This Could Be the Night (The Summerhills Next Generation Book 2) by Kathia

Author:Kathia [Kathia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781944560485
Published: 2021-11-07T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Friday night before they’d left the restaurant, Trent and Andrew had settled on a time to meet and decided that Andrew would drive, which was a saving grace because Trent wasn’t certain the large man would fit in the Ka, and borrowing Ursula was out of the question since Luke was helping Vivienne get ready for the evening wedding.

Andrew picked him up on time, arriving at the cottage in his work truck. Andrew must have noticed Trent looking at it because he shrugged and said, “You never know how many books I may buy. I wanted to be prepared.”

“I’m hardly in a position to say anything,” he said as he got in and buckled up. “I’m grateful for the company.”

The drive to Louisburgh was pleasant despite the rickety truck. Andrew was conversational but only when there was something to say, which suited Trent just fine. They passed the hour it took to get to the little coastal town in pleasurable companionship, soft jazz playing in the background. It was the most relaxed Trent had been since before the Egypt debacle. For the first time since he’d gotten back, he relaxed, closing his eyes, knowing that Andrew would get them to where they needed to go.

He must have fallen asleep, because he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jolted awake.

“We’re here,” Andrew said simply as he undid his seat belt and got out of the truck.

Trent slowly climbed out and stretched, looking around. There were a few more cars parked on the side street where they’d parked, with a nature path marked just beyond.

“This way,” Andrew said, nodding to the main street.

Trent fell into step, and they walked up the street in silence. Andrew suddenly stopped. “It’s this one.”

Trent looked at the storefront, frowning. There wasn’t a sign or anything to denote that it was a bookstore, just a small acorn carved into an old wood plaque hanging over the door. His fingers tingled as he studied the worn and weathered Druidic symbol.

It wasn’t until he was closer that he saw there was gold script that read Rhiannon Byrne, Bookseller, in gold in one corner of the window.

“You want to go in, or you want to stand and gawk?”

Trent shot Andrew a look.

The man smirked and opened the door.

The moment he stepped inside, he inhaled the musty smell of old books. He looked around. It was a small space but very well organized, with new titles showcased in the front and popular used books to the side. There were cozy touches here and there—small paintings, unobtrusive stools, and handwritten notes—that made the small space more intimate when it should have felt crowded. He went over to a shelf to look at one of the notes taped there, recommending the latest novel by Ava Miles in a feminine script.

“Andy Ryan,” a husky feminine voice said from the back. “Have you already gone through the books I sold you last month?”

Trent turned around and stopped short when he saw her.

Her smile was crooked, with a dimple on one side.

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