by Viv Royce
“I fail to see how.” Dad shifted weight in his chair and folded his hands on the edge of his desk. “We made set rules for everyone to abide by so a takeover can be easily executed. We can acquaint people with our rules before the fact, and once they’ve accepted them, there would be no discussions later on that they don’t want to comply. It’s the same for everyone, which also makes it easy to defend our choices and ask people to commit. Your idea seems to be complicated and time-consuming.”
Frustration bit his gut, but not so long ago, these words would have been his own. His father was only being practical. That was how he had managed to build the Stephens chain into the success story it was today. Simply brushing aside his concerns now would be denying all the hard work he put into the empire. “I’ve met with more than twenty shopkeepers in the past few days. They all had something in common: a passion for books. And ideas how to sell them to the people they know.” He spread his hands. “That is their unique strength. They know their customers. They meet them in church, at the bridge club, or in the library. They do sports together and take their children to the same parties. They are almost like an extended family—you know that Aunt Livia likes dessert cookbooks and your ten-year-old nephew freaks out over trains.”
His father hitched a brow as if he didn’t exactly buy into this, but Mark pushed on. “You always say the best method is word of mouth. These small town booksellers are themselves an advertisement for their stores. They represent the book world to their customers. Their knowledge of the audience is invaluable.”
“Then why are they all so financially strung they need to turn to us to keep afloat?”
“They have costs because they are independent that they won’t have when being part of the chain. You know that. I need not go into detail.” Mark leaned on his father’s desk with both his hands. “Consider this. These people have access to a huge potential customer group. Their shops serve a regional function. They’re socially engaged, donating to causes that engender goodwill among the population. They have excellent connections with fellow shopkeepers with whom they form a chamber of commerce or a more informal group that takes care of the interests of business owners in their town. Their whole social network is there for us to tap into. We need them as much as they need us. But we cannot force them into…a template. They have to stay individual. That’s their charm, their strength.”
His father stared at him with a frown. Mark could see he was processing all of this. At least it was not a straight no. He resisted the urge to pace again and remained standing there, holding his father’s gaze.
“And Graham is okay with becoming this…what did you call it? Small town strategist?” It sounded almost like a dirty word.
Mark suppressed a smile. “Yes, he is. You know Graham comes from a small town. When I told him about relations there, the social network, it was instantly familiar to him. I’ll feed him—”
“Why are you not becoming the small town strategist? You’re traveling around seeing the plans these people have in action. You’re closest to the fire.”
Mark stood motionless. This was the point he’d feared the most. He could beat about the bush and sell his father some lies, but he didn’t want to. He wanted him to know the full truth and be behind the ideas he fostered. “Because I’d like to work less hours and this small town strategist will need to be on top of things 24/7, at least in the beginning.”
His father eyed him. That he didn’t immediately scoff or say it was a no-go gave Mark a bit of hope that he could actually get his father to back this. In his mind, it was a done deal. He was going to work less hours. But he didn’t want to shove that down his father’s throat, not unless he had to. If I can convince Dad…
He continued, “You know I wanted to do that last year. But the situation with the two huge takeovers on the West Coast didn’t allow it. Now the timing is right. I’ll still travel and assess but not constantly. I want time off for things I care about.”
Now his father scoffed. “Don’t start about this working with kids thing again. You may have been a Boy Scout leader in college, but those days are over.”
“I had a chance at one of the shops I visited to be at an event for kids. It was fun. It was relaxing, and it reminded me that I take too little time off. I don’t have any hobbies. When’s the last time I sailed? Or traveled for fun? It’s all work now, and I don’t want to end up like you. You live for the chain. Which is fine with me, really, but it’s not the future I see for myself.”
He waited for his father to argue, erupt in anger, call him irresponsible or whatever.
But his father sighed and said, “Your mother will tell me she saw it coming. Last week she said to me, ‘If you keep that boy on too short a leash, he’ll pull away from you and you’ll lose him for certain.’”
Thanks, Mom. At the same time, pain slashed through him. The situation with Tamela had probably prompted her to say it. The fear of losing both of her children, the happy family they had once been.
Dad said, “Your mother is a smart woman. I listen when she says something. So in order not to lose you completely, I must let go a bit.”
He glared at Mark from under his brows. “You will keep assessing? I don’t like leaving that to someone else.”
“I will, and I’ll help Graham settle into his new role. I’ve put some excellent ideas he can use in a file, and I’ll work with him closely on a workable plan.”
His father nodded. “I suppose we do need to be a bit flexible at times. Can’t expect things to be the same everywhere.” His expression was grave as he stared down at his hands. Mark wanted to ask how Dad felt about Tamela getting back together with James, but he already knew the answer, didn’t he? They were facing a tough time ahead.
His father looked up and smiled warily. “Okay then. You show me it can be done. I have faith in you. And in Graham. You two have never let me down before.” Others have. Mark wanted to reach out and pat his father on the shoulder. But his father hated sentimentality.
“Great. I’ll write a full report on it. Later, because I have something else to do first.”
He walked to the door. In his head, he was already on his way back to Wood Creek. He’d tell Cleo in person that her shop was saved and didn’t need to change at all. That she could keep doing what she did so well, and he…would come do something with kids near her, and they could see each other, without him being her boss. Sure, she’d be in the chain, but reporting to Graham, not him, and…her objections to them getting together had been addressed. And he had his special surprise for her, drawn up and put into the red envelope in his inner pocket. He’d give it to her right after he handed over the file folder with plans for the shop. Can’t wait to see her expression.
…
Cleo ran a loving finger across the foil on the kids’ book cover before reaching up to place it on the shelf. She could just reach it, standing on tiptoe, not having to fetch the stool. There. But something was off, and she gave it a better look. It was upside down. Focus, girl.
She shook her head about her own ditziness. She’d stayed way too long in the shower, burned her toast, put on two different socks. She couldn’t get Mark—his touch, his smile, his kiss—out of her head. Oh, that kiss that still made her spine tingle. Breaking new ground and at the same time coming home. Into his arms.
But she had pushed him away. She had locked him out, shutting her front door in his face, slipping the latch on, as if she was protecting herself against an intruder. And it had felt that way. Like she needed to protect herself against someone who was suddenly getting way too close and meant way too much to her. This had never been the plan. Friends, maybe, because he was a great guy, but nothing more. Nothing complicated, nothing involving becoming vulnerable.
Cleo bit her lip. He was probably livid at her response, had left town already, gone back to his own life. He might be so mad now he wouldn’t even take the
shop into the chain. Rook might need to close for real, because she had been so stupid.
But that was not the worst of it. She’d never see him again. Never stand close to him again, feel his warmth, smell his aftershave. See the twinkle in his eyes as he riled her just a little. Forced her out of her comfort zone.
Don’t be so weak, she scolded herself. You don’t need him. You know that there might not be enough to connect you in the future. Would Mark like small town life? Nah. He would want you to come to the city with him, and that’s a no-go for you. You are not compatible.
Literary likes or not.
This is safer, better. Shut up, stupid heart!
She went back to the counter where a cardboard box held more children’s books and peered in. Oh, that new YA fairytale-inspired series she had been looking forward to. It deserved a place in the window. But what to remove to make room for it? She climbed into the narrow window space and looked around. The women’s fiction books with heart in the title could go after Valentine’s Day was over. Then she could use that corner and dress it up a bit, maybe with big leaves, to represent the enchanted forest in which the YA stories took place. Yes, she’d make paper leaves and spray them glittery golden and silver. A nice job to take her mind off…
She turned away carefully, balancing the books on her arm, and was now face to face with the window. Face to face with someone peering in. His eyes were level with hers, his lips…
Cleo held her breath as she stared at Mark through the glass. He stood there on the sidewalk, outside her shop. He hadn’t left town in a rush. He wasn’t angry with her. He smiled at her, a sort of half-amused, half-tender smile.
Blood rushed to her face, and she turned away, clutching the books that threatened to slip from her grasp. Moments ago, she had been sorry about never seeing him again, and now that he was suddenly there, she wanted to run away. Avoid a confrontation that might be painful.
She barely had time to climb back into the shop as the doorbell chimed, and Mark was there, reaching out for her.
“Careful.” He took her arm and helped her balance herself. “There isn’t a lot of space there.”
“It’s big enough for its purpose. Usually it’s not me on display.”
“It looked very charming.” Mark’s eyes twinkled, and his warmth rolled against her. She wanted to put her hand against his chest and say she was sorry for slamming the door in his face, but at the same time she didn’t want to say it because she wasn’t sure that he had felt what she had felt and…
She didn’t even have a free hand because she was holding a stack of books.
She pulled away from him to put the books on the shelf. Her brain could barely process the authors’ names. Did L come after M?
“I’ve got some good news,” Mark said behind her back. “I talked to my father about the future of your shop.”
“Inclusion in the chain?” Cleo asked. Her heart beat even faster. What if his father had said it was a no-go? Would Mark accept that? Could she plead with him to give her a chance? To give Rook a chance to earn its survival? But he had already given her a chance to prove it to him, with the Valentine’s events.
“I presented my father with a plan to have a special strategy for small stores. Because the village vibe is not the same as the big city’s. We’re going to allow small shops to maintain their own flavor that serves their community.”
“Really?” Cleo turned to stare at him. She wasn’t sure she had heard him right or understood what it meant. “No need to carry all the big bestsellers? No dress code?”
Mark grinned. “Exactly. Your decisions. Your shop.”
Cleo couldn’t believe her ears. He was giving it back to her? She could keep wearing her clothes, make her own stock choices, dress the window with waterfalls? No leading people past the cash register for buys? “But how did your father respond to that?”
“He trusts my judgment. I’ve seen all the shops for myself, talked to all the owners.”
All the owners. You hear that? Not just you. He’s not doing this for you. It’s a business decision. Nothing personal.
“I came up with a good plan, because you can’t convince my father with idealism. Only facts.”
Yes, we’re talking about facts here, business opportunities. Whatever brought in money. His way or mine. A rational decision.
“Dad agreed to it, so the shop is saved.”
Cleo nodded. Part of her wanted to run at Mark and throw her arms around his neck and hug him to thank him for it, but if it was all based on facts and such, that would be super awkward. Maybe he regretted their kiss. Maybe it had happened in a moment of…being carried away by the atmosphere, the pleasant night. The sudden mad belief in something normally way out of reach. Off-limits.
“And there’s even better news,” Mark said.
Cleo frowned. Even better? What could be better than the shop being safe? That was unreal. She no longer had to fear about the future. That she’d be part of the Stephens chain, have security, and could run the shop the way she wanted. Keep the book castle and the special offers, and the coffee corner for stressed housewives and…all the things Mark had objected to earlier. Now he suddenly approved.
Her mind refused to process it.
Mark said, “Graham is going to lead the small town program.”
“Graham?” Cleo echoed, confused.
“My father’s right-hand man. He’s a perfect fit. That puts a bit of distance between the program and me. Between…” Mark’s gaze intensified. “Stores in the program and me.”
Cleo still held one book in her hands. The edges of the cover bit into her palm. What did he mean? He couldn’t actually want to say…
“Between you and me,” he said slowly. “You said I was becoming your boss and… But I’m not any longer. Not technically. I’m part of the chain, of course, but you don’t report to me. I don’t comment on the shop. I don’t look into your finances and all.” He gestured around him.
She didn’t follow. But then it was hard for her to think when she was staring into those ice blue eyes.
“And…” Mark stepped closer. “As I’m no longer your boss, am not looking over your shoulder, we could…you know…be together.”
Her breath caught. He was offering her all this? Keep the shop, run it her way, and also be with him? He had set this up for her?
Of course he hasn’t. Have you been paying attention at all? It’s an entire program of all kinds of shops in the region. He explained it to you, and it’s going to be rolled out in other states. You gave him an idea or two, maybe. It’s not about you.
It never was before, with Mom or Dad or friends. With anybody, really. So why now with Mark?
She blinked, nervous, undone, suddenly no longer able to keep him at arm’s length. He was coming straight for her, with his gesture, his offer. He wasn’t her boss. They were free to date. He had it all worked out. Handed to her on a silver platter.
More nights like the Literary Likes dinner—smiling at each other, feeling their way into each other’s world. More moments where she’d have to open up and show herself to him.
Her gut tightened, and her palms filled with sweat. She had convinced him with her ideas, yeah; there had never been anything wrong with her brain. Maybe it had even been the lawyer in her, still able to argue and win. She could convince people with her smart ideas, with what she could bring to the table. Even her own parents had seen that in her. Give us what we want and we will love you. Don’t disappoint us or we will pull back.
I can’t go through with it. I can’t open up and fear he’ll walk away again. Once we’ve gotten to know each other better, it’ll only become harder. There’s not a lot to regret now. Play it safe, and tell him no.
…
Mark looked at Cleo. She was so pale, her eyes wide and vulnerable. He had expected her to be happy, to jump for jo
y. Run around her shop, whooping, or give him a hug. Whatever. Some indication that this decision he had made was what she’d wanted, hoped for. But she seemed uncertain, almost wary. Weighing her words.
Confusion froze his brain. Did I do the wrong thing? Did she want the shop to close as a way out, back to her old life and her parents?
No, I didn’t misjudge her that badly.
You don’t make mistakes like that, right? a cynical voice whispered inside. He took a deep breath. He had to get through to her. Somehow. “I’ve brought the paperwork.” He showed her a thick red file folder. “It explains the program and how you can also contribute to it, inspire other shopkeepers with your ideas. I think that they will accept something more easily if it comes from another shopkeeper than from a stranger.”
“Not top to bottom, but bottom up. Smart strategy.”
He held out the folder to her. “Have a read, see how you like it.” He had put a present for her on top of the papers in the folder. Once she saw that, her reluctance would melt. It was a tangible token of what had formed between them.
And then there was the envelope with his surprise, burning a hole in his pocket. He was going to give it to her after she unwrapped the present. His mouth was dry.
She stood still. “I’ll look at the paperwork later. I’m really busy now. I have to change the window and all that.”
His heart skipped a beat, his thoughts buzzing around like a fly hitting a window. She isn’t happy? She doesn’t even want to look at the folder? But this was what she wanted, right? To keep the shop and…
Of course.
Suddenly, ice poured down his veins. His entire body went rigid. The wooden floorboards shifted under his feet, and he fell into a dark hollow. That was it. She had never wanted him, friendship with him, a relationship with him. Just his money, his influence to save her shop. Now that he had said that Rook was saved, she need not smile at him anymore, spend time with him anymore. Against her will?