, knowing she was pushing her luck. What do you have against romance novels?

His wide, muscular shoulders tensed beneath his sensible blue button-up shirt. He adjusted his glasses, which, combined with his size, made him look like the Hulk right before he turned green. I have nothing against any kind of novels. You’ve reached the fifty-dollar limit in late fees. No more books until you pay up.

She dropped her head back and groaned. You win this time, MacNair.

I win every time, Ms. Hardin. His eyes flashed to hers for the briefest second, igniting her skin like a match striking flint.

She turned and walked to the exit before she poked the grumpy bear of a man further. The inescapable winter rain was coming down harder than before. She belted her trench coat and ran to her car, slipping inside before her hair was entirely drenched. This wasn’t her most successful library visit, but at least she had a whole new scene to add to her Amazing Adventures of Julia and the Sexy Highlander Librarian.

An uncomfortable feeling slunk into her belly as she put her key in the ignition. She couldn’t quite figure out why, or what it was, but the feeling wouldn’t leave her alone. It prickled her skin and tightened her lungs, until she couldn’t ignore it any longer. And then she remembered.

No! No! No! She dug frantically in her oversized, overstuffed, overly cherished secondhand Kate Spade bag. She checked again. Her cartoon wasn’t there.

And then she remembered she’d tucked the folded copy of the drawing inside the cover of the paperback. The one she’d just returned.

Fergus MacNair couldn’t explain why he was searching the catalogues of the nearby county library systems for Torrents of the Heart. That was the last thing he should be doing right now, but something about Julia Hardin’s defiant glare and pretty brown eyes made him lose his senses.

Sure enough, there was a single copy still hanging around in circulation. He would have to put in a special request to bring it over. Requests like that weren’t unusual. He’d done it hundreds of times before. But he wouldn’t do it this time. Not for that book. He closed his browser and pushed his chair away from the desk.

He wasn’t sure if Julia knew his reasons for loathing the book so much, but it was hard to believe it was a coincidence she would be asking him of all people to track it down.

He put all thoughts of Torrents of the Heart out of his mind and focused on the last of the work he needed to complete before heading home. He loaded the returns onto the cart and got busy reshelving.

Most of Fergus’s colleagues at the library hated the task, but he liked the routine. There was nothing more peaceful than walking down the aisles when no one else was around. He would run his fingers down the spines, exploring the different titles and authors, occasionally picking one off the shelf at random to read a few pages.

But unlike most of his colleagues, he didn’t become a librarian simply because he loved books. He’d accepted the job here in Shadow Creek for many reasons, one of them being that they were desperately in need of revamping their entire catalogue system. He loved that side of the job—the complexity of the different databases and figuring out the tools that would best serve their patrons. Mostly, though, he’d moved halfway across the country because Shadow Creek was only two hours from Seattle. Two hours from Emily. No more long plane rides and seemingly endless stretches of time between visits. He would have moved to Antarctica if it meant being closer to her.

He’d looked for work in Seattle, but librarian jobs were increasingly rare these days. Luckily, Shadow Creek was a reasonable drive to Seattle, and it turned out to be the perfect-sized town. Small enough that rush hour meant only an extra three minutes on the commute home, and there was free parking throughout the city on weekends. At the same time, it was big enough that he didn’t have to get to know his neighbors. Or anyone. This place gave him the quiet, undisturbed life he wanted.

A sound echoed through the library just as he was replacing a pregnancy advice book on the shelf. He turned, but there was nothing. He moved to the westerns aisle and returned a half-dozen battered Louis L’Amour paperbacks to their homes.

Thump.

He turned again. There was definitely someone in here. The window behind the circulation desk was open, letting rain pellet the windowsill. It had been closed just minutes ago, he was sure of it. Who broke into a library on a Friday night?

A flash of movement caught his eye. He craned his head just in time to see a mass of red hair disappear behind the desk. He’d witnessed a lot of weird stuff in his time as a librarian, but nothing quite so odd as a short, curvy redhead tumbling ass over teakettle through the back window. What the hell was Julia Hardin up to?

It had been a quiet day and he didn’t get a lot of entertainment in his life, so he decided to let the curious scene play out. He pushed his cart down another aisle and pretended to pay close attention to shelving the same Nora Roberts titles he’d shelved a million times before.

Julia poked her head up from the desk and looked around the room like a meerkat. He turned away from her and slowly made his way farther down the aisle. She had no idea he could see every movement in the security mirror perched high up on the far corner, but it didn’t matter. The woman was so loud, a sack full of honey-badgers unleashed in the library would have made less noise.

Why was she fussing with the returns box? Even though Fergus wasn’t a particularly friendly or social person, he’d tried to get to know a little bit about all his patrons. It was vital not only to ensure he could recommend the best services and books for them, but also to keep an eye on them. Some folks needed help connecting to the right programs and supports, others just needed a friendly face.

But when it came to Julia Hardin, he had no idea what she wanted or needed—other than that stupid, fifteen-year-old book he wished would disappear into the ether. Julia was caustic sarcasm delivered in a sweet, fairy-like voice. She was fiery determination and bright confidence packaged in soft curves and messy red curls that made his fingers itch to touch. She was kindness and compassion behind cement walls reinforced with rebar—so thick, he wondered if anyone ever penetrated them. There were times he thought she might be flirting with him, but the moment he let his gaze meet hers, her demeanor turned icy and cool. She was enigmatic and irresistible. She was…army crawling across the floor toward the book cart he’d left in front of the January’s Best Reads display.

What the heck was she up to?

He quickly slipped around another corner, positioning himself between her and the exit, and spied on her through the bookshelves. She dug through the cart with ruthless efficiency, then pulled out the same purple-colored novel she’d just returned. It wasn’t unusual for patrons to forget something inside the cover of a returned book. He’d found more twenty-dollar bills bookmarking pages than he could count. He’d also found dirty tissues, feathers, old photographs, and even a crusty old piece of beef jerky once. The library had a policy of informing the patrons of every accidentally returned item that wasn’t a health hazard. So what was so important that Julia risked breaking her neck to retrieve before anyone else could find it?

And why did she have to be doing it in a tight plaid pencil skirt that highlighted those round hips like a work of art and made him want to tug them close to his to see how well they could fit together?

Time to find out one of those answers. He cleared his throat and stepped into the open. She gasped and took off in the opposite direction, clutching the book to her chest. He had to admit it was kind of funny to see her take off like a rocket in three-inch heels, so he didn’t rush to chase her.

Julia, he called out in his low, rumbling, no-nonsense voice.

Nope! Not me, she called back before disappearing into the bathroom and locking the door with a loud click.

He let out a small chuckle. His quiet Friday night was about to get a lot more interesting.

Julia dropped her back against the heavy door with her eyes closed and held the book to her chest. Adrenaline thundered in her veins. What had she just gotten herself into?

This wasn’t the first the time a romance novel had her breathing heavy, but it was the first time it happened in a semi-public place. With a deep, steadying breath, she forced her eyelids open.

Please be in there, please be in there, please be in there.

A knock shook the door behind her, surprising her so much, she nearly pitched forward.

Julia?

Shit. Yes? She’d tried to keep her voice normal, but the word came out more like a squeal.

A silent pause followed, long enough that the tiniest filament of hope he was going to ignore the fact she was hiding out in the bathroom sparked in her chest. Is everything okay?

No. Nothing about this situation was okay. She was locked in a bathroom on a Friday night with only one inch of metal separating her most embarrassing secret from the man who inspired it. Her hair was a mess, her lipstick smeared, and there was floor lint on every inch of her clothing. Yep, it’s fine.

Normally, people who are fine don’t climb through library windows and lock themselves in the bathroom.

Shows what you know about normal!

Julia. He drew out the syllables of her name like warm taffy pulled in his hands. His big, strong, capable hands. It sent a flutter into her belly.

Yes? This, she realized, was the defining moment of her life. She could walk on the moon or win a Nobel Prize, and the last thought she would have on her deathbed was of how she ended up here.

What are you doing inside the bathroom?

Girl problems! She drummed her fingers frantically against the well-worn cover of the paperback in her hands, praying he would just decide to leave her alone.

Then, as if by a miracle, she heard his heavy footsteps leading him away from the bathroom door. She exhaled in sweet relief and started flipping through the pages of the book, searching for the drawing. It wasn’t there. She held the book upside down and shook it. Nothing came out. Panic swirled in her chest. Where is it?

Another bang at the door made her jump.

Julia? This time his voice was different. Quieter. Like he was nervous, which was odd because Fergus MacNair was not the one with a reason to be nervous in this particular moment. I’ve got menstrual pads if you need them.

She dropped the book, eyes going wide. What? No! That’s not—

"It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It happens all the time. The dispenser in the bathroom broke