Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set Gigi Blume (fantasy books to read .txt) 📖

of cookies, caramel sauce, and waffle cones. Currently, she was finishing the aesthetic with a chalkboard sign that read S’more Love for Jaxson. She wrinkled her nose and turned to me, catching me ogling her.

“Do you think we need more peanut butter cups?”

Something about the care and attention she put into setting up the display on the folding table made me want to twirl her into my embrace and kiss her until we had sand in our hair. Wouldn’t that be a sight when the guests arrived?

I’d been completely messed up in the head since our ‘practice kiss’ in my kitchen. I kept telling myself it was in both our best interests to tuck that thought way down. I had no business kissing her like that—or thinking of her like that—the way she looked right now in those snug jeans and loose cable-knit sweater, her bare toes wiggling in the cool sand.

Definitely not.

Then again, it was my birthday.

“One can never have too many peanut butter cups,” I said.

I didn’t usually make a fuss when another year took me further away from my twenties and closer to my forties. Now that I was halfway between the two decades, something clicked in me, like it was time to finally get my act together. Maybe settle down. But every time the idea crossed my mind, the only woman I’d dream of considering was Emma. It was always Emma.

“Do you think he’ll come tonight?”

“Who?”

She planted her hands on her hips. “Elton.”

“Are we still talking about him?” Because I had moved on a while ago.

“It’s just… well, it might be a little awkward if he comes with his new girlfriend. What if it upsets Harriet?”

“You told me Harriet was over him.”

“She is, but I wouldn’t want anything to set back her progress. Not like I’m interfering at all. I’m completely reformed.”

“I believe you.” My feet carried me across the few sandy meters between us, near enough to press her hand in mine. The ocean breeze sent tendrils of hair into her eyes, and I brushed them behind her ear by instinct. “I’ll tell you what. If Harriet seems upset, I’ll take her to look for seashells or something.”

“In the dark?”

“Okay, not seashells but grunions, then.”

Emma’s features softened and her delicate mouth curled upward. “She’d like that. Thanks.”

“No problemo.” I returned the smile and pinched her chin. “Harriet’s a nice girl. Elton’s an idiot for not noticing.”

“I know, right? What makes this Agnette girl so special?”

Other than her ability to do the splits three different ways? Nothing. But I didn’t say that.

“I know one thing. You chose better for him than he chose for himself.”

She raised one eyebrow. “Hey now. It almost sounds like you’re admitting I was right.”

“Ha. I don’t think so. You can retire that bow and arrow, sweetie.”

A flush of pink bloomed across Emma’s skin, her eyes dancing as they locked on mine for a long, heady moment. Then she threw her arms around my shoulders and whispered warmly onto my neck, “Happy birthday, Jax.”

I drew my arms around her and squeezed her into me, inhaling her shampoo. She was soft, oh so soft—her figure melting into the hard planes of my form. An overwhelming mixture of friendship and desire squeezed my chest as I buried my face in her hair. My whole being ached to touch her, to hold her seven thousand times more intimately—to ease the exquisite longing that set my insides on fire. Emma was my oxygen. I couldn’t breathe without her.

She quivered in my arms, untangling herself from me just enough to softly brush her lips on my cheek in a feather-like kiss. My heart sputtered to a stop. What was stopping me from crashing my mouth upon hers, declaring my feelings once and for all? Somehow, I’d conjured up this false sense of propriety in my relationship with Emma. But lately, the lines had blurred to such an extent I could hardly imagine they ever existed.

A gush of salt air washed over us, plunging me out of my stupor. Emma stiffened in response and bit her bottom lip as she took a step back, very much aware of the paradigm shift that had just occurred between us.

“Welp, that fire’s not gonna start itself,” I quipped to lighten the mood.

“Right. I’ll just…” She pointed to the s’mores table.

We fell back into our tasks although most everything was already set up. It was still too early to light the fire, but that didn’t matter. I needed to occupy my hands. I was a complete goner. The sensation of her lips on my skin branded me, making me very much aware of that singular spot on my body for the remainder of the night. Even after several of our friends arrived, after Harriet and Pinky each greeted me with a kiss to the same place on my cheek, Emma’s touch remained.

To Emma’s chagrin, Elton came and brought Agnette. He had been in L.A. for a few days at my request. Three studios were interested in Field of Hearts, and the pitch session was scheduled two weeks out. I planned to announce the news to everyone at my birthday party—another reason for inviting them.

Elton proudly peacocked around with his new squeeze on his arm, pointedly showcasing her in front of Emma and Harriet. Agnette was the quintessential poster girl for the song Dance: Ten, Looks: Three from A Chorus Line. Her manners weren’t much to write home about, either. She was one of those people who talked incessantly about themselves. It made me wonder how she and Elton were able to hold a conversation without stepping on each other’s sentences. I supposed it was a match made in showbiz heaven. She called him E-Bear which was equal parts revolting and endearing. I soon discovered her preference for nicknames when she started calling me J.J. which made Emma cringe every time.

It was no small wonder when Elton busted out his guitar, for only then did Agnette let go of his arm. As Elton