Hope Between the Pages Pepper Basham (thriller book recommendations TXT) 📖

Emotions warred across his face and she had the sudden urge to touch his cheek, to comfort him. “Which part?”

His lips twitched a sad smile before he lifted his gaze back to hers. “That you saw me.”

“I do.” She turned to pull the remaining book off the shelf to give her hands something to do in the wake of his focused attention. “And I’m glad.”

She met his gaze then, and a sweet rush of warmth shot from her stomach up into her face. Then, with a grin to dispel his frown, he led the way out of the gatehouse.

Sunset glowed on the horizon over the lake when Clara finally made it to her room after helping with dinner. Finally a chance to investigate the books! For the most part, they were unsalvageable, but when carefully turning through the pages of an old copy of the fairy tale Cinderella, she uncovered an envelope.

When she broke the seal, the paper inside ripped, but not enough to dampen the discovery of a letter. The ink had faded over time, but the penmanship looked oddly familiar…and the greeting brought tears to Clara’s eyes.

“Dearest Oliver, my own book goblin, I miss you more than I can say.”

Clara skimmed over the paragraph. The author thanked Oliver for her Christmas present, a charm bracelet. She mentioned four particular charms: a fairy, a book, a weeping willow, and a teapot.

Those might not have meant much to anyone else, but Clara knew this author, this writing. With a little squeal, she grabbed her jacket and raced down the stairs to the patio door. The lanterns from the gazebo joined with the setting sun to give the garden a haloed benediction to the day, and a couple of guests sat at the tables enjoying an evening drink. Clara slipped around the hedgerows and ran toward a small cottage tucked at the end of the long garden.

She’d only seen Max’s house from across the garden, but its red door and sloped roof reminded her of a hobbit hole for some reason. A stone hobbit hole, overgrown with ivy instead of grass. An absolutely perfect place to read a book!

She knocked on the door and then paused, a splash of awareness chilling over her.

What was she doing? Going to Max’s house? Were they the “drop-in” kind of friends? She winced and took a step back. Probably not. Maybe he didn’t hear the knock. She slipped back another step. If she ran really fast, she could disappear in the shadows and he’d never know she’d—

The door opened, partially. “Clara?”

Her heart thrummed up a beat at the way his bass tones brewed out her name. She offered an awkward wave and probably an equally graceless smile. “I’m sorry to disturb you.”

“No, please.” He stepped back and ushered her into a little entry that opened into a cozy sitting area complete with a rock fireplace, comfy chairs, a television on mute, and, of course, bookshelves.

“What a wonderfully charming house!”

“And well hidden from the world.” He helped her with her jacket, his lips quirking into a grin. “I thought you would have seen enough of me for the day.”

“I found something.” She pulled her small journal from her skirt pocket. “In one of the books.”

His brows rose and he led her around the corner to a little kitchen with a table and two chairs in the center. Clara pulled the letter from where she’d placed it safely within the pages of her journal and put it on the table. “Oliver and Sadie must have cared about each other romantically.” She tapped the paper. “This bracelet she writes about here? Sadie gave it to my mom on Mom and Dad’s tenth wedding anniversary.”

He studied the page. “It certainly sounds more than friendly, especially with such an intimate gift.”

“Right? And they must have met through books, somehow. Maybe the library at Biltmore? And she mentions a book charm, but Mom’s bracelet doesn’t have that.”

“Which could have easily been lost over time,” he offered.

“Exactly.” Clara laughed, shaking her head at the wonder of it all. “But how did they get from a maid and an English gentleman, to…” She waved toward the paper. “Whatever this was?”

“This letter must have been written in December 1915, which means the romance happened fast.”

Her gaze met his…and caught. “And unexpected, clearly.”

He tilted his head, searching her eyes, the air growing increasingly thick. “Clearly.”

With something between a laugh and a sigh—heat scorching her cheeks—she looked down at the paper. “Maybe there’s more about them in the gatehouse. Maybe even the deed somewhere.”

He nodded, watching her with the same intensity as he had in the gatehouse, the temperature in the room zooming from cozy to sauna. “Thanks for coming to share it with me.”

“Thanks for indulging me.” His gaze snatched hers again, and she skimmed her teeth over her bottom lip with her smile. “Well, I figured you’d want to see.” She cleared her throat and tucked the paper back into her journal. “I mean, you’ve been curious.”

“I’m much more than curious, Clara.” His voice swept low. “I’m invested.”

Everything about his expression tugged her toward him, from the tender glow in his eyes to the crooked tilt of his lips. But they barely knew one another.

It’s only a kiss, right? Not a lifetime commitment. The thought whispered through her, nudging her forward.

Only a kiss?

A kiss can carry the future on it. Her mother’s quote slipped through her thoughts. She wanted what her parents had. Was it even possible to think Max could offer a love like that?

She pulled her gaze from his, taking in the room again. The television played some sort of historical show, maybe a crime one? “Thanks for letting me interrupt your movie with my…family mystery. I really appreciate it.”

He drew in a breath, as if waking from a trance, and waved toward the television. “Want to watch? I’ve just brewed some tea.” He gestured with his chin toward the stove, tossing an uncertain grin