I said faintly, my mind spinning. “That’s…a lot of people.”
“Which means a lot of books,” she said crisply, jotting down another line. “You’ll need to order at least four hundred copies to even start to cover preorders and on-the-day sales.”
My pulse jumped. My credit card was still reelingfrom last month’s supplier order, practically maxed, and the thought of piling four hundred more books on top of that made my stomach knot. If the pre-orders came through fast enough, maybe I could juggle it. Maybe. “Four hundred—Brooke, that’s?—”
“Doable,” she cut in.
“My account?—”
“I’ll talk to the publisher about sale or return, and invoicing after sales. And I’ll coordinate with the town hall for extra parking, signage, that sort of thing. Social media blitz starts Monday. Easy.”
I blinked at her, panic and gratitude colliding in my chest. “I can’t—Brooke, I can’t pay you for all your work on this.”
Hell, I could barely keep up with stock—so much for investing every cent I had in something I loved when it wasn’t a huge money maker.
She tilted her head, calm but firm, and then her voice softened. “Wesley. You let me sit in your store with a coffee and say I can read anything I want from your shelves. You never mind if Willow naps in the corner or if Alice raids your personal coloring books. You give me space when I need it.”
As if to prove her point, Willow padded back over, her small hands reaching up to me, as she demanded to be lifted. “Carry two!” she said—none of us knew what it meant. I scooped her into my arms, and shewrapped herself around me, face burrowing into my shoulder.
“I don’t need paying,” Brooke added gently. “You’re a friend, and I get more from this place than you realize.”
The weight of Willow’s head on my shoulder, the steady hum of Brooke’s certainty—it undid me a little. I’d never had a real friend before—at least not one who was pretending to be my friend while secretly wanting an in with my family. “Still…thank you,” I murmured.
Brooke smiled, sliding the notepad across to me. “Save it for Adrian Trevelyan. He’ll bring the crowd. You just make sure the shelves are stocked and the cocoa’s hot.”
I tightened my hold on Willow, who gave a sleepy sigh and whispered, “Deal.”
Brooke tapped her pen on the page, then glanced up at me, eyes sharp. “You know…if this goes well, Wes, it won’t just be about Adrian. Authors talk. Publicists notice. The Story Lantern could get on the map asthesmall-town stop for tours.”
My stomach flipped. “That sounds…terrifying.”
“It sounds like survival,” she countered, though her smile was kind. “And maybe growth, too. More signings. More readers. A future.”
I didn’t answer right away. Willow’s breathing against my shoulder made me ache with how much Iwanted what her mother was suggesting—a future here, with books and light and laughter filling this little shop. A place people came back to, again and again.
“Let’s just get through Adrian first,” I muttered, my voice rough.
Brooke chuckled. “Fine. But don’t be surprised when this is just the beginning.”
Chapter 2
Hunter
Back in my coffee shop,with the door safely shut behind me, I breathed a sigh of relief. Every interaction with Wesley Darkwood left me feeling tense and dizzy. Why? Attraction, irritation, confusion—all knotted together. From his long hair drying into soft curls, to his expressive brown eyes, to that ridiculous pirate goatee beard thing… he was an irritation and a thorn in my side. And hot. And cute. So, freaking hot and cute.
“You okay, boss?”
I glanced up and found Jamie behind the counter—tall and rangy, ginger hair sticking out from beneath a battered beanie, freckles scattered across his nose. He had one of those easy, good-natured smiles only an eighteen-year-old could pull off, as if the world hadn’t yet shown him how hard it could get. He was in his senior year, balancing classes, hockey, and this job withthe kind of restless energy I barely remembered having at his age.
He was my part-time help, steady and reliable, though quieter when I was around—as if I scared the words right out of him. Maybe I did. Maybe it was my fault, the way I carried myself, all sharp edges and short answers, grumpy as hell because I couldn’t shake the feeling of being stuck. Stuck in Wishing Tree. Stuck in this coffee shop that had never been my dream. Some people had it worse, I knew that, but knowing didn’t make the walls feel any less close, or the days any less heavy.
I need out. I needmorethan this.
Jamie didn’t deserve my moods, though. He worked hard, smiled even when I didn’t, and maybe that was the reason I kept him around—because when I looked at him, I saw the possibility of forward motion.
And I knew Wesley called me some ridiculous name, Grumpy McGrumperson or some shit, but hell, that was me. I hadn’t wanted to be running a coffee shop. I hadn’t wanted my whole life to collapse around me. I hadn’t wanted to be fucking lonely and alone. Of course, I was grumpy.
“Is everything okay, Mr. McCoy?” Jamie asked again, a little nervous and a lot cautious.
