7. Book Mail

7

Book Mail

Hayley

Maxime and I held hands, and the memory is still burning my palm. It's been a while since I've held a man's hand. I don't remember the gesture ever making me feel this way. All gooey and giddy, warm and cold at the same time. I'm not even sure what I felt when his hand wrapped around mine, and that's saying something since I'm used to feelings described with words on a page.

But that's where I am. Today with Maxime was . . . nice. For the first time since I met him, I got served the real Maxime Beaumont, and I'm glad he didn't wait too long to show up. On top of that, the guy is related to an absolute literary legend? I mean, where is this going to stop? When he told me the story, I got actual chills. Although that might have been from hearing the French words he used. But why on earth didn't Alice mention their family history before? I'll definitely have a talk with her.

My heart withers as I think about their childhood. I knew Alice's mom had passed away, but for some reason, it didn't register that she was Max's mom too. He always looks so at ease, so confident and happy. It's hard to imagine him dealing with grief and trauma.

"What's up with you?" Emma asks, ruffling her fringe. The two of us are picking up trash and putting supplies away in the bookstore while Alice is doing the same in the back room. The guys wanted to help clean up, but we told them to go home. They're returning again tomorrow morning in the wee hours, well before their practice, to help us unload the incoming books that will constitute our first inventory. Our store is located on a car-free street, and vehicles only have access between five and eight a.m. for deliveries.

I wrinkle my forehead, glancing at her. "Nothing is up. "

"Huh," she says, picking up some Styrofoam from the floor and throwing it in the trash bag. "So, did you have a nice day?"

I cock my head to the side, propping a hand on my hip. "Stop beating around the bush. What is it?"

"You and Maxime seemed awfully cozy ."

Butterflies wiggle back into my belly at the mention of Maxime. "No, we didn't."

"Stop lying," she whispers as she huddles closer. "I saw the two of you, laughing and talking while holding hands ."

My cheeks burst into flames, and I wheel around, grabbing an empty paint can. "We didn't. It wasn't. We're not."

She holds her hand up to stop me. "Don't even. He hasn't been shy about flirting with you, so what's happening is very obvious."

"And what is that?" I ask, still not looking her in the eye and instead throwing side glances at the back door.

She heaves a long sigh. "We have a best-friend's-brother situation on our hands."

I snap my head toward her. "We do not!" I whisper-yell.

"The fact that you're looking for Alice and whispering tells me I've hit the mark. Come on. I read too many romance novels to not recognize one of my favorite tropes unfolding before my eyes."

My pulse quickens, and my mouth is suddenly dry. That's not what's happening. Maxime is nice. Yeah, we did have that weird hand-holding moment, but I don't want to date him. I'm opening a bookstore. I have bigger issues to worry about. Plus, he's not fictional, so that's a huge drawback. And I know his type. Once he gets what he wants, he'll move on to his next prey. He's just in it for the chase, like all players. He's not really into me. How could he be?

"I'm not interested in him," I say, nodding firmly to punctuate my point, both to her and to the butterflies in my belly. "He's just an arrogant ladies' man who wants to get into my pants. I read enough romance novels to know that trope really well."

She snorts, stacking the roller handles against the wall. "You do know that the heroine usually ends up with him at the end of the book, right?"

Oops. I guess I forgot that tiny detail. "Who said he was the hero? Maxime is more the current boyfriend she has to get over after he dumped her like yesterday's trash. Or the tempting ‘bad news' who's trying to whisk her from her true happy ending with the male lead."

Emma explodes into laughter, shaking her head. "Fine. But lately, all the hockey players I've read about were definitely the hero. "

"It doesn't matter." I gather the paint brushes and place them in a clean paint can. "This is my story. I'm the one writing it, and these are not the tropes of my life."

Falling for Maxime Beaumont is the last thing I want. I'm focused on building this business with my friends. We are not in a romance novel. This is women's fiction.

It has to be.

The guys arrive on time again the next day despite the early hour. Their eyes are heavy, the chatter more sluggish than usual and punctuated by deep yawns. But they're here, and I'm beyond grateful. I know their coach made it mandatory, but still. They're not complaining, and they've been a tremendous help. Now that all the shelves are put together, it's really starting to look like a bookstore. They'll just need to build the display tables and the checkout counter this afternoon, and then there's the sign to hang out front.

I can't believe we pulled this off. We really have to brainstorm a way to thank them for their time and effort. Maybe we could go cheer them on at one of their games? When does their season start, anyway ?

I've been avoiding Maxime, ensuring I stay a good distance away. My defenses aren't awake yet, and after my conversation with Emma, I feel even more exposed than usual.

Mr. Darcy decides to join the party, rubbing himself against as many legs as he can find while collecting head scratches and cuddles. He's quickly become a fan favorite among the guys. Caleb even built him a cat nook at the bottom of one of the bookshelves where he always naps. He now has his own little sleeping area embedded in the shelf. Later today, I'm going to go out and get him a cozy blanket or a pillow.

The truck rolls onto the street, and Alice is struggling to stay still next to me. I know the feeling. I'm just as jittery. Books! A truckload of them. All for us. Okay, for our future customers , but still. Soon, this space will be filled with stories, and it's going to be the most magical thing. The smell of paper and ink from newly printed books will soon overwhelm the scent of fresh paint, and this bookstore is finally going to be whole. I've loved every step of the process, but receiving the books? Yeah, that definitely tops the list.

The driver jumps off the truck, clearly surprised to see so many people. "Who's in charge here? I have a delivery for No Shelf Control."

"Yes," all three of us exclaim as we hustle up to him.

"That's us," I say.

He nods. "Great. But I'll just need one signature."

We look at each other, unsure who should have the honor. I take the pen but give it to Emma. "You do it. You handled all the admin stuff. Without you, we wouldn't even be standing here"

"No. Alice, you sign," she says, handing her the pen, and I nod. "You're the one who built the website and everything."

The driver stares at us with a pinched expression. "It really doesn't matter who signs."

Alice hands me the pen. "You're the reason we're even here. You found this place."

"Really, ladies?" he grumbles, tapping his foot loudly. "Just sign the damn thing or I'm leaving."

"Hey, cool it, man," James says through gritted teeth while Aaron sports a deep scowl, his bulky arms crossed over his chest.

Maxime takes a step forward, his face more closed off than I've ever seen it.

I guess you don't piss off hockey players this early in the morning.

That's all it takes for me to scribble my name on the piece of paper. We're not going to taint this day with a brawl. Even if the selfish part of me kind of enjoyed that small display of protectiveness from the guys. Okay, mostly just from Maxime.

With a gruff sigh, the delivery guy stalks back into his truck and opens the back.

The girls and I hurry to watch, worming ourselves through the wall of boys, eager to see what's inside. But it's incredibly disappointing. Just stacks upon stacks of cardboard boxes.

I thought we'd see these big towers of books, gold spines glimmering in the dark like coins in a treasure vault. Then again, that would be extremely impractical. Not to mention the books would most likely have been damaged during transport.

The next hour isn't exactly magical. We unload box after box after box. Even with twenty-six professional athletes, the process still takes forever. Finally, the bookstore is filled with more cardboard boxes than I can count.

"That's a lot of books," James says, resting his hands on his knees. "Practice is going to sting this morning."

"Sorry, guys," Alice says. "Really, you don't have to help with the rest. We can figure it out from here."

Emma nods. "Totally."

"Absolutely not," Aaron declares. "I want to see the finished product now. We're seeing this through. "

They all voice their agreement.

"Well, can we at least take you to breakfast before practice?" I offer. We don't have an extensive budget, but we'll figure something out. We can't let them leave like this.

Another row of approval reverberates around the room, and a few stomachs gurgle.

Once everyone files outside and we're closing the door behind us, Alice jumps in place, staring in awe at our bookstore. "I don't think I'll be able to eat."

"I know," Emma says, eyes sparkling as they sweep the room. "It's amazing."

A smile builds on my lips. "Best book mail ever."

After a nutritious breakfast—during which I avoided Maxime once again—we spend most of the morning opening boxes and double-checking that we received everything for our inventory. We scan all the books in our system and separate them into genre piles. I'm loving every second of it, and I know it's the same for my friends. Some of the books we ordered are our favorites, or titles from our favorite authors, and some we haven't read yet. And just like that, our Tbr pile has doubled in size. I guess we can call that a job hazard .

We've been working on a shelving system, and I created a blueprint of the store with all the different sections. That's what I'm most excited for. We get started, but it's quickly time to break for lunch, and then the guys arrive again.

"Are you still going shopping today for the furniture?" Emma asks me as the players flood into the store.

I nod. Interior design is one of my passions, so I'm the one who picked all the furniture for the store. There are just a few last-minute things to pick out, like a pair of armchairs, a sofa, and a rug for the reading nook. We visited a lot of flea markets this summer, and I stumbled on some gorgeous vintage pieces to decorate the space. I was waiting until we had all this done before I bought the larger furniture, just to make sure it'd all blend well together. We've been busy the past few days, but since there isn't as much on the roster for today, I decided the time has come. Seeing all the finished bookshelves kickstarted my designer instincts.

"Wait. Nash, you're leaving?" Maxime asks, his expression hard to read. Is he just surprised? Maybe taken aback or disappointed?

"I'm sure you can survive an afternoon without me, Beaumont," I tease because I can't help myself. Bantering with Maxime is entertainment like no other .

He squints, pretending to think hard. "Mm. See, the problem is, I don't think you can. You might need some extra muscle if you're going for furniture."

"I'm not getting the furniture. Just choosing it, and then picking up a couple things that my teeny tiny muscles can handle."

"Still, I should come with you," he insists, crossing his arms and holding my gaze.

"You know what?" Caleb says loudly, highlighting the fact that our conversation has once again become the main event. "Take Frenchie Boy with you. He can use the field trip, and we can use the break. We men still have work to do here."

Everyone laughs, including Maxime. But it's the same fake laugh as last time, and hearing it makes my heart twist just a little bit.

"Fine." I exaggerate my sigh. "I'll take him off your hands. But I'm doing this for you guys."

Maxime just shakes his head, shoving his hands in his pockets. I catch Emma's eyes as I'm turning around, and her grin conveys exactly what she's thinking. I ignore it and saunter out of the store, Maxime on my heels.

Once we're out, he bumps the side of his body against mine. "Admit it, Nash. You're excited to go shopping with me."

Trying my best to fight my smile, I glance up at him. "Not even a little bit."