Chapter 1

Millie

“I love this story so much,” Claire says, holding the book close to her chest as she squeezes her eyes shut. “And the romance was chef’s kiss,” she says, her eyes opening as she kisses the tips of her fingers.

What did you think, Millie?” Helena asks me, settling into the oversized stuffed wingback chair in the back of my quaint bookshop.

“Well, honestly?” I ask, my voice faltering. “The love story was okay, but I felt like it was a bit too fictional for me. Like, nobody ever really feels like that, ya know?”

All the women of the Biddies Book Club stare at me like I’m an alien with two heads and tentacles. Much like the tentacles in the book we were reading.

“What?” I ask with a shrug.

“You’re kidding, right? Millie please tell me you’re joking.” Arlene asks, shaking her head.

Arlene’s been married seven times. And she always says each time was better than the last. She loves to talk about her wild adventures, and has even been known to talk about her active sex life at sixty-three years old.

I blink.

The women erupt into a cacophony of chatter, and sounds of clinking glassware.

“Millie, you’ve never had string-them-from-the-chandelier type of sex?” Helena asks.

June swats her hand at Helena. “Of course she has. Haven’t you sweetie?” June’s bright blues connect with mine.

“Um, well, not exactly.”

All six women in the Biddies Book Club stare at me in horror and disbelief. June covers her mouth in a silent gasp, her eyes wide with shock. Helena and Claire mirror her expression, their eyes almost comically large. Nelly looks like she might spontaneously combust, her face a mix of red and pale. Hazel is shaking her head back and forth, muttering under her breath. Arlene’s mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air, her hand clutching her chest.

And then there’s me, the unofficial seventh member of the Biddies Book Club, and also the youngest, I might add. When the women formed the club, they asked if they could host their weekly book club in my shop, Book, Spine, and Sinker Book Shop. Of course, I said yes, and over the years, I've joined in the fun.

Because if there’s one thing these women are, it’s fun. They’re all in their mid-to-late sixties, and every one of them is as unique as the next. June, with her impeccable fashion sense and sassy attitude, always has a witty remark ready. Helena, the quiet intellectual, often surprises us with her dry humor. Claire, the retired teacher, brings structure and insightful commentary to our discussions. Nelly, the former actress, adds dramatic flair and passion to every meeting. Hazel, with her nurturing demeanor, keeps us all grounded, while Arlene, the adventurous traveler, shares tales from her globetrotting escapades.

Each meeting is a blend of laughter, heated debates, and genuine camaraderie, and being a part of this eclectic group has been one of the highlights of my life.

“Millie, why haven’t you let a man spoil you? Weren’t you dating that Atwood boy for a while? What’s his name? Brock, right?” June asks, looking to the group for an answer.

“It was Brock. He’s so good-looking,” Nelly says with a smile. “I’d let him float my boat, if you know what I mean.”

I gasp. “It wasn’t like that, at all.” My eyes implore the others. “Seriously, we had zero chemistry. Honestly, we never did anything more than kiss.”

Claire clears her throat. “Millie, you’re not a virgin, are you?”

I shake my head. “No, I’ve had sex before. With Kyle and Ron, my ex’s.” I blink. “Obviously not at the same time,” I rush out, making sure they know I’m not into reverse harem style like we sometimes read about in the club.

“And neither of them ever rocked your world?” Helena asks.

“Define rock your world?”

“Oh dear,” Hazel says with a roll of her eyes. “We need to find you a man.”

I hold up a hand. “No, thank you. I’m all good.”

“Why, dear?” Hazel asks, her tone soft and neutral.

“I’m just busy with the store. I’m looking to expand. I’d like to add on a bakery.”

“That’s a fantastic idea,” Helena says, changing the subject. “Are you going to be doing the baking, or will you hire out?”

I nod, happy for the change. “I’ll hire out. Trust me,” I laugh. “You don’t want me baking anything.”

“I do love a good macaron.” Arlene says, and then launches into one of her stories about her travels to France.

Again, I’m thankful for the change in subject, but it gets me thinking. Is there really something wrong with me because I’ve never had good sex? If I’m being honest with myself, I’ve never even had a man make me orgasm before.

It’s silly, I know, but it’s the god’s honest truth.

A truth that haunts me late at night.

Maybe it’s just the type of woman I am. Maybe there’s something physically wrong with me. I can have orgasms just fine on my own, but never with the help of a man.

Maybe that’s just how my life will pan out.

After another fifteen minutes of talk about exploring Paris, and the women thinking it would be a good idea for me to travel to France to take on a French lover, the meeting ends, and the women leave.

It’s late.

Technically my store doesn’t close for another half hour, but I decide to close it down a bit early so I can head to my apartment above the shop and start reading next month’s book. I like to be ahead.

I clean up the paper cups from the wine that June brought to the club meeting and after a few minutes I find myself gazing out the bay window at the front of my shop.

There’s a bright star smack dab in the middle of the night sky, and I close my eyes. “I wish I could meet a man who could rock my world. Who can give me the best orgasm I’ve ever had. I’ve never had a man give me an orgasm, but I want there to be somebody out there who can.” I make my wish and then there’s a loud crash behind me.

I spin around, terrified of what I might find.

And it’s definitely the person who I least expect staring back at me. Big green eyes drink me in, and chills skate over my body.

Why am I having this reaction?

“Tripp Atwood?” Oh god. Did he hear me? “How long have you been here? Did you hear me?”

Please say no. Please say no.

He rubs at the back of his neck casually. “I may have heard a little something, or other.”

My cheeks flame red hot. “Get out,” I scream at him.

“Wait…I,” he stutters, holding up a book. “I’d like to buy this first, please?” His voice is calm, collected, and a hell of a lot cooler than how I feel right now.

“Um, okay,” I say, hesitant. “Follow me.” I head in the direction of the cash register in the back of the store.

I’ve known Tripp Atwood for a while. I dated his older brother, Brock. I’ve met Tripp a few times, but we’ve never been close. Never really had a lengthy conversation, except for that one day at his parent’s house. I can barely even remember what we talked about.

He follows quietly behind me, and I know I have to broach the subject on what he overheard. Maybe I can tell him I was just joking.

I head behind the counter, holding my hand out for the book. “Listen, about my wish,” I start, but he cuts me off.

“You’ve never had a man get you off?”

My eyes widen, and I find myself momentarily speechless. “Umm,” I stammer, struggling to find the right words.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he replies, his eyes twinkling with a playful glint and a casual smile that suggests he's not judging me at all.

“It’s a long story,” I manage to say as I ring up his book. He hands me his credit card with a nonchalant air. I glance at the book’s cover and notice the title: How to Publish a Book? My eyebrow arches in surprise.

He shrugs, his demeanor relaxed. “Yeah, I’ve, uh, been writing.”

“Really?” I ask, my curiosity piqued. “I thought you worked at the Atta Boy Brewery with your brothers.”

He gives another casual shrug, and I take a moment to really look at him. Tripp Atwood, with his ruggedly handsome features, is definitely packing some muscles. His well-defined arms are visible beneath the sleeves of his shirt, and there's something undeniably attractive about his casual confidence. The way he stands, relaxed yet assertive, only adds to his allure.

Am I really checking out my ex-boyfriend’s brother?