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

and fall of his chest more pronounced as he gazed at me in wonder. “No, you are not.”

That boyish charm, I tell ya.

I cast my focus down, thumbing the plastic edge of the menu, thinking maybe I’d go for one of those pies after all—just to have something to do besides obsessing over this guy I just met. I couldn’t bring myself to look back up at him. That dimple had a way of shooting right into my fluttery little heart. What was wrong with me? I learned my lesson with cute guys a while ago. Ya can’t choose a book by his cover. Or something like that.

I’d known Jorge Wickham for years and still couldn’t read between his devilish lines. He took advantage of my trust. How could I possibly think I knew anything about Dog Man?

“Georgia.” Wyatt’s voice was shaky. Tentative. I still didn’t look up. “I...um.” He faltered and I saw him scratch his day-old stubble in my peripheral vision. I’d noticed his scruff earlier and his little habit of running his hand over it. It kinda made my body react in a delightfully weird way.

“It’s been a crazy twenty-four hours, huh?”

“Yeah.” I looked up then, fixing my gaze on the sheen of his whiskers.

“Feels like we’ve known each other for a lot longer, though. Right?”

“Lots has happened,” I agreed, ripping off a piece of his pancake. That really was delicious jam.

“So true.” The slightest hint of a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “But despite the circumstances, I’ve enjoyed getting to know you.”

“Me too.”

His whole face brightened and his grin widened, those dazzlingly white teeth almost blinding. ”When we get to LA, do you think...maybe...”

He was cut off by the loud ping of his phone. He had it on the table next to his plate and it lit up with a text message.

“Is that my brother?”

He swept up the phone and typed a quick reply under the table before tossing it on the seat.

“Uh, no. Just my contact in LA.”

“Oh. Is it about your ‘top secret’ news story?” I teased him with air quotes.

“Yeah.” His expression darkened with just a flash, then he cleared his throat and took a sip of water.

“What were you saying before? About when we get to LA?”

He bit his bottom lip; chewing on whatever words he was about to say. For the first time, he looked right into my soul and reached across the table, wrapping his fingers around my hand. Shivers bolted up my arm and sped to my chest. I felt all glowy.

Then, two deafening blows cracked in my ears, shaking right through me. Wyatt felt it too because he cringed at the sound and scrunched his shoulders.

“What the—“

This was followed by some screams and movement at the other side of the restaurant. A strung-up looking guy climbed on top of a table with a gun in his hand. Another guy had a gun on the restaurant manager.

“This is a robbery.” Table robber guy waved his gun around. People gasped and ducked. “Hands up where I can see them.”

Some of the diner patrons were too shocked to respond, so he repeated himself, screaming at the top of his lungs. “I SAID, HANDS UP.”

I immediately shot my arms in the air. Wyatt tossed his head around. Both robbers were out of earshot so he whispered. “Psst. Your ring.”

“What?” I whispered back.

“Take your ring off.”

“Why? It’s fake.”

“They don’t know that. You want your finger cut off?”

Somehow I doubted the robbers would produce a machete out of their back pockets, but I took the ring off anyway, just in case. I slipped it in the seat cushions. Shostakovich’s piano concerto no 2 would be a little tricky to play with a missing ring finger.

Most of the victims were silent. One lady was sobbing. The robbers barked some orders for the kitchen staff to come out and lie on the floor. They wanted anyone not in a booth to lie on the floor. Classic robbery protocol.

“Wallets and purses out, people. Put them on the table and no one gets hurt.” The guy on the table jumped down, swiping up everything in sight.

The other guy had the manager empty the cash register. “Hurry up, old man.”

Wyatt shifted in his seat, like he was winding up to do something heroic. I flashed him a warning look.

Don’t even think about it.

He leaned over to tuck Reeses’ carrier under the table, and in the process, his cell phone slipped off the seat onto the floor with a clank.

“What’s going on over there?” The table guy came over. “You hidin’ somethin’”?

He pointed the gun at Wyatt. Wyatt didn’t flinch. Was he used to guns in his face or was he just stupid? I thought I might hyperventilate.

“Where’s your wallet, tough guy?” The veins in the robber’s neck bulged out.

“In my back pocket.” Wyatt was cool. Samuel L. Jackson cool. But really not cool at all, if that makes sense.

“Well, hand it over.”

Oh my gosh. Today was not a good day to die. My brother would kill me all over again.

Wyatt half-laughed. “Seriously? A scene out of Pulp Fiction? Not very creative of you.”

“Who cares about creativity at a time like this?” I cried. “Give him your wallet.”

“Listen to your lady, dimwit.”

“Don’t call me a dimwit,” Wyatt said through clenched teeth.

“For goodness sakes, Wyatt. Give it to him. It’s just money.”

He flashed me a hard stare. “Says you.”

Whoa.

Table robber didn’t know what to do. The other guy was screaming at him to just shoot already. A dining patron cried out to Wyatt not to be an idiot. Actually, idiot wasn’t the word he used. The sobbing lady was wailing for mercy. Reeses barked from under the table.

“Is that a dog? You got a dog under there?” The guy ducked to look, still pointing his gun at Wyatt. Reeses growled.

Wyatt glared coldly. “Yeah. Don’t make me put him in kill mode.”

Oh my heavens. We were dead for sure.

The robber laughed. His friend laughed. I wanted to disappear. Plus,