I do the inventory, taking stock of what’s been sitting in the store for more than thirty days, for more than sixty, peruse the catalog that our distributor has emailed me this morning to pick and choose from what I think will sell best in the shop.

  I check the orders for our online store and start packing up what I can, printing out shipping labels and the like, greeting some customers that walk in to take in the cozy ambience, the flameless candles lining the shelves looking like a safe haven from the bitter cold outside.

  This place is my home away from home, but the whole day I’m unable to give myself permission to relax.

  Maybe this is the moment like in all of my favorite stories where the hero is faced with a decision, a grand change that’ll make them leave their old lives behind and set on a journey that’s terrifying and dangerous and that might not see them come back home at all.

  It sure feels like it, and the gnawing worry in my stomach as my impending afternoon call looms closer and closer with Mrs. Bristol has me queasy.

  As the day passes and time slips away from me, I know she’s not going to call today, and I’m going to have to wait for a second chance for tomorrow to understand why Noah’s here all of a sudden.

  You know why he’s here, you know why.

  Why else would Mrs. Bristol entrust her nephew with her keys without telling you? You know what this means, Evie.

  It certainly doesn’t help matters when Noah comes back in the late evening, holding out a coffee that smells like a caramel macchiato and has the looks of a caramel macchiato and one I would very much want, but I’ve seen Snow White, even read the old fairy tale, and I’m not taking any poison apples disguised as delicious coffee, thank you very much.

  I eye the paper cup Noah places on the counter for me, my name written across it and everything. He starts perusing the aisles and stops at the science fiction and fantasy section, and I snort, because yeah, I pegged him as an SFF nerd, too.

  I keep shooting glances at him as he takes his time browsing, getting more and more uncomfortable until more kids come in, university students starting their spring semester. They ask about more affordable alternatives to their textbooks that they can keep as physical copies instead of going to the university bookstores all the time.

  I deal with them, a pack of girls and guys all laughing nervously, sipping at hot drinks like it’ll stave off the way the temperature’s dipped throughout the day. Some of them even ask for job openings, which I stop myself just in time from doing a happy wiggle.

  I know how a semester works—everything looks fine and dandy in the very beginning, but by the time these kids get closer to finals, I’m going to be stuck holding the bag, I just know it.

  I give them our support email address anyway to get their CVs, and then it’s Noah’s turn in the line. He hands me a book that I ring up for him, noting the beautiful cover of a book I definitely was not expecting him to pick and read, let alone pay for.

  “Do you need a bag?” I ask, not making eye contact, adjusting my glasses on my nose, waiting for him to fill the silence. When he doesn’t, I chance a glance at him, and he’s smiling at me, not in a creepy or threatening way, just as if he’s thought of something pleasant.

  “That’s for you. My aunt told me you like reading about dragons. I hope you haven’t read this one. Enjoy it, Evalyn. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  I glance down at the book, the cover depicting a gorgeous scarlet dragon and a hunky male lead that has me itching to start reading it immediately.

  “Tomorrow?” I query, but the chime of the door tells me he’s already left.

  You know what this means, Evie. Your days are numbered.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  FOUR

  It’s not a surprise that I didn’t sleep well last night.

  I walk to work like the zombie I am, carrying my carcass to the shop, grunting in Noah’s general direction while he waits for me to unlock the front door and step inside the shop.

  Noah’s silent behind me as I putter around the place, shivering from the cold and the fatigue. I feel him watching and listening, which is good, because I don’t think I can deal with any talking right now as a horrifying yawn overtakes me and makes tears leak out of my eyes at the force of it.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have let Noah inside in the first place.

  Maybe I should have been smarter at this, but there’s something to be said about absent logical decision-making when there’s been a serious lack of cumulative sleep for the past few weeks while my boss is on a trip of a lifetime and I have to do everything myself.

  Tonight’s Izzy’s night to work again. I’m sure she’ll show up here and call the cops if I’m nowhere to be found, not working until closing time.

  There’s something to be said about being predictable.

  I basically have no life outside of running the business, and while that would make most people sad, I can’t deny that I absolutely love working here, love making the shop my own. And hopefully making it my own on a more permanent basis when Mrs. Bristol gets back.

  But Noah being here, encroaching in my sacred space? No, just no.

  That definitely throws a giant wrench into my plans to take over the lease from Mrs. Bristol one day. I just needed another five hundred years to amass more of the capital and get my investments in order, and to go to the bank with a perfectly executed business plan that I have been tweaking for the past year to feel ready to make my final presentation.

  I could have done it, too. I just need more time to feel really comfortable with my decision.

  How can I get more time when Noah’s already here?

  How about we don’t jump to conclusions just yet, huh? That might be a good idea.

  “Good morning,” Noah says, voice warm like honey, and I just end up yawning at him, hastily trying to cover my mouth. “Ah, you haven’t had coffee yet, huh?”

  I finish my yawn, frowning at him.

  Noah shrugs and runs a hand through his dirty-blond hair, looking a whole lot better than I feel, that’s for sure. He’s dressed in jeans and a cable knit sweater that I can see now that he’s chucking off his coat, getting really comfortable in my space as he heads to the back office with me instead of waiting for me to invite him in.

  He’s not a vampire that can’t cross the threshold. He doesn’t need your invitation.

  See, that’s why books are better than real life—there are rules to follow.

  I bite back the indignation and the need to call him out for looking too comfortable in here, looking right at home when he’s not welcome.

  There’s no use right now in saying anything before I’ve spoken with Mrs. Bristol today, before I actually know where I stand now that Noah is here. I ignore the cold, sinking feeling of dread in my body as fear starts to paralyze me at the prospect of losing the shop, of losing my place in it.

  I’ve pored over the company numbers a thousand times, and while they’re doing better than they were, they’re still not great. I know I need to work harder to get them up, and I know I can. I don’t need Noah breathing down my neck and potentially reporting back to his aunt about how shitty a job I’m doing with this place.

  I pull in a deep breath through my nose and follow Noah to the back office, hearing his sharp intake of breath at the feeling of the cold air in the room.

  “What the hell? Why’s it so cold in here?”

  “Relax,” I say around a yawn, moving to the space heater and turning it on to the max. “It’ll take like twenty minutes to get warm.”

  Noah’s eyes bug out, and he looks more afraid of the space heater than he does of jumping out of a plane at fifteen thousand feet on a regular basis. Granted, he does jump out of the plane with a parachute.

  Honestly, though, what the hell does a skydiving instructor know about running a bookshop?

  How does having a degree in English lit qualify a giant book nerd to run a business? That’s what my online classes are for, though.

  “No, that’s not it. That’s a fire hazard. How long has this been here? This shit here looks older than me.”

  I grunt at him, fisting my hands at my hips. Yes, I am aware that he is bigger and brawnier than I am, but if he keeps talking shit about my store, I’m going to have to beat him with a brick of a hardcover and hide the body in the walls and give the ghosts a new friend.

  “Just leave it alone. It works fine.”

  “Evalyn, no it doesn’t.” Noah shakes his head earnestly, the look on his face like he’s watching an impending horror—like the tsunami wave that’s about to crash on the shore, the wayward tire that flew off a truck headed straight toward your car.

  “Evie,” I snap. “You can call me Evie, remember?”

  Noah nods hastily, glancing away, eyes roving over the tiny back office where most of the magic happens. It’s stocked full of paperbacks and hardcovers across a myriad of genres. The dwindling piles and the sloping stacks add a certain character to the place, or at least it does in my humble opinion.

  “Jesus Christ, I didn’t know it was this bad,” he says, eyes roving over my space.

  “Excuse me?” I ask through gritted teeth, waiting for him to revise his answer.

  Noah’s dark eyes flit over to me, and I wonder if he can actually see me, or if my wallflower superpowers keep me lost from his sight. Nope, just my imagination since he’s looking dead at me, giving me all of his attention. “My aunt told me you’re drowning, that this place is drowning.”

  I groan, affronted, lips pulling back from my teeth, a snarl in place. “Want to repeat that again?”

  I’m not like this usually. I don’t take kindly to strangers being dicks, but other than a death glare where I set fire to them in my brain, I don’t really do much.

  I’m a reader, I live inside my head more often than not—I balk at everyday life and all the curveballs it throws me. I don’t even like baseball, how am I supposed to catch a curveball that’s whipping towards me at impossible speeds?

  That’s what this is—Noah is a curveball from hell, and I only have my bare hands to try and catch him and save myself from getting hurt.

  But honestly, though, would Mrs. Bristol betray me like this?

  Would she?

  Business is business—it shouldn’t be personal, but it more often than not is, in my limited experience.

  “She didn’t say it like that, come on, Evie,” Noah says, running a hand through his hair again, looking around for somewhere to place his coat. I point it out to him and watch him walk away, trying to figure out how all of this going to go.

  “All right, so where do we start?” He claps his hands together, too happy, too loud this early in the morning.

  I frown at him, put my own coat away, and then turn around to look at him, crossing my arms over my chest. My heart beats erratically, and all I want to do is have a stable connection with Mrs. Bristol where the call doesn’t get dropped with her meager data plan and get to the bottom of this. “Where do we start what?”

  “Well, what do you do first? I’m here to help.” Noah looks ready to do battle, like he’s waiting for me to assign him to the front lines.

  I rub at my forehead at the tiny spark of pain between my eyes, then sigh, taking off my glasses to wipe them. “I can’t think right now; I need coffee first.” I wave at our little coffee maker, and Noah offers to make us both some. I leave him to it, sitting at the desk and opening up my laptop, running through my emails quickly before ordering them based on priority of which ones need to be answered first.

  The smell of caffeine permeates the room, and I surreptitiously watch Noah out of the corner of my eye perusing the place, holding my breath, fingers frozen on the keyboard, watching and waiting for his verdict.

  If he’s here to help that means Mrs. Bristol put him here to help, and that can only mean one thing: that I’m doing such an abysmal job that I apparently need supervision. I need a babysitter.

  It hurts, of course, to be seen in that way when I’ve thought I was competent more often than not. I don’t mind help per se; I mind that it was done behind my back without discussing it with me first.

  I mean, I’ve worked here for almost ten years.

  Didn’t I merit a single conversation to discuss my future with the shop? At least a single conversation where Mrs. Bristol lays it out straight to me?

  See? This is another plot twist. I didn’t think Mrs. Bristol would have done this to me, doing it all behind my back.

  “What’s this?” Noah asks, pointing to my pad of paper that I write my daily tasks on, transferring what was left over from the day before to today’s to-do list, drowning in the tasks that never ever seem to get completely done. Noah squints at it, and I feel again like he’s looking through my underwear drawer, peering into something completely private.

  Noah peers over at me, mouth agape. “You do this all by yourself? Every single day? What?”

  I nod slowly, shrugging it off. If it’s a question of capability, I have it in spades.

  “Is the coffee done?” I ask, too tired to even move. I squint at him through gritty eyes. “You know the book you bought me? Which, I don’t know if I thanked you for, so thank you, Noah, that was really kind of you,” I say, meaning it. I love getting books for presents. Even if it is a gift from my enemy. Maybe it was a Trojan Horse to make me look incompetent this morning.

  “Oh, yeah? Did you like it?”

  “It’s a dragon shifter romance,” I say deadpan, stating the obvious.

  Noah glances back at me as he locates the mugs helpfully placed right next to the coffee machine (mine a bright red, and Mrs. Bristol’s a dusty butter-yellow that Noah rinses out), and he brings over my first shot of caffeine for the day.

  “Oh, do you not like those?” Noah asks, placing my mug in front of me.

  I blink at him, sure that this is a joke. “I thought you wouldn’t know about those kinds of books, that they exist.”

  Noah shrugs. “The story’s great. I don’t see what’s not to like?” He takes a seat across from me, moving the stacks of documents I have there—inventory sheets, order sheets, shipping labels that I need to organize into our database so they’re easy to re-print instead of starting from scratch.

  Shoulda, woulda, coulda, right, Evie?

  “It’s surprising, is all. I didn’t mean to offend you,” I say, inhaling the smell coming off my mug.

  “I’m not offended. Did you like it? Wait, did you finish it last night? Evie, that’s a four-hundred-page novel. You read it all, in its entirety?” Noah gapes at me, like he just met a superhero in real life.

  I keep nodding the more Noah keeps talking.

  “Holy shit, you’re a speed reader?”

  I shake my head. “No, no I’m not. I just read fast.” I rub at my tired eyes, trying to get some moisture to them so they don’t hurt so much. What I really need is a humidifier, but I’ll have to go into my personal funds for that instead of the shop’s budget for accessories.

  I sigh deeply, running a hand to the back of my neck, tilting it left and right until something cracks.

  “That’s basically the definition of a speed-reader, Evie.”

  I shake my head, slurp up some coffee, the bitter taste soothing me from the inside out.

  “Evan, why are you here?” I lament, then freeze. Evan is not Noah’s name, he’s not Noah. “Shit, sorry. Noah. I know you’re Noah. I know that.”

  “That’s all right. I know you’re beat. So tell me what I can do to help around here. It’s what my aunt wants.”

  I glance over at him, the way he looks at home, the way he looks comfortable as if he’s always belonged sitting right across from me. And I don’t like it, at all. I’ve worked my ass off to run this place, and this guy just waltzes in like he owns the place?

  Absolutely not, no way.

  I’m not going down without a fight.

  Not that I’m going to do anything drastic and sabotage the shop. I love this place, and I’m going to save this place from the evil wrath of Noah Bristol. Is he a Bristol?

  So what if he is? What does that change?

  Nothing, absolutely nothing.

  A line’s been drawn in the sand.

  “Look, I know this is a weird situation, but I'm basically here because my aunt told me to be here, Evie. It’s not like I want to infringe, or anything like that. I’m just doing what I was told.”

  I frown at him, drinking some more coffee, waiting for my brain to help me read between the lines, to figure out this situation.

  “I’m going to talk to your aunt, and I’ll get to the bottom of this,” I scoff. Jesus, Evie, what the hell? Way to sound ominous. This isn’t one of your books.

  Life would be so much easier if people followed their lines, wouldn’t it?

  “Sure, of course. I know it was a surprise seeing me yesterday. And now today. I get that, I do. But I’m really here to help out, lift the heavy shit, you know?” he laughs, pointing to the stack of books that would probably take me longer to move than he’d be able to.

  But I know he’s more than just brawn, more than an extra set of arms. He’s gotta be here to replace me. Right?

  I sigh. It’s too early for this and I didn’t eat enough breakfast this morning to go with this caffeine. My body’s needs are currently staving off the identity crisis that I’m going to be having sooner rather than later.

  If I get tossed out on my ear, what’s going to happen to me? Who the hell am I without this place?

  Maybe this is what you need, Evie. Maybe you need such a massive change in your life that you finally evolve from being a wallflower to being an interesting person that doesn’t just work and work and read all the time?

  I could take all that money I’ve been saving and blow it—like an irresponsible person—but at least it’d be a story to tell.

  What kind of stories have you been telling about your boring life lately, huh?

  Not many.

  No one wants to read a story where the main character doesn’t do anything. No one.

  I squint at Noah again, trying to make sense of this entire conversation, situation, all of it. But first, I might as well get him to help me as much as I can, waiting for a call that might not come today, too.