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But there’s an electricity humming in the air between us, even as he tells stories about his time working at Holley Ridge. Like how a few months ago, he had to fix some light fixtures in the lounge while the unofficial Holley Ridge Book Club was having its meeting.

“So I’m standing on a ladder, trying to figure out which wire is loose, and Grandma Estelle announces to everyone that there were quite a few chapters in the book she had to read one-handed.”

I choke on my wine.

I’ve known Grandma Estelle most of my life. All the locals here do. She was a teacher in the public schools who taught pretty much everyone under the age of fifty at one point or another. Learning she likes her books on the spicy side should surprise me.

It doesn’t.

Grandma Estelle has always been the type of woman to march to the beat of her own drum. She’s never cared what anyone thinks of her. In a word, she’s a badass. I’d love to be like her when I’m her age.

Hell, I’d love to be like her now.

“Do I even want to know what book they were reading?” I ask. “I’d joined a few clubs back in Houston, and they always chose the worst books. They were all pretentious and boring. Like they purposely chose them to feel superior or whatever.”

“That’s definitely not the case with this book club. They read mostly romance. And that month, it was a why-choose hockey romance.”

“Why choose?” I repeat, intrigued.

“Why choose one guy when you can have two hot hockey players? Needless to say, after listening to their illuminating conversation, I’m now the first male member of the Holley Ridge Book Club.”

This time, I actually do choke on my wine. I grab a napkin, covering my mouth as I try to get my coughing fit under control.

“And you actually read the books?”

“Of course.” He tilts his head. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

I’d pegged Joshua for the type of guy to be more interested in nonfiction. Maybe some historical fiction. But to learn he not only reads romance but also meets with a group of women to discuss their chosen book once a month?

“I’ve never met a guy who reads romance.”

He slowly lifts his glass of wine to his lips. “I’m not like most guys.”

“I’m beginning to realize that.”

His gaze holds mine, and something inside my chest gives a little tug. It reminds me yet again that this isn’t simply a casual dinner between friends. This is more, even if neither one of us wants to admit it.

Or, more accurately, even if I don’t want to admit it.

“I actually got into romance when my mom got sick,” Joshua explains, his face softening. “She always loved it.”

“I remember. I’m pretty sure the first romance book I ever read came from your mom’s bookcase.”

“Really?”

“I’d always sneak a few pages whenever I…” I trail off before finishing the statement.

Because I used to sneak those pages when I babysat Joshua.

Since I’ll probably be naked in his bed in less than an hour, I’d rather not think about that right now.

Or ever, really.

“The medicine and chemo made her pretty tired,” Joshua continues, pulling me back to the present.

Which is exactly where I need to be.

In the present.