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“Always.”
“Let me see.” Qui
“Fun with Whittling?” Natalie hooted. “Oh, jeez. Eclectic as always.”
“Next week might be Duct Tape Art or Tapophilia 101.”
“Tapo-what?”
“You know, gravestone rubbings—with charcoal and butcher paper?” Qui
“Ha, we’ll lose.”
“No doubt.” The snow fell in earnest now, making it hard to see across Brightwater’s Main Street. She had to leave soon to hit the post office before checking in on Dad. “Hey, I should get moving. Have yourself a great night.”
“Of course, I’ll be in when we open again, day after tomorrow. Black Friday means green for us. And thank you, sweetie. I won’t do anything that you wouldn’t do.”
Qui
W. Kane
405 Castle Falls Lane
Brightwater, California 96104
“W. Kane.” She tapped the initials. The mysterious W. Kane started emailing orders right after she moved to town and landed this job. A Novel Experience didn’t have a digital store; instead this person just sent requests and monthly checks. Each week was the same, a curtly worded request for four or five wildly different titles to be posted to the Castle Falls address. Last week was Virginia Woolf, Shakespeare, Dr. Seuss, and Nora Roberts. Odd combo and strange in the day and age of online shopping but, hey—no complaints if someone wanted to buy local.
Qui
Qui
Grabbing the store keys, she hefted the book box under her arm and flicked off the light. The shop had been quiet today, most of autumn actually, except for the Chicklits, the book club that met Wednesday mornings. But Natalie reassured her that things would pick up once the snow bu
“Enjoy the quiet, it won’t last,” Natalie often said from her ancient red velvet chair that was perpetually stationed by the window, nose buried in a book. Sometimes Qui
She stepped outside, lungs constricting from the sharp cold. Holy heck, if it wasn’t even December yet, what would official winter-winter feel like?
Scary thought.
Fumbling with the big brass door key, she finally got it locked and, turning, collided with a body, a big, hard masculine body. The type that could play NFL football and was topped by the sort of face often seen on a Disney hero, unquestionably handsome but almost cartoonish with an oversized jaw and deep canyon chin cleft. Thick blond hair protruded from underneath his navy blue “Brightwater Volunteer Firefighter” ball cap.
“Garret, what a . . . surprise.”
“A good one, I hope?” Garret King’s toothy grin matched the snow. No. Scratch that, those stark white incisors outshined the swirling flakes. Some women no doubt swooned for his type, but that muscleman build, stylishly disheveled hair, and sexy-and-I-know-it attitude left her decidedly unintoxicated.
“Cold day.” She checked her coat’s zipper and steered the subject straight to Boring Town. Garret was the exact type of person she’d hoped to leave behind in Hollywood. Figured that she’d flee across half the state to a small mountain town only to collide with someone whose ego rivaled any multimillion-dollar overentitled action star’s.
“We’re going to The Dirty Shame,” he said, blocking her path.
“We?”
“You. Me. A few IPAs.” Sunglasses were required to withstand those luminescent chompers.
She tried not to let her a
“Busy?” His smile dimmed to a lower watt. “With what?” As if how could anything be more important than fawning over him?
Good grief, she’d rather watch paint dry in one hundred percent relative humidity.
“I have to run to the post office to send off this package to a customer and then duck around to check on my dad.”
“Oh yeah, how is Crazy ol’ Higsby these days?” Le
Even Garret looked shocked.
“What the heck is wrong with you?” Qui
“Of course not.” Garret sent Le
“Yeah, well, have a good evening, fellas.” When would icicles be hanging from the rafters? She’d love to clock the pair of them over their thick insensitive heads.
“Wait, hold up, I’ll walk with you,” Garret said, brushing past Le
She fought a hard eye roll while regarding the empty sidewalk. “Oh, spare me,” she muttered.
“What was that?” Garret leaned in. “You want my phone number? No need to mumble. You only have to ask.”
“Thanks but that won’t be necessary.” She sidestepped him and dodged Le
Because if she was a superhero, her power would be attracting assholes.
“What about tonight?” Garret asked, hot on her heels. “Need help keeping extra warm?”
“I’ll be reading.” Was there enough snow on the ground to make a snowball? Throw it in his face?
He frowned. “A book?”
“Yep, one with an actual cover and pages. Taking a break from my e-reader for the week.” She tapped her glasses. “Eye strain, the struggle is real.”
“Wouldn’t you rather—”
“Oh look, here we are!” Qui
“W. Kane, huh? You friends with that guy?”
Guy? Her heart rate increased. So W. was a guy—at least now she knew that much.
And he was a man of few words. Case in point, his email from this morning. She had asked for a clarification. “We have the original publication of Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury but also this reprint edition with a new cover—I don’t know, maybe trying to appeal to a younger audience—and I wasn’t sure if you wanted the classic or the reprint. Or maybe you want both? I know I love owning my favorites in all their iterations. Anyway, thank you for your order. I’ll process it after you get back to me about the Faulkner.”