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

chest deflated. This strong, quiet man struggled every day against the lies of his own mind, the searing voices that thrust him further into reclusion, away from a world his kindness could touch.

“Well, I really like what I see.” Her breaths slipped into a shallower rhythm at the unexpected admission. His gaze met hers, searching, beckoning for her to clarify. “But even more than that, I…like who you are.”

Air shocked from his parted lips as he continued to stare, his attention riveted to hers as if he didn’t believe her words. How could she convince him?

Her pulse took an upswing as an idea surfaced to perfection in her mind. She brought her free palm up to cradle his face, watching the confusion in his eyes shift to shock as she closed in. Her breath shivered between them as her mouth touched his so gently, she felt the ridges of his lips slip across hers. She had very little experience with romance, and even less with kissing, but something in her heart responded to him, and even if she fumbled through, he needed to know she cared in this very tangible sort of way.

She pulled back an inch, her palm still on his cheek. Those golden eyes probed hers, disbelief giving way to a gloriously crooked smile. His fingers slid down a loose strand of her hair, his gaze caressing more tenderly than any touch she’d known. His lips flinched wider. She’d reached him. Shown him the truth. And suddenly it didn’t matter whether she blundered through romance or kissing, because that grin quelled all her doubts into smithereens.

Without another hesitation, he breached the distance between them, taking over the kiss, and for all the words he failed to say, he made up for in a very nonverbal kind of way.

Chapter 19

I lived in a world of dreams.

For the first two days of our married life, we stayed in and around our little castle, enjoying the felicity and discovery of each other, the joy of getting as close as two souls ever could on earth. We read to each other, took long walks, and spoke of bookshops and babies and life after the war. Each evening, Helen welcomed us to her cottage for supper, and this little dream of mine swelled into a sense of family.

Our third day, Oliver took me on a proper tour of Fenwick, introducing me to all of the adoring shopkeepers, clerks, and his working-class friends. They welcomed me with shy smiles and loud laughter and, in some instances, embraces.

When we approached a particular building, near the end of our tour, Oliver wiggled his brows in dramatic flair and flourished a bow. “Madam, this will be your favorite stop, I do believe.”

I looked up to the wooden sign dangling from a chain above and grinned. ENOCH’S BOOK BINDINGS.

“People rarely take note of this place, unfortunately. It’s the only bookshop in Fenwick and rarely includes new books because Enoch is determined to rescue the castaways.”

“What do you mean?”

Oliver reached for the door. “I’ll show you.”

And so it was. Enoch Everly saved books. People from all around brought their broken or old books to him, and with his wrinkled and gnarled hands, he’d piece them back together and rebind them so they had a second chance.

His gray hair flew in all sorts of directions, thin and wispy, and a set of round, wire-rimmed glasses tipped to the edge of a hawklike nose.

A young woman slipped among the shelves lining the small shop, her tattered gray dress and pale face giving more of a ghostly quality than human. She raised dark eyes to me, her bottom lip puckering into a frown, and then she skittered out of sight.

“That be my grandniece, Anna.” Enoch raised his pale eyes to me, nodding in the direction she disappeared. “You might see her sneakin’ out to get another book. That’s what she does. Cooks and reads, if she has the chance, when she’s not bindin’ books or hidin’.”

“Hiding?” I glanced back at the doorway through which Anna had disappeared.

“Mr. Oliver can tell you more about her, if ye wish to know, but don’t expect her to talk to you none. She’s done with most folks after all the trouble they’ve caused. Stuffed shirts.”

Enoch turned to talk with another patron, and Oliver leaned close. “She’s been cast out by all good society, I’m afraid to say. Even in our little hamlet. But Enoch has weathered the stuffed shirts before and took her in despite them.”

“What has she done?”

“She fell into some bad company a few years ago and disappeared from town.” He lowered his voice, tugging me farther away from the curious onlookers. “Returned carrying some man’s child and destitute for food and shelter.”

“Her parents?”

He shook his head. “They’re rather well situated in Fenwick society, so they’d have nothing to do with her.” Oliver nodded toward Enoch. “His daughter suffered a similar fate and was too ill to be saved by the time she came home, so Enoch took Anna in to ensure the same end didn’t come to her.”

I stared back at the doorway. “And the child?”

“Given up to a local family who’d recently lost their son.”

I pressed my palm to my stomach, a hollowness aching through my middle. Giving up one’s child? “How horrible.”

“I can’t imagine making that choice.” He ran a palm down my arm and offered a sad smile. “But the child is in a very good place. Loved immensely and well cared for.”

I took his arm as we bid our farewells to Enoch and walked out of the shop. “I wanted you to know the place because I have a feeling you’ll need more to do than twiddle your thumbs at the gatehouse.”

I stopped walking and looked up at him. “So you’re offering my services, are you?”

“It is a bookshop, of sorts.” He tipped his head toward her, a smile dancing in his eyes. “And you are known for being a bit bookish.”

“A bit.” My smile slipped