Tayla took his hand and looked him up and down. “As am I. Where was Emmie hiding you?”
“I could ask her the same thing.”
The flirt is strong with this pair. Emmie tried not to roll her eyes. Jeremy had been shy, but he’d always loved the girls. Clearly he’d grown into his natural charm.
“Hey!” Daisy kicked his foot. “I’m here too.”
“And you are still as wonderful as when I saw you this morning.” Jeremy leaned over and kissed the top of Daisy’s head. “Did you make my pie?”
Daisy rolled her eyes. “Jeremy opened up the comic and gaming shop across the street last year, and ever since he’s come in for coffee and a cinnamon bun in the morning, then put in his pie request for the day.”
Emmie asked, “Does that work?”
Jeremy turned and batted his lashes at Daisy. “Is there a blueberry cream pie waiting for me?”
Daisy smiled ruefully. “Yes.”
Jeremy turned back to Emmie. “It works.”
“I only take your requests because you have good taste.”
“Wrong.” Jeremy shot a smile back to Tayla. “I have great taste.”
Tayla raised an eyebrow at Emmie. “Oh, he’s good.”
“He’s definitely improved his technique over the years. This is not high school Jeremy.” She gestured around the shop. “I’d offer you a place to sit, but we don’t have one yet.”
“Are you reopening the bookstore?” Jeremy leaned against a wall. “I’m not gonna lie, I’ve missed it.”
“I’m going to give it a shot,” Emmie said. “Your shop is comics and games, right?”
“More games than comics, but we do carry some graphic novels and some of the more popular stuff, especially if there’s a gaming tie-in, so we might have some overlap, but not much.”
“Geek chic?” Tayla asked.
Jeremy shot her a broad smile. “I was a geek way before it was chic. It’s a good climate for comics and games right now. Lots more people from the college are staying in town because the job market is good and housing is still pretty affordable if you’re looking for fixer-uppers. Lots more people commuting online to the Bay Area and LA too. I sell games, but I do tournaments and host club stuff too. That brings a lot of people in.”
“I heard you were in LA.”
“I was until my pop got sick,” Jeremy said. “You know how that is.”
“How’s he doing?”
Jeremy shrugged. “He’s a cranky old bastard because he’s got to use a walker since he broke his hip, but other than that, he’s in good shape. I’m living on the second floor of his place over on Ash. You taking over the apartment here?”
“Yeah. Your parents?”
“Still up in the mountains. They love it even with the snow in the winter. I love it when there isn’t any snow and I can climb.”
Emmie said, “Jeremy’s mom and dad bought this cool old cabin on the lake when we were in high school and fixed it up over the years. Now they live there full time.”
“Living off my labor,” Jeremy said to Tayla. “But I do have visiting rights. You’ll have to come up for the boat parade at Christmas. It’s beautiful.”
“Am I invited too?” Emmie asked.
“If you bring your cute friends.”
“Just my cute friends?” Emmie asked.
Jeremy walked over to her. “I have not met a woman in the world who wasn’t cute as sin in her own way, Em.” He gave her a sideways hug. “I gotta get back to work. I am happy as hell you’re moving back to Metlin. Come over anytime. I’d love to show you the shop.”
“It’s a relief to see you,” she said, hugging him back. “I was sure everyone other than Daisy and Spider would be gone.”
Jeremy smiled and walked to the door. “Towns change. People do too. Glad you’re giving us a chance.” He opened the door, then nodded at Tayla and Daisy. “Ladies.”
“Nice to meet you,” Tayla said.
“You know the pleasure was mine.”
Tayla winked. “I know.”
“Brother.” Daisy rolled her eyes. “Jeremy, I’ll set aside a couple of pieces of the blueberry cream for you and your pop.”
He blew her a kiss before he shut the door behind him.
Tayla went to the register and started tapping a pencil on the wooden counter. “I have to say, this town gets more attractive every day.”
Chapter Three
It was Sunday and the whole of downtown Metlin was quiet as Emmie boxed up books in the back office. She heard the bell over the door ring. “Tayla? I’m back in the office. Do you think we could sell this vintage pregnancy manual that recommends women stick to wine and beer instead of hard alcohol? Or would we end up getting sued?”
“Uh… it’s not Tayla.” The deep voice echoed in the near-empty shop.
Emmie immediately went on alert, grabbing the thick ring of keys sitting next to her. Metlin was a safe town, but you could never be too careful. “Who’s there?”
“It’s Adrian Saroyan. I’m a realtor, and Daisy Villalobos—”
“Adrian?” Emmie’s eyes went wide.
“Hi. Yeah… uh, Emmie?”
“Gimme a sec!” Adrian Saroyan was in her shop? She looked down at her clothes. Dirty jeans with a book T-shirt and a cardigan. Of course. Her I Like Big Books and I Cannot Lie T-shirt had large patches of dust on it and the cardigan had a ripped pocket. She was a mess. Emmie stood and tried to tuck her flat hair back into something that wasn’t a messy bun, but…
Yeah, it was just gonna be a messy bun.
She walked down the hall and turned the corner just as Adrian was walking farther into the shop. They nearly ran into each other. Emmie put a hand on her chest, letting out a small gasp and probably smearing even more dust over her already dirty shirt.
“Oh! Hey. Hi,” she said. “I was just cleaning. In the back.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt.” Adrian Saroyan, former high school soccer star and nerd-girl fantasy had aged well.
Because of course he had.
“Is now a good time to talk,” he continued over her silence, “or should I make an appointment?”
“It’s fine. I’m fine. You’re fine. I mean, you’re fine to come and talk to me now. At this time. It’s a good time for me.” Emmie cleared her throat and sneezed, nearly at the same time. Her hand still over her mouth, she realized that shaking the hand Adrian held out was a very, very bad idea.
“Are you okay?” He frowned at her.
“I’m just going to…” She motioned to the back. “Bathroom. Hands. Give me a second.”
“Okay, no problem.” He was smiling.
Of course he was smiling. He was gorgeous, and she was still a walking disaster.
Emmie quickly walked to the bathroom down the hall, washed her hands, and wiped the smudge of dirt from between her eyes. Poorly timed the sneeze/cough might have been, but at least she had time to compose herself.
Adrian Saroyan was one of those boys that Emmie hadn’t wanted to like in high school. He was too handsome and too popular and too smart. Everyone loved him, so Emmie wanted to hate him out of sheer spite.
Except…
She didn’t. Not even a little. He was a smart, decent guy. He volunteered at the homeless shelter before it was a thing to put on social media. He helped his grandma out at the family pizza place. He drove a black vintage Mustang instead of a boring white pickup like all the other boys.
Adrian was just… cool.
And every girl had a crush on him. And every guy wanted to be his friend. Adrian was even nice to Jeremy when Jeremy was unpopular. They were neighbors, and Adrian often gave Jeremy rides to school.
A tiny part of Emmie had hoped that Adrian Saroyan would have aged badly. Just a little. Maybe lost some hair or gotten a weird scar or something that would have made him slightly more approachable.
But as she walked out to meet him and he smiled, Emmie realized…
He’d gotten better looking with age.
T
he nerve of the man.
She plastered on her “talking with customers or vendors” smile and held out her hand. “Hygiene achieved. Nice to see you, Adrian. How have you been?”
“I’ve been great.” His eyes lit up. “It’s so nice to see you. I’d heard you came back to town occasionally, but I thought it was a Metlin urban legend.”
Emmie laughed. “Right.”
“I was very sorry to hear about your grandmother. She’ll be missed.”
Emmie’s smile fell. “Thanks. And yeah, she’s already missed.”
“My grandfather passed a few years ago, and it’s still hard to remember that I can’t just call him up anymore.”
The professional facade she’d been holding cracked a little. “I know what you mean.”
Adrian’s smile fell. “And then seeing my mom lose her dad… Yeah, it’s been rough.”
Why was he so nice? It made it impossible for her to keep her guard up, and she really didn’t want to act like a nervous teenage girl around him. She mustered her polite smile again. “So are you randomly visiting old classmates on Sunday mornings now?”
“Old friends.” His face lifted. “I’d say I was visiting old friends. It’s nice to see familiar faces. How’s San Francisco?”
Did Adrian Saroyan consider Emmie a friend in high school? That was… interesting. “San Francisco is cold and damp of course. Isn’t it always?” She laughed. “But my friend Tayla is down this weekend visiting, so I lured one of the nicest parts of the city down south.”
“Oh.” His smile faltered. “So when are you planning to head back?”
Ohhhh, right. Ethan had mentioned Adrian was buying most of Main Street.
Emmie kept her smile plastered on. “It doesn’t look like I will be. I was working in book retail in San Francisco, but I’m…” How would Tayla put it? “I’m currently exploring the opportunities for a similar business here in Metlin.”
Adrian’s eyes went wide. “You’re going to reopen the bookstore?”
“Probably yes.”
“Really?”
Emmie’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure why you seem so surprised. Metlin Books has been in this location for over eighty years. I own the building. I’ve been working in someone else’s bookstore for years. I grew up in a bookstore.”
“Doesn’t everyone buy books online now?”
Emmie kept her polite smile plastered on. “Is that how you bought your last book?”
Adrian seemed flustered. “I… Probably. I think my mom—”
“Oh, you don’t buy books?” Well, that did it. There was nothing more unattractive than someone who didn’t read. Any and all nerves fled. “Well, since I’m an avid reader who’s also connected with the online book community through social media and I’ve been working in retail for over five years now, I probably just have a better finger on the pulse of the market. It’s actually a great time to open an independent bookstore.”
Emmie was bullshitting. It was never a great time to open a bookstore. But damn if Adrian was going to see that.
Adrian’s face was all business now. “I respect your ambition, but forgive me if I don’t agree with you. Urban demographic research has proven what businesses succeed and fail in communities with Metlin’s demographics, and bookstores are not on the succeed list. I’d love to help you sell this place or find more suitable renters for the building when you get serious.” He put a business card on the desk and gave her the charming smile again. “But it was nice to see you, Emmie. Good luck.”
“Thanks.” That card was going in the trash as soon as he stepped out the door.
“I really mean that. I hope you succeed. I’m probably just too much of a realist.”
If that wasn’t a humble-brag, Emmie didn’t know what was. Too much of a realist. Please. She left the card on the counter and held out a hand. “Nice to see you. Enjoy your Sunday. I really need to get back to work.”
Adrian shook her hand. “Of course. I hope you’ll consider what I’m offering. You wouldn’t have to sell the building if you didn’t want, but I could find you tenants that would really make the most of the property. My property management company is starting to receive more and more attention from midlevel national retailers.”
Translation: I’d love to chop your building up into small pieces and try to lure Banana Gap Outfitters to Metlin.
No, thank you.
Emmie turned and left him at the desk. She heard the bell ring a few seconds later.
Ethan was right. Adrian Saroyan was a dipshit. Urban demographic research. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in research, but research didn’t understand everything. There were too many factors at play in bookselling.
You could have the best plan on paper a bank had ever seen and still fail. You could fly by the seat of your pants and succeed. It was the same with books. Did it make her nervous? Hell yes. But the more people doubted her, the more perverse confidence she gained.
Maybe bookshops were like books. The “it book” that a big publisher was pushing hard could land like a stone when it reached actual reader hands while a small press or independent release took off into the stratosphere. Emmie’s personal theory was that book lovers were contrary by nature and hated being predictable. Since she was already a book lover, she could think like her customers and thus had a better chance of succeeding.
It might be wishful thinking, but for now she was going with it.
Emmie was back in the store on Monday, still attacking the glamorous job of cleaning the bookshelves and boxing up paperbacks she’d never be able to sell. Her grandmother had been an idealistic book lover and never wanted to throw a book away, convinced that every book published had the perfect owner and it was her job to find it. She also accepted any trade-ins, no matter how dated, a practice that Emmie was going to stop immediately. Used books were a great market, but only if you kept stock that people actually wanted to buy.
She sneezed again, but this time she was prepared. That morning Emmie had left her contacts at home and stocked up on tissues. She’d be eternally grateful when the shop was clean and less dusty. The air was wreaking havoc on her allergies.
Emmie was halfway through the used middle grade fiction and deep in fifth grade nostalgia, so the raised voices on Main Street hardly registered. Her neighbors must have been fighting again. She’d been privy to another shouting match between them the night before. The bar next to the tattoo shop was blaring music; Ox and Ginger were yelling.
Emmie had liked the music. The shouting, not so much. But like any good bookworm, she was pretty good at blocking out the world when she had a book—this time stacks of them—in her hands. She was ignoring the ruckus until the bell over the door rang, heavy footsteps thumped into the shop, and a booming voice yelled, “Hey! Is anyone here?”
She stood slowly, clutching a stack of Island of the Blue Dolphins in front of her as she leaned around the bookshelf. Her eyes went wide when she saw him.
Miles Oxford stood in the middle of the bookshop, looking angry and sweaty. Seeing him indoors, it was obvious why the nickname “Ox” had stuck. The man was huge. His chest and shoulders were barely covered by a white undershirt, and worn jeans hung off his hips. He was nearly as tall as her front door, which meant he was well over six feet tall. He had a buzz cut and a furious expression. Emmie was tempted to hide, but she was too baffled as to why the man had walked into her store.
Ox spotted her behind the bookshelves. “Hey! Do you have a box?”
Emmie blinked. That was either the rudest or the most confusing greeting she’d ever heard. “Excuse me?”
“A box! A cardboard box. Like a packing box? I’ve seen you moving stuff in and out of here the past couple of days with your friends, so I thought you might have one.”
“Yeah, I think—”
Something thunked against Emmie’s window. She ran out from behind the bookshelves to see Ginger throwing clothes at her bookshop. A pair of jeans slid down in a pile, joining s
ome T-shirts that were scattered on the sidewalk.
Emmie could hear the woman screaming through the windows. “Are you fucking her too?”
Ox turned and walked out the door. “Are you insane? Cut this shit out, Yvette!”
Whaaaat had this man brought into her shop? Emmie wanted to shut the door on him and lock it, but Ox was too fast for her. He was back inside before she could cross the room. Should she call the police? The fire department? Ethan’s dad? Everyone listened to Mr. Vasquez.
“I’ll take care of this,” Ox growled. “Sorry.”
“I thought her name was Ginger.” It was probably the stupidest response to the situation, but what could Emmie do? The woman was throwing jeans at her store window, and she was pretty sure they were button fly. “Tell her if she breaks any windows, she’s paying for them. These are custom-sized and they’re not cheap.”
Ox shot Emmie half a smile before he went back into the fray, grabbing Ginger by the wrist and dragging her back across the street where a crowd was gathering in front of the tattoo shop. “Cut it out. You’re kicking me out? Fine. That girl has nothing to do with it. You want to piss off your neighbors and your customers?”
The door was open, so Emmie could hear Ginger scream back at him. “You’re a lying sack of shit!”
“You think that because you lie to everyone, but I’m not you.”
She punched his arm as they walked, but her fist looked like it bounced off the man’s massive shoulder. “You’re out of Bombshell! Do you hear me? Out! Your chair is mine.”
“I’m devastated.”
“And you better get all your shit out of my apartment, do you hear me?”
“You’ve thrown most of it out the window already.”
Emmie quietly grabbed two packing boxes from behind the counter and set them by the door. The man had enough to deal with from the looks of it. She could give him some boxes.
Chapter Four
“What the hell, Yvette?” Ox bent down, trying in vain to keep their argument at least a little bit private. “We’ve been over for months. You haven’t let me in your bedroom since June. We have been roommates and you know it. You jerk me around and create all these scenes? This is the last straw. I’m done.”
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