Can't Help My Shelf (His Curvy Librarian Book 3) by Frankie Love (the little red hen read aloud TXT) 📕

once more. God, I have got to stop kissing her or I’m gonna have to check out a book just so I can hold it in front of myself as I walk out of here.

“I’m staying with my sister,” I tell her. “But I could book us a hotel room if you like, something nice…”

“No,” Nora shakes her head. “Just come back over to my house Friday evening—I’ll be home by five-thirty. I don’t need a big, fancy hotel room making me any more nervous about this than I already will be. And it might not even work… a lot of couples have to try for months or longer to conceive the natural way…”

She’s rambling, her nerves on display. I hook a finger beneath her chin, tilting her eyes up to meet mine, and she gives me a shy smile. I say, “You’re in charge here, Miss Nora. You call the shots, I’m just here to help.”

She stands a little taller, brushing her hands down her skirt to straighten it. “Okay. Come over at six on Friday, then.” She starts to head back through the stacks, but pauses at the end of the row and turns back to me. “Thanks, Nash.”

Then she’s gone, and I grab the nearest book off the shelf. Apparently we’ve been standing in the history section because I find myself learning about the Peloponnesian War until my hard-on subsides enough to walk out of here.

9

Nora

It’s six o’clock on Friday night and I’m feeling way more nervous than I should while I wait to sleep with a man I’ve already been with once.

Would my nerves have been this bad if I kept my appointment at the fertility center? I should be feeling better because the chances of me getting pregnant after one artificial insemination or by doing things the natural way with Nash are almost equal, but I’m saving so much money this way.

All I’ve spent so far is another fifty bucks on another set of lingerie and twenty more on a bottle of wine to help me relax a little.

When the doorbell rings, I jump and pull my silk robe tighter around myself. I go downstairs and open the door, and this time Nash isn’t in a suit, and he doesn’t have another bookquet for me. Instead, his beard is freshly trimmed, he’s in a crisp button-down that hints at the rippling muscles beneath, and he holds out a small, pastel-yellow gift bag.

“For you,” he says as I let him in, and I smile, some of my nerves seeping away. His eyes are sweeping over me in my robe, hunger evident in them, and I’m really going to miss the way he looks at me when he’s gone.

I peek inside the bag and read the title of the small board book within. “Pat the Bunny.”

“Another Chelsea favorite,” he says. “For you to read to your little one when the time comes.”

And then, suddenly, the waterworks begin. I don’t even feel the tears building until they’re pouring down my cheeks, and Nash looks alarmed.

“Whoa, did I say something wrong? Did you have a traumatic experience with Pat the Bunny as a kid or something?” He’s teasing me, but there’s also real concern in his tone and he pulls me into his arms. “Come here, baby, what’s the matter?”

I swipe furiously at the tears, but I let him hold me. “I don’t know—it’s probably just the hormones, the stress. I’ve been freaking out all week about this, first with my appointment and then waiting to see you again.”

“Are you unsure about going through with it?” he asks. “We can just hang out instead.”

I shake my head. “That’s not it. My whole life, all I ever wanted was to be a mom, have a family. I’m determined to make it happen, and I was ready to do it all on my own…”

I trail off. Even though Nash has got me wrapped up in his strong arms, stroking my hair and saying all the right things, I can’t bring myself to actually say what’s on my mind.

The truth is that this past week has been wonderful. I’ve never met anyone I could actually visualize sharing my life with—not even close—until I met Nash. And here we are, one date and one wild night later, and he’s offering to make a baby with me before he disappears again.

I still want a baby, a family, more than anything. But now that I’ve had a taste of more, I want it all. With him.

And I know that can’t happen.

“I guess I’m just still hung up on my life turning out a certain way,” I say. “I thought I was over it, but I’m not.”

Nash leads me over to the couch, uses his thumbs to dry my cheeks, and says, “I get that.”

“You do?”

He nods. “I didn’t always think I was gonna be in the Army. In high school, I was a running back and I was really good. The college scouts were paying more attention to me than the quarterback, and I had big plans to get a scholarship and play college ball, maybe even go pro.”

“What happened?”

“Blew out my knee junior year,” he says, a look of pain on his face that tells me it’s an old emotional wound he hasn’t quite gotten over. “I recovered, but it took a while and I missed the whole season. All the college recruits passed me by and my scholarship dreams evaporated, to say nothing of going pro.”

“So you joined the Army instead?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Nash nods. “I had a buddy who came from a military family, always knew he was going to be a soldier, and he talked me into enlisting with him. Said I’d get to see the world and make a real difference, and you know what? It’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

I smile. “Even though it was kind of a fluke.”

“I like to think of it more like fate,” Nash says.

He tilts my chin up so that