CHAPTER ONE
WINTER ATKINS
“Mr. Winter Atkins,”the realtor said. “Please sign here.”
He slid the paperwork in my direction, pointing to the sticky note with an arrow. I gave my aunt Rowena a quick glance, unable to hide my happiness and excitement. She grinned right at me, encouraging me to seal the deal.
I scribbled my signature, and Ro gave my arm a squeeze. “Well, we’re doing it!” she said. “No going back now.”
No, there wasn’t.
There was never any going back.
Once I’d quit my job, packed up my small apartment back in Boise, and said goodbye to my friends, there was no going back.
I mean, I could, if I had to.
But I didn’t want to. I wanted this new adventure to work out.
I needed it to.
Ro had invested some of her inheritance money in this new venture. She’d invested in me. More than my mother, Ro’s sister, had. To say my relationship with my mother wasstrained was an understatement. Had been since as early as I could remember, since I was obviously gay and she couldn’t deal with it.
She never disowned me or kicked me out. But her parenting came from a sense of obligation, not out of love. I learned all too well that her love came with conditions.
Whereas my aunt Ro welcomed me with open arms. She used to take teen-me aside and tell me it was okay to be me, it was okay to be gay, to be figuring shit out. I was basically the child she never had.
She’d been my saving grace.
Then and now.
Ro and my mother’s uncle had died and, not having any children of his own, left them a sizable amount of money and stocks. My mother had never mentioned the money to me—not that I’d expected her to—but Aunt Ro wanted a change of scene, and something to dump some dollars into for tax purposes. She’d been to Hartbridge before and had fallen in love with the tiny town. And given I’d been a bookstore manager for years, we found an ideal location, and I’d just signed the lease.
This was really happening.
She’d also found an old farmhouse a few minutes out of town, which we’d moved into just two days before. And I wanted to clean the store and paint the walls before the contractor guys installed the shelving and service counter next week. So, when I say it washappening, I meant it wasallhappening.
We took the keys and went to the store that was now ours. I parked out back, my hands trembling as I unlocked the door, and we stepped into the empty store. The glass front faced a paved road closed to traffic that met up with the river, just off Main Street. Directly across from us was a coffee shop run by the youth center as atraining hub.
“It’s going to be amazing,” Ro said. “And the installers will be here on Monday, right?”
I nodded. “Yep.”
“Then let’s get to work!”
I laughed. She’d always been such a doer. I knew it would be pointless to tell her not to worry, that I could do it on my own. I didn’t expect her to help me, but hanging out with her was always fun. We’d always gotten along so well, and I enjoyed our time together. We often just hung out because we enjoyed each other’s company. Even when I was a kid, she’d hated being called aunt or aunty and had insisted I call her by her name.
She was five feet and three-quarter inches. That three-quarter inch was important, apparently. She had dark gray curls to her shoulders, Kermit-green chunky glasses and a brilliant smile, usually painted a bright red. She had a bright aura, she was smart as a whip, kind and gracious, and her energy was contagious.
I adored her.
The fact she was putting her trust in me made me even more determined not to let her down.
I wasn’t worried. In fact, I knew we could do this. I knew my industry. I knew the book market. It was a great location in a great little town. Everyone I’d encountered so far had been friendly and welcoming, and it was inclusive.
There were pride flags in the youth center window, and the man at the hardware store who’d helped me choose the paint yesterday was clearly gay. I don’t like to judge or assume, but when I’d asked for a neutral, warm white, he’d smirked at me, grabbed my arm, and said, “Ooh, I know just the thing.” He’d handed me a swatch of different whites. “These have a warm undertone. Ren thinks I’ve learned about paint colors from him, but honestly, I learnedeverything I know about undertones and complexion from Drag Race.”
I’d laughed at that. “Love that.”
