The Bookworm's Guide to Dating (The Bookworm's Guide 1)

Then again, it was just as likely to be something she’d picked up at a thrift store.

“How are the ducks?” I set the teacup and saucer down in front of her on the coffee table.

“Nice change of subject. Your subtlety needs work, though.” She leaned forward and delicately spooned two small heaps of sugar into the cup, then stirred. “The ducks are a great point of contention between Agatha, Mabel, and Rosie. Mabel stands by her assessment they are the ugliest things she’s ever laid eyes on, Agatha is entirely in love with them and spends at least three hours a day sitting by the pond, and Rosie flip-flops between loving or hating them depending on which one of them she wants to piss off.”

“How does Rosie actually feel about them?”

Grandma raised her cup to her lips and peered at me over the rim. “She doesn’t give a damn, dear.”

I wasn’t surprised at that at all.

“So it’s livened things up around here.”

“Mm. Not that it needed livening up, mind you. It’s not exactly quiet here anyway. If you ask me, they’ve provided more problems than they have anything else. The pond was supposed to be a nice area for us to sit, but now the ducks are here, they’re building another one. Another one! It’s nice to know our exorbitant fees are being used well,” she finished dryly.

I couldn’t help but agree with her on that. I was privy to the costs of staying in this place, and it was horrifying. Unfortunately, Grandma’s bad hips meant she had limited mobility, and since both me and my parents worked, there was nobody to look after her.

But at least they had ducks.

“So when are you providing me with some great-grandchildren to snuggle with?”

I blinked at her. She was a fine one to talk about a lack of subtlety in a subject change—she went from one to sixty in half a second.

Light was jealous of her speed.

“I need a girlfriend first,” I reminded her. “So it’s gonna be a while.”

“You’d have a girlfriend if you’d tell Kinsley you love her.”

“I knew you’d find a way to come back to that.”

“Well? You didn’t deny it.”

I stared at her. “You’re not going to change your mind, so what’s the point?”

“The point is if you told her now, you’d be engaged in a year, married in two, and babies at least in four.”

“I’m sure Kinsley will be thrilled to know you’re planning out her life,” I drawled. “You only want me to marry her so you have a granddaughter-in-law who owns a bookstore.”

“Darn right I do.” Grandma chuckled. “Free books!”

“That’s what a library is for.”

“Yes, but I can’t keep those,” she pointed out. “Well? Are you going to tell her?”

All right. I was done here.

“You’re welcome for the book, Grandma, but I have to get going. It’s nearly time for your dinner.”

“Are you going to tell her now?”

“No, she has a date.” I stood and kissed her powdered cheek. “Goodbye, Grandma. Call me if you need anything.”

“Wimp,” she muttered as I opened the door to her room.

“Love you, too.” I tossed a grin over my shoulder and left her to her fantasies.

The biggest issue with her plan to marry me off to Kinsley was this: there was no guarantee that, even if I did tell her I had feelings for her, she would reciprocate them.

And Colton was an issue, too.

The biggest issue. God only knew I’d be pissed if I knew he’d slept with my sister.

Not that Piper would sleep with him.

He’d accidentally killed her hamster when she was eight, and she’d barely spoken a word to him since.

I waved goodbye to the nurses at the front desk and stepped out into the sunlight. I could hear the ducks quacking and splashing in their pool on the other side of the building.

Shit, they were noisy little fuckers.

I rubbed my hand down my face and pulled my keys out of my pocket so I could unlock my truck. I got into the cab and grabbed my phone from where I’d left it in the center console.

Kinsley’s date was in half an hour. She was meeting Jamie at Bella Italia at six-thirty, and she’d already texted me twenty times this afternoon panicking.

Mostly about what to wear.

Like I fucking knew.

I was about to lock my phone and put it back in the center console when it buzzed with a new message from her. I pinched my nose when I saw the preview said ‘view attachment,’ because I knew that meant she’d sent me a picture.

Of her clothes, no doubt.

I clicked the message and, after a few seconds for the attachments to download, I knew I was right.

Three pictures of outfits.

In the first one she was wearing a similar outfit to what she’d worn last night—jeans, heels, and a simple blazer and shirt combo, although this blazer was black. The next one was a plain red dress paired with the same jacket and heels, but it was the final one that made me groan.