Twisted Hate (Twisted 3)

Now I knew why Josh hadn’t asked me to meet him here—the street was only wide enough for pedestrians and bicycles. A car didn’t have a chance of squeezing through it. The same went for the surrounding streets.

“Welcome to the best bookstore in the city.” Josh swept a dramatic arm at the building and grinned at my stunned expression.

“How have I never heard of this place?” My heart beat fast at the prospect of what lay beyond the white wood door. Discovering a new bookstore was like discovering a new type of precious gem: exhilarating, wondrous, and a touch surreal. “I’ve lived here for years.”

“It opened a few months ago and flies under the radar. I found out about it from another resident whose cousin’s friend owns it.” Josh opened the door.

The minute I stepped inside, I fell in love. No, not fell. I crashed into love, hard and fast, seduced by the floor-to-ceiling bookcases, the charmingly haphazard piles crowding the oval table in the middle of the store, and the sweet, musky scent of old books. The bold emerald carpet contrasted with the understated cream walls, and several wrought-iron chandeliers cast a warm glow over the space.

It was the bookstore of my dreams, manifested into reality.

“What did I tell you?” Josh’s voice rolled down my spine in a velvety caress. “Best bookstore in the city.”

Other than the store owner, we were the only people present. It was hard to believe the hustle and bustle of the city lay on the other side of the door. It was so hushed, I felt like we’d entered a secret world created just for us.

“This is the only time I’ll admit you’re right.” I ran a reverent hand over a nearby pile of books. The store contained a mix of new releases and used books, and I wanted to explore them all. “Are we spending our date browsing? Because I’m fully onboard with that.”

“Sort of.” Josh leaned against the side of a bookcase and slid one hand into his pocket, the picture of gorgeous insouciance. “I would start with your favorite childhood book.”

“Why?”

“Trust me.” He angled his chin toward the nearby children’s section.

The heat from Josh’s gaze warmed my skin as I scanned the shelves until I found what I was looking for. There were only three copies of Charlotte’s Web, and I assumed there was a note or something similar in one of them.

The fact he’d remembered such a small detail from our conversation in Ohio sent a burst of tingles shooting through me.

Focus, Jules.

I plucked one of the copies off the shelf and flipped through the pages. Nothing out of the ordinary.

I tried a second copy. Nothing.

But when I opened the third book, a slip of paper fluttered to the ground. I picked it up, and a smile burst onto my mouth when I read the words scribbled in Josh’s neat scrawl.

Your favorite food, but you have to make it.

B3, S4, #10.

“Is this a bookstore scavenger hunt?” I bounced on my feet, unable to contain my delight.

“Scavenger hunt and puzzle.” Josh’s cheek dimpled. “Have to make sure your brainpower meets my standards, Red. I don’t date dummies.”

“Understandable. Someone has to be the brains in the relationship.”

Josh’s soft laugh settled inside me. “Solve the clue before you get cocky, sweetheart. There’s a prize waiting for you if you do.”

I perked up. I loved prizes. I had a whole box of certificates, trophies, and medals I won in high school and college. “What is it?”

“You’ll find out. Or maybe not.” He shrugged. “Let’s see.”

My skin buzzed from both our exchange and the thrill of the hunt, but I tamped down my desire to continue our verbal sparring session and refocused on the clue.

Your favorite food, but you have to make itobviously referred to an Italian cookbook.

As for B3 S4 #10…my brain scrambled to untangle its meaning. It was a scavenger hunt, so the clue likely led to a specific cookbook. All the books were organized in alphabetical order by the author’s last name, so what could the numbers stand for?

I scanned the bookcases, trying—

My attention jerked back to a sign printed with the number one. It was displayed on the side of the nearest bookcase.

The books weren’t numbered, but the bookcases were, and every bookcase comprised of multiple shelves. Bookcase, shelf. B3 S4.

Cookbook section, bookcase three, shelf four…#10. Tenth book on the shelf?

It was worth a try.

My chest thumped with anticipation as I beelined to the shelf in question and counted the books from left to right. One, two, three, four…

Number ten was an Italian cookbook.