She hadn't had breakfast after all.
And dinner had been convenience store food.
She needed sustenance.
Behind the dessert case was a long counter against the wall with a coffee maker and espresso machine.
And, finally, standing with their back to her with a book propped open on said espresso machine was a tall man with what she might call a swimmer's build in worn jeans and an oversized tan grandpa sweater. There were even dark brown patches on the elbows.
Who wore elbow patches anymore?
His hair was dark with a sharp undercut and, if she wasn't mistaken, there was a tattoo creeping out of the neck of his shirt.
Hoping he wasn't as good looking as Devon and Dane because her lady bits were already at their max for man-candy for the day, she plopped her books down on the counter to draw his attention.
He didn't turn at the sound, however, as if he had already known she was there and expected her to drop her books, and was simply too absorbed in whatever his nose was buried in to react until he was ready. It was something she understood and therefore didn't fault him for, so decided to move back a few feet to check out the contents of the dessert case.
Inside, she found brownies fat as a fist, the tops crackled, the bottoms gooey - the impossible combination that was so hard to find, but the best to eat. Even though the case was closed, she could swear she smelled the chocolate, rich and inviting. Besides those, there were giant homemade marshmallow treats, something that immediately reminded her of grade school bake sales or class parties when the stay-at-home moms brought in all the best goodies. Besides those were plump, soft-looking golden chocolate chip cookies, and then finally, a row of white icing-topped red velvet cupcakes.
"You know you can't absorb them by sheer force of will," a deep, dry, bored-sounding masculine voice made her start as she straightened and found - yep, sure enough - another perfect specimen of male perfection.
This one didn't have the boyish charm of Devon, or the overtly sexual aura of Dane.
No.
He had that hot-professor vibe.
Her mind raced with a dozen education-based innuendos before she remembered where she was, why she was there.
"Great," she grumbled under her breath.
Because, well, he was hot, damn it.
Above the grandpa sweater - which she found sexy in an inexplicable way - and the plain black tee he wore under, his face was the stuff of Greek statues with stunningly sharp cheekbones and the strong jaw. He had dark brows, dark hair, and an abundance of black lashes that framed eyes that were such a light shade of gray that they were almost transparent.
And that neck tattoo?
Yeah, it was an albatross.
"Great," she grumbled again.
"What?" he asked, brows drawing together, no doubt thinking she was missing some of her vital brain matter.
"That's an albatross."
"Yeah," he said immediately, a brow raising in a silent invitation to give him more than that.
"Meaning... Samuel Taylor Coleridge? Meaning The Rime of the Ancient Mariner."
"Look who put on her poetry pants this morning," he said in the same unimpressed tone that seemed to be his default setting.
"Oh, gee. I'm so sorry. You must be pestered endlessly about some obscure poem from the seventeen-hundreds. How unoriginal of me," she drawled.
To that, his lips tipped up ever-so-slightly, but not quite enough to be considered a smile. "Do you want a dessert or what?"
"I want one of each dessert, and the biggest coffee you have available. Is this the kind of place where you put the crap in, or do I have to do it because paying five dollars for a coffee isn't enough to have the employees actually do more than pour a drink?"
"You want crap in it, tell me what. And I'll do it for three-fifty." He said, leaning slightly across the counter toward her, making her have the completely uncharacteristic urge to back away.
He seemed to suck all the air out of the room, making her chest get tight.
It was just the proximity, she tried to tell herself.
It had nothing, absolutely nothing to do with the way his incredible eyes seemed to pierce right through her.
"Cream and four sugars," she said with what had to come off as an awkward little nod.
"Cream and four sugars?" he repeated, shaking his head as though her order was insane.
"And hold the judgement," she added with a pointed brow raise.
Unfazed, he turned from her to pour the coffee, ripping open the sugar packets and reaching for the creamer. With the mini fridge open, she managed to spot not only her cream, but milk, and soy milk, and almond, and coconut.
"I can't imagine coconut milk is in high demand in a town like this," she mused aloud, flipping through a brochure on the counter boasting that month's new releases.
"People like options."
"Yeah, well, people also like thrillers with one man's name on the cover despite the fact that they have all been ghost written by another... it doesn't mean it's necessary to give it a front-facing spot on an eye-level shelf."
"Got a problem with how I stock my shelves?" he asked, effectively shutting her up.
My.
He'd said my.
She'd thought he worked there, maybe picked out the indie books because some crotchety old proprietress wasn't up-to-date with the newest no-name authors. She didn't think the cocky, condescending, devilishly handsome guy behind the counter actually owned the place.
Standing there, watching him grab her food with a piece of wax paper, she felt the rage heat and bubble up deep inside, making her skin feel warm from head to toe, flushed uncomfortably even though the thermostat in the place was set to arctic.
He came back over, putting her mug of coffee and a plate full of her treats down, brows drawing low as he watched the anger no doubt all over her features. "Really passionate about top-billing, hack authors, huh?" he asked when she simply continued to stand there, hands balled into fists.
"Liam!" Maude's voice pierced through the awkwardness between them, and Riley watched as Liam's eyes closed for a long second like he was steeling himself for something. "Don't act like you don't hear me, boy. Sound carries in this empty space."
"I hear you, Miss Maude," Liam answered in a chastened tone. "Need help with your smut?" he asked as he deftly reached for Riley's books, scanned them, and hit a few buttons on the register. "Sixty-two-eighty," he said to her as she reached for her wallet and handed him cash.
"Not with my smut, no," Maude said, stepping into the cafe. "Riley, I see you found some things on the shelves you liked," she observed as she moved in behind her as she reached for her change. Riley's head swiveled over her shoulder. She had not given the woman her name, that was for damn sure.
If news traveled that fast, it was insane.
"What do you need help with then?" Liam asked.
"The Dark History of Warlocks?" she asked, slamming a hand down on the dessert case, making the precious plate of brownies scoot into their neighboring marshmallow treats. "How could you put such a mockery on your shelves?"
"Look, it's not my fault that the high school girls watch The Craft one too many times and get ideas in their heads. I stock the shelves as the demand grows for certain subjects."
"Fine. But then put on Cottage Witchery or Pagan Spirituality, not some trash like that. I mean, it's like I haven't taught you anything, boy," she snapped, throwing her hands up, and storming back to the stacks.
At Riley's raised brow, Liam shook his head. "Maude is the town psychic."
"Psychic?" she repeated, dangerously close to laughing.
To that, Liam shrugged as he handed her back her change.
"Oh, dear," Maude's voice called, sounding falsely worried. A D-actress on women's TV programming.
"What now, Miss Maude?" Liam called, sounding resigned to some sort of book disaster.
"Well now, I have no idea how it happened. But one of your books seems t
o have lost its cover. And you do know, surely, that it is illegal to sell a book with a missing cover."
"Let me guess," Liam said, and he had the barest hint of a smile on his lips. "The Dark History of Warlocks."
"It's the damnedest thing," Maude said, and Riley could hear the smile in her voice.
"Sure seems to be," he agreed, handing Riley her receipt, and moving away from her, turning his back, and resuming his book.
Well, that was that.
She came, she saw, she met the owner of Stars Books.
And while it wasn't some crotchety old lady with glasses on a chain around her neck, she hadn't been that far off the mark.
While the she was actually a he, and he was in his thirties, not seventies, he sure as hell seem crotchety. Not to mention holier-than-thou.
Not that she needed to drive to Nowhere, Pennsylvania to know that though.
As she piled her books, and topped them with the plate of desserts, nestling her coffee in the crook of her arm, she headed over toward the furthest table in the corner.
She sat, realizing it should have been enough.
She had done what she set out to do.
But, somehow, it didn't help.
She didn't feel any better being vindicated in her steadfast derision with what had been - up until now - a nameless, faceless person to her for the past two years.
It didn't take away the sting that would wake her up some nights, having to press her hand into her heart to try to ease the ache.
It didn't help repair the giant gaping holes that had been gouged into her confidence.
If anything, it felt rather anticlimactic.
It felt like a waste of a trip.
And if there was one thing Riley wouldn't settle for, it was being unsatisfied.
So she wasn't done.
She wasn't done, and she was pretty sure that made her stop toeing the line of sanity, and somersaulted her right into batshit crazy territory.
She would have to go back to her room later, power up her laptop, open iTunes, and delete her playlist, make a new one, fill it with creepy shit like "Every Breath You Take," "The More You Ignore Me, The Closer I Get," and maybe pepper in "I Will Possess Your Heart," and some "Stalker Song" just to be the ultimate of creepy. And rename the whole thing You Are Totally Joe from YOU.
She flipped restlessly through her books, not able to focus on a single word before slamming them down with a huff. "What are you reading?" she asked abruptly, making Liam straighten and turn.
"The Tenant of Wildfell Hall," he supplied, already turning away.
"Bronte? Really? You?"
He turned back and exhaled. "Bronte. Really. Me."
"Why Anne?"
"Why not Anne?"
"Charlotte is more lyrical style-wise. Emily is more gripping emotionally."
His brow raised slightly as though he was intrigued by her speech.
That was until he opened his mouth.
"And Anne touched on issues that women especially didn't discuss in that period. Making her ahead of her time. A feminist icon. Now, if we're done with our little book club, can I get back to my reading?"
"For a book store owner, you seem completely uninterested in dealing with paying customers."
"I own a book store because it is the only way I can make money while reading all day. I have no interest in idle prattle with a woman on a road trip who stopped into town for gas."
"Wow, you're a real..."
"Liam, I swear to fuck, if you sell Lena another goddamn baby name book, I am going to string you up by your balls, and make you listen to her compare the differences between B names for six hours."
"Bs this week? Wasn't it Js last?" Liam asked, moving toward the espresso machine, loading it up just as the source of the other voice came into view.
Riley scoffed aloud, shaking her head. "Really? Two of you?" she asked as another tall, lean, dark-haired, gray-eyed, seriously good looking man stepped into the cafe in grease-stained blue overalls, the part hanging down around his waist, leaving him in only a black wifebeater on top. "This town is ridiculous," she declared as Liam's brother's eyes landed on her, a slightly darker shade of gray, but no less disarming.
"What do we have here..."
"Drive through," Liam cut off his brother as he poured coffee into a large paper cup and emptied an impossibly huge shot of espresso into it as well.
"Devon see her yet?" the brother asked, jerking the side of his head toward Riley. "They look like a match made in heaven."
"Totally normal to talk about me like I'm not sitting right here," Riley grumbled.
"Eric," Maude's voice broke in again, making Riley start. She'd forgotten the woman was still around, which was likely by design. So the woman could eavesdrop. Maude appeared out from behind some bookshelves, and moved into the cafe to loop her arm through Eric's. "I have a question about my car," he said, leading him forcibly away.
"Would it be where it is," Eric asked. "Because, Miss Maude, you sold your car three weeks ago," he added, voice sounding amused as he was pulled out of the store without being given a chance to say goodbye to his brother.
"I'm a real what?" Liam asked when the door shut.
"I'm sorry?" Riley asked, confused by yet another odd disruption by the locals.
"Before Eric came in here, you were about to hurl some sort of insult at me. Was it going to be something about me being an asshole or arrogant, or were you going to actually get original in your affront?"
"How about something to the effect of having the charm of a dead slug," she attempted.
"The Hunger Games, really? That's the best you've got?"
"Then maybe you're a hole in the air," she tried, getting riled.
"Orwell. Not bad," he allowed with a nod. "But not good either."
"I think we'd be better as strangers."
"Getting warmer," Liam said with a small twitching of his lips that Riley, despite her anger, found almost alarmingly appealing. "The king of insults himself. Got any more Shakespeare in that head of yours?"
"You are a lily-livered, foul, undigested lump of a blasphemous, uncharitable dog," she spat, rising to the challenge, and getting unreasonably angry at being goaded into doing so.
Who the hell did he think he was anyway? Maybe in his little Podunk town, he was the only person who had ever read more than the SparkNotes booklets on Shakespearean plays, but that didn't mean he was the only well-read person in the world. It didn't give him the right to be such a condescending jackass.
"Better," he said, still sounding less than impressed.
On a strange growl, she stood fast enough to make the table wobble, tearing out of the small space before she could let her mouth run away with her, and confront him about the real reason she was pissed at him.
"I guess I must have been seeking a fool when I found you," she snapped as she pulled the door open, looking over at him as she delivered the final insult, then throwing herself out onto the sidewalk, slamming the door with a lot more force than could have ever been considered necessary.
She was halfway back to the inn when she realized she had left her already-purchased books on the table when she'd stormed out.
Pretty sure her pride couldn't withstand her heading back in there to see him again when he had so obviously gotten a rise out of her, she kept walking, with each step getting more annoyed at the enigma that was Liam Something-or-Other - the cocky, condescending, unbearably intelligent, well-read, annoyingly handsome proprietor of Stars Books.
And as she threw herself dramatically back onto her bed and stared at the ceiling of her rented room, she realized she was nowhere near done with him.
Knowing he was a dick didn't answer her questions.
It didn't help her figure out if he was just hard to please, or if something was wrong with her as a whole.
And she knew she would never be able to fully focus again until she had all the answers she needed.
It looked like she was going to be i
n Stars Landing longer than she expected.
THREE
Liam
Small towns like Stars Landing didn't have a whole hell of a lot in the way of amusement.
There were no movie theaters, nowhere to see plays - aside from the twice-yearly ones at the high school which, objectively, did not count -, no concert venues, no bowling, no... nothing.
So while the paperback book business was, as a whole, a dying niche, his business never really seemed to suffer.
The local library with its moldy-smelling carpets, dust-covered shelves, and ancient card catalog was a terrible place to visit for anyone with allergies - or lungs at all - but also woefully underfunded, so it was barely able to keep intact versions of the classics on the shelves, let alone the latest hardcover bestsellers.
As a whole, he did well enough for himself. There was never a day that went by that he didn't have at least half a dozen drop-ins, even if some didn't end up buying anything. Owning the building itself allowed him financial freedom not to have to incentivize people to drop in.
And the residents of Stars Landing had long since gotten used to Liam's utter lack of interest in the art of customer service. One, because most had known him the majority of their lives, and as such knew there was no changing him. And two, because he kept his shelves well-stocked and perfectly labeled, so there was very little need for someone to actually interact with him anyway... save to pay for their books or order a coffee.
So when the door had opened, and he heard someone roaming around the store, he didn't even think to turn around. It wasn't like theft was ever a real issue in town. Not when everyone and their mother knew what you were up to.
When the books hit the counter, and he finished his chapter only to turn around and see an unfamiliar face, he was somewhat surprised.
And not just because she was one of the prettiest women he had seen in a good, long while. While he was generally a man for substance over looks, there was no denying the fact that she was gorgeous in her very off-beat, I-don't-give-a-damn-if-you-think-I'm-hot kind of way. There was a quiet sort of confidence about her that he had come across enough to know it came from either a high IQ, or a background in high school cheerleading. And, given that everything about her look implied she'd rather have her hands amputated than ever hold pom-poms in them, he figured she was smart.
What The Heart Learns Page 3