Talk Wordy To Me (His Curvy Librarian Book 1), Frankie Love [knowledgeable books to read .txt] 📗

the lecture I assume I’m about to get from my former literature professor of a grandfather, he asks, “Are you busy Friday night?”

I furrow my brow and take a swig of beer. “No, why? Are we going to form a book club?”

“Not exactly,” he says, and I can see the gears moving behind his eyes. When he gets like this, it almost always involves him meddling in my life, trying to get me to settle down and start a family because he doesn’t think what I’ve got right now is enough.

I flip the steaks with a pair of tongs, revealing perfect, juicy grill marks, and I think I’ve got just about everything I need.

“So, what’s going on Friday night?” I ask.

“I got you a date,” Gramps says. I’m mid-eyeroll because he’s tried this once or twice before and it’s never worked out, but he smacks my arm and says, “Hear me out.”

“Fine. Who is she?”

As if I need my grandfather to find women for me. Don’t get me wrong—just because I’m single with no plans to change that anytime soon doesn’t mean I don’t do all right. I meet women now and then—it’s just that I have a one-date policy because my brokerage and I can’t afford to get distracted right now.

“Her name is Cookie–”

“Cookie?”

“Well, that’s what I call her. Cassidy, if you want to be formal,” he explains. “She’s the librarian that runs the senior book club I was telling you about, the one that bakes.”

Great, I think. A frumpy librarian who’s probably going to shush me if I talk too loud on our date. Sounds like a lot of fun.

Gramps must see the judging look on my face because he smacks me again as I’m pulling the steaks off the grill. “Now, don’t go judging a book by its cover—hell, you haven’t even seen the cover yet.”

But I can imagine. Actually… I’m starting to get a mental image of a woman in a pencil skirt and those pantyhose with the seam up the back… her hair in a bun… heels accentuating the curves of her calves. Okay, a librarian isn’t the worst person Gramps could have set me up with.

“All right, all right,” I say. “Friday night?”

Grandpa Charles is grinning, having gotten his way once again. “Yes. You’re to pick her up after her shift—I got her address. What you do from there is up to you.”

We go over to an iron patio set to eat and along with the steaks comes the lecture I’ve been bracing for. Gramps can’t help it if he’s a diehard romantic—Grandma Carol was his soulmate, and my parents were soulmates too, even if they didn’t get long enough together. He can’t help wanting the same for me, even if I’m not sure there’s really anyone out there who can keep up with me.

3

Cassidy

I rush home after the library closes on Friday night, wanting to freshen up and change into something date night appropriate, even though I’ve got no clue what Charles’ grandson has in store for me. The whole situation feels a little ridiculous and surreal, and yet I’m feeling oddly excited about it too.

When’s the last time I went on a date? My life has been nothing but books, books, books for the last few years—first of the textbook variety, and lately I’ve been focused on getting acclimated at my new job.

But my life has to start sometime, right? Why not tonight?

I’m standing in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of my bedroom when I see my eighteen-year-old sister, Grace, over my shoulder. She’s leaning against the doorframe, watching me decide between two necklaces.

“The gold one,” she says, coming into my room. “Is that the one Mom gave you for graduation?”

I nod. The necklace has a delicate gold heart pendant that falls just above my cleavage, and Grace is right—it’s framed nicely in the deep V-neck of the vintage tea dress I’m wearing. I’ve got red Mary Jane heels on, and lipstick to match, and I’ve stopped just short of putting my wavy brunette locks up in Victory rolls. That’d probably be a bit much for a blind date, but I’ll take any excuse to delve into my collection of retro dresses.

“How do I look?” I ask my kid sister.

“Like a fifties housewife,” she teases. “Except more cleavage.”

I smirk. That is the idea. If I’m going to be more adventurous then I’m going all in.

The doorbell rings downstairs and my heart leaps into my throat. What if this is the beginning of something? The thought comes involuntarily to mind, and I push it away just as quickly, then give my little sister a grin.

“Go get ‘im, girl,” she says.

We head downstairs, passing Mom’s office on the way, and she calls through the open door, “Have a good time on your date, sweetie!”

“Thanks, Mom!”

I go down the stairs first, and Grace almost smashes into my backside when I stop abruptly on the final stair. In the foyer, standing beside my father, is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.

Seriously… if I were to close my eyes and conjure up my dream man, he’d be it.

He’s tall—at least six feet—with smoldering chocolate eyes and a carefully groomed scruff covering his square jaw. He’s wearing a charcoal-gray suit and he just happens to have a tie on that matches the subtle polka dots of my dress. His eyes burn into mine as I hesitate on the stairs, suddenly feeling a little weak in the knees and wondering what kind of mistake has occurred.

Surely, this is not the pathetic bookworm who has to rely on his grandfather to arrange dates for him.

“Chuck?” I ask as Grace pushes me off the stairs toward him.

He smiles, a confident, slightly crooked smirk that actually gets me a little wet, and extends his hand. “You must be Cassidy.” He kisses the back of my hand and adds, “Or should I say Cookie?”

Call me whatever you want, I think, wishing for the first time ever that I