1. A Work In Progress

1

A Work In Progress

Hayley

Bookstagram is the best thing that's ever happened to me. I wouldn't be here in Brooklyn with my best friends in the world, in our bookstore , if it wasn't for that little corner of the internet. Actually, we wouldn't have even met if it wasn't for Bookstagram.

"This is a nightmare," Emma groans, releasing a long sigh. She kicks the toe of her shoe into the wall and doesn't even flinch.

Okay, so yeah. It's not exactly going as planned. And we don't exactly have a bookstore yet, but it's a work in progress.

"Relax, Emz," Alice says, tucking a few loose strands of brunette hair behind her ear. "Everything will work out."

Emma snorts. "Yeah, right! We have no money left, and this place is only half finished. We still have to paint the walls, assemble the bookshelves, put the sign out front, furnish the room, and decorate."

Alice lets out a puff of air, her optimism clearly challenged, but she quickly recovers. "We can do it ourselves. At least he left all the materials he bought behind. And we have money set aside for the furnishing. Plus, the windows and lighting are done," she adds with a forced smile.

Yup. You guessed it—Emma is the grump and Alice the sunshine in our relationship. Me? I'm lost somewhere in the middle.

"It's not exactly ideal," I jump in before Emma can retort. "Yes, he definitely left us high and dry here, but we're resourceful. We'll figure it out." Actually, the contractor completely screwed us over, but I don't want to add to the glass half-empty situation. If we listen to Emma, we'll close up shop before we even open. But that's how she is, and given her past, I can't totally blame her .

A loud meow resonates in the empty space, and Mr. Darcy saunters toward us, tail up. He rubs against Alice's legs until she picks him up for a cuddle. Mr. Darcy was here when we bought the place a few months ago. We found him sleeping in a corner of the commercial space on an old newspaper. Since he didn't belong to anyone, we adopted him. It was a heated debate, but we eventually settled on Darcy for a name. We all read romance, and while Alice is the die-hard historical romance fan of our group, we all agreed that Mr. Darcy was the ultimate swoony hero and that the moniker would suit our little friend's black-and-white coat.

"See? Even Mr. Darcy knows we can do it," Alice says, scratching his neck as he purrs away.

"Or he knows that we're doomed, and he'll be alone again soon," Emma grumbles, ruffling her black fringe.

As they bicker back and forth, I pace around the open room, trying to clear my head and find a solution. I won't admit it out loud, but this debacle is kind of a disaster. Sure, the contractor left us all the supplies he bought with our money, but him declaring bankruptcy on us is a major setback, and we don't have the skills to turn this place into the cozy romance bookstore we've all been envisioning.

Nevertheless, we're going to have to figure it out, because we simply don't have any money left over to pay another contractor to finish the renovations. We financed most of this with a successful crowdfunding campaign, but we can't launch another one until we've fulfilled this campaign's goals. The funds we have left are destined to furnish the space and buy our initial inventory. If we dip into that reserve now, we'll just push the problem down the road. And since we can't make furniture and books appear out of thin air—trust me, it's a dream of mine and precisely why I read fantasy and paranormal—the renovation part is the only logical step we can take on ourselves.

My eyes land on the boxes of wooden boards stacked against the wall. What am I thinking? There's no way we can put together that many floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on our own.

"We'll just have to learn some new skills," I say, turning back to face Alice and Emma. "We don't exactly have a choice here. We'll watch a few YouTube tutorials and figure this thing out."

"That'll take us months!" Emma says, her voice echoing through the empty room.

"Better than never opening at all." I fan myself with my hand to get some air. It's September, but it feels like mid-July, thanks to this unseasonable heat wave. "And so what if it's not perfect? It'll be authentic. That's what this is all about, right?"

They both stay silent. Honestly, I was kind of expecting Alice to back me up on this, but her inner perfectionist is probably winning out against her optimism.

A knock on the door startles me. Swinging around, I see the shadow of a large figure behind the protective cloth hanging over the window. "Alice," a deep voice booms. " C'est moi, Maxime. "

Emma and I both turn to Alice, frowning in confusion.

She sighs, rolling her chocolate-brown eyes. "My brother."

Strutting up to the door, she unlocks it and cracks it open, and the two of them chit-chat in French, their native language. Though they were born in the US to an American mother, they lived most of their lives in France.

Eventually, Alice lets him in, and he ambles toward us. We've heard about her brother, Maxime, who's a year older than her, but we've never met him before. All I know is that he's a hockey player who's joining the Brooklyn team this season for his NHL debut. And now—that he's also incredibly hot.

Think short brown hair with gentle waves, sparkling eyes full of mischief, and a boyish grin that I'm sure has broken its fair share of hearts. But his imposing broad shoulders and confident strides as he marches toward us contrast against his youthful looks. Everything about his body screams "man." From his strong arms to his chiseled chest and the sharp angles of his jaw.

"Hey." He waves a large hand. "I'm Alice's brother. Just wanted to check on the progress here." His eyes fall on me, lingering long enough for me to notice their unique shade—green with subtle touches of brown. They're definitely his best feature. The hint of a smile forms on his lips.

"Why?" Alice asks, drawing her eyebrows together. "You haven't shown interest since I moved here."

He grimaces, directing his attention back to her. "Sorry, sis. Training takes up most of my time, but I thought I'd stop by before practice. Though, if I'd known you had such gorgeous friends, I would have swung by sooner." He winks at me, then extends his hand. "Maxime Beaumont. Nice to meet you."

If I thought he was hot two seconds ago, his cocky comment just iced me out. I don't like overly flirty guys. That attitude just screams "immature player" to me. Given his occupation—and the fact that he's two years younger than me—I'm probably not that far off. Even if Alice doesn't talk about him often, from what I've gathered, he's the type of guy who changes girls more often than he changes his sheets.

With a roll of my eyes, I shake his hand. "Hayley Nash. "

"Cute name," he says, glancing from my eyes to my short pink hair. "Nice to meet you, Nash."

I ignore his comment. Alice throws me an apologetic look while he introduces himself to Emma, who gives him a colder welcome than I did.

"Don't even," she says, holding her hand up and impaling him with one of her signature frosty glares. "I'm not interested, and I'm not in the mood."

Bowing curtly, he shakes her hand. "Gotcha. So, what's going on here?" he asks, scanning the room. Somehow, the wrinkle on his forehead as he frowns makes him even hotter. "Shouldn't there be a team of people working right now? You said you hired a crew."

"Minor setback," Alice says, hands on her hips. "The contractor kind of left, but we have a plan. We're capable women, so we'll do it ourselves." Her voice starts to break, but it wouldn't be Alice if she wasn't trying to put up a cheerful front.

"Huh," he says simply. He's not mocking us like I thought he would. He just sweeps the room with an attentive gaze. "What's left to do?"

Alice rattles off the list of projects, and he once again falls deep in thought. "Why didn't you say anything about this sooner? "

"Max, you don't even have time to grab coffee with me. You definitely don't have time for my problems."

He does a double take, seemingly taken aback by her comment. "I'm always here for you, sis. Maybe I can help."