Chapter 2

GEORGE

“I’m sorry, George.” Ben coughed so loudly I pulled my phone back from my ear. “I slept through all my alarms and I’m feeling terrible.”

“It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it. We’ll manage.” I eyed the growing line of customers waiting to place orders and the dirty tables that needed cleaning. Sweat pricked on my face, but there was nothing I could do. Ben was sick, and there was no one I could call on for help. I took a fortifying breath. I’d built Novel Gossip, my dream café-bookstore, from the ground up, pouring my heart and soul into it for the last three years. If required, I’d work myself to the bone to keep it going and make sure I didn’t let down my customers.

Romina banged the bell, indicating a food order was ready, so I tucked the phone between my shoulder and ear and rushed into the kitchen. A breakfast burrito was wrapped up and sitting on the counter. I shot a tentative glance at Romina, who frowned as she aggressively sliced some avocado. She was clearly still in a terrible mood.

Ben cleared his throat. “Oh, by the way, a woman came by after you left yesterday, saying she’d like to apply for the job. I told her to come back today when you’re working. She seemed nice—friendly, in her thirties, a bit shy. Just moved to the area with her husband. She could be just what we need.”

I handed the breakfast burrito and an iced coffee to Dan, the owner of the pub down the road, with an apologetic smile and grabbed the tongs to put the next customer’s muffin in a paper bag while I processed Ben’s comment.

Some tension in my chest released at the news of a potential new employee. Hopefully she hasn’t found another job already. Dippin’ Donuts would snap her up in a second. It was a shame she’d showed up after I’d left early to take Maximus, my golden retriever, to the vet for a regular check-up. An extra pair of hands was exactly what we needed right now. We actually needed two or three more pairs of hands, but I’d take what I could get. This time of year was always busy in Sapphire Springs, which was a popular destination for city-dwellers looking for an escape. We’d been struggling to keep up with demand since Jules resigned three weeks ago to move to Brooklyn. And now that Ben was sick, the situation was dire.

I checked the next order. Two cappuccinos to go. I needed to finish speaking to Ben before I started making them, or he wouldn’t be able to hear anything over the noise.

“I hope so. That would be great!” I pulled the portafilter out of the espresso machine.

“I think there was something else I was going to tell you, but it’s slipped my mind. I’ll text you if I think of it,” Ben said, his voice weary.

“Look, rest up and take care of yourself, okay? And don’t worry about us. Take as long as you need,” I said.

As soon as Ben hung up, I placed my phone on the counter, emptied the portafilter into the garbage, and focused my attention on getting through the backlog of coffee orders and serving the waiting customers.

It was just me on the floor today and Romina and Shane in the kitchen. Being run off my feet wasn’t a bad problem to have, but if I couldn”t give my customers the level of customer service they were used to, I worried they might take their business elsewhere. Namely, to the Dippin’ Donuts chain store around the corner. While their coffee and food couldn’t compete with Novel Gossip, and they didn’t sell books, they were fast and cheaper. Much to my dismay, I’d already noticed a few customers walk in the door this morning, eye the long line, and then turn on their heels.

As I poured frothed milk into a couple of to-go cups, my phone lit up. I glanced over.

Mom. She was probably calling about booking airfares for her visit in June. I eyed the line of waiting customers. I’d have to call her back tonight. A pang of guilt shot through me at letting her call go through to voicemail, but I had to stay focused.

“Here you go. Sorry about the delay,” I said as I handed the next customer her coffees.

I took the remaining customers’ orders and then set to work completing them as fast as I could.

I’d just put the finishing touches on an iced vanilla latte for one of the local teachers, Maya, and was planning to take advantage of the brief lull in new customers to rush out and clear some tables, when a loud thump caused me to jump. I looked up to see Rory Goldsworthy glaring at me, four dog-eared books on the counter in front of him, and I sighed. Here we go again.

“I want a refund,” Rory barked.

Maya shook her head in sympathy as I gave her the latte, and then she sensibly made a quick escape. Rory had a reputation in Sapphire Springs for being the resident grump.

“You’ve obviously read the books. The spines are creased. You can’t return them,” I said firmly, trying not to lose my cool. This was the last thing I needed right now.

Rory’s face flamed red, a stark contrast to his white hair, as he gave me a death stare. “It’s within my legal rights to get a refund.”

“No, Rory, it’s not. Our return policy states clearly that refunds won’t be given for used books. Not only that, but the refund window is thirty days, and you bought these over three months ago.” A mild pain throbbed in my head. I’d barely made it through the morning coffee rush, and now I had to spend precious time—that I could have used to clear tables stacked with dirty coffee cups and plates—convincing Rory that Novel Gossip wasn’t a lending library.

“I’m going to speak to my lawyer about this,” Rory grumbled.

“You do that, Rory.” I grabbed the cleaning spray and a cloth and beelined for the dirty tables, hoping he wouldn’t follow.

I’d cleaned one table and was halfway through the second when the front door slowly opened, revealing a large man in a baseball cap walking backward, pulling a huge dolly stacked high with boxes of books. A lot of boxes of books. At least ten times more books than our usual deliveries.

My heart sank. Please let this not be a repeat of the time I accidentally ordered two hundred copies of a book about the Great Depression instead of two.

I approached the man. John, our usual delivery driver, had been out sick with the flu, and this was presumably one of his replacements. “Hi, I’m George, the owner. Is all this for us?”

Please say no.

“Yep, all for Novel Gossip,” the man said, smiling, looking around. His smile faltered as he took in the tables covered with dirty dishes. At least the bookstore section of Novel Gossip, which stretched from the right of the counter all the way to the back of the building, wasn’t in a similar state of disarray. “Where should I offload them?”

Goddamnit. Could this day get any worse?

“Er, would you mind if I looked at the invoice first? I think there may have been a mistake. I’m sure we didn’t order this many books.”

He handed me the invoice, and I scanned through it. It all looked normal until the note at the end: Special Delivery: 841 x The Realm of Furies, H. M. Stuart.

My chest tightened. Shit. How the hell had I ordered 841 copies of The Realm of Furies? Yes, H. M. Stuart was one of my favorite authors, and I’d devoured an advanced reader copy of The Realm of Furies a few weeks ago and adored it. One perk of owning a bookstore was that publishers sent me books before they were published. But there was no way I’d be able to sell 841 copies of it in Sapphire Springs. It wasn’t even meant to be released for another four or so weeks. I shook my head. The whole thing was strange.

“I’m sorry, there must have been a mistake. I don’t think I ordered these books.” I pointed at the end note. “If I did, it was a mistake on my part. Would you mind leaving me ten copies and taking the rest?” Even moving ten copies was optimistic.

The man’s smile faded further. “No, sorry, you need to sign for them all. If there’s a problem, you’ll have to speak to the main office about it.”

Two customers walked in. One took a seat at a table and another headed to the counter. I glanced at my watch, my heart beating faster than usual. The lunch rush would be starting soon, and I didn’t have time to try to convince the delivery person to take the books back. All the books Novel Gossip stocked were returnable to the publisher, so I wasn’t worried about getting stuck paying for them. It was more of a logistical issue. It’d been a squeeze fitting a café and bookstore into this space, so we didn’t have a lot of storage space for excess stock and our storage shed was completely full.

Another regular came in. I sighed. I needed to get back to work before I got even further behind. “No problem, thanks. I’ll figure it out later.” I looked around for somewhere to put the boxes. Most of the back wall was covered in bookshelves, but there was space in one corner, where a heater was, that was empty. Given how hot it was already, there’d be no need for the heater for the next couple of months.

“Would you mind stacking the boxes on the far wall?” I pointed through the aisles of books to the back corner. He nodded, and I signed the delivery receipt. “Sorry, I’d better serve these customers. Just let me know if you need anything.”

I rushed over to take the customers’ orders. I’d just started making a triple shot caramel latte when another person walked through the door. I suppressed a groan. As much as I appreciated my customers’ patronage, right now I needed ten uninterrupted minutes to prepare for the lunch rush.

I looked up and did a double-take as my eyes landed on the woman who’d walked in.

She was dressed for the warm weather, in a white tank top and straight-legged light-denim jeans with flat tan sandals. Dark brown, wavy, shoulder-length hair and curly bangs framed her face, and dark eyebrows accentuated her brown eyes. As she looked around, she adjusted the small chestnut-colored leather satchel that hung over one of her shoulders and then pushed her large tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of her nose with a finger. My gaze dropped to her full pink lips that turned up a little at the ends, like she had a secret that she’d only let a lucky few in on. She had pale skin that suggested she didn’t go outside a lot—or perhaps, she was just better than me at applying sunscreen. Damn. She was stunning.

I hadn’t seen her before, and hers was not a face I’d forget. She must be a tourist. A very attractive tourist, currently staring directly at me. Please let me not look as sweaty or flustered as I feel right now.