The shop erupted in chaos as the deflating dino rolled, wriggling like a fish. I had no choice but to hang on until someone finally unzipped it.
And then… like some ridiculous magic trick, a woman suddenly appeared from the collapsing suit, and my dick immediately hardened as a curvy brunette emerged. Brown curls tumbled free, and hazel-green eyes lit with laughter. “Sorry, sorry!” she gasped, brushing hair from her face. Then, grinning at the crowd, “Jurassic Park, this month, everyone. Ta Da!”
One of the women crowed. “Janice, get the books!”
So this was Lila Merrick, Nora’s granddaughter. She shed the last of the suit and looked straight at me. “Thanks for catching me, handsome.” Her smile was bright, genuine, and infectious.
And then her gaze swept over me, still sitting on the floor, one hand steadying the toppled plant. Her mouth curved. “Oops. Sorry, I landed on you. You okay?”
“I didn’t fall. You pushed me,” I deadpanned, because apparently sarcasm was my survival instinct.
Her smile vanished like I’d slapped it off. “Right,” she snapped. “Because I begged you to throw yourself across the room and rescue me.”
Hands went to hips. She somehow looked prettier when she was pissed off, which was annoying. It made me want to dive between those thighs even more.
I hauled myself to my feet, righted the plant, and brushed off my hands. “I just want my cinnamon rolls. Then I’ll get off this ride, and you can get back to your circus.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Mia. Get this jackwipe his rolls. If there are any left. Maybe we’re out.” She stuck her tongue out at me like she was twelve years old.
Red flushed across her cheeks as she scooped up the deflated dinosaur suit and stomped toward the back. The people at the table glared at me like I’d personally kicked their favorite puppy.
Perfect. I was the asshole.
They better not be out of cinnamon rolls.
3
Lila
Rain blurred the street outside. It was a constant gift and curse of living here. It meant green pastures, barns with mossy roofs, and hydrangeas the size of cabbages. It also meant wet cuffs and the smell of damp wool clinging to everyone who came through my door. It also meant I had to keep runners down in the rainy season and watch for slip hazards. Being a small business owner wasn’t for the faint of heart.
By the time the rush slowed down, I was running on espresso shots and stubbornness. Saturday mornings were always crazy. There were mothers wrangling toddlers, ranchers stomping through with muddy boots, and teenagers pretending they were too cool to be seen ordering hot chocolate.
The dinosaur stunt earlier? Worth it. Every book clubreveal day, I tried to make it fun. Last month, we read a super fun take on a mystery story. Today,Jurassic Park, obviously.
All month, I would feature surprise treats in the bakery case along with matching specialty drinks. If you were a book club member and happened to visit on those days, you could get a stamp on the bookmark I printed out. The monthly book club traffic alone helped the shop so much. So, yeah. I’d wear whatever I needed to keep the shop open, even if I looked like a fool.
The look on Janice’s face when I came flailing out of the stacks in that blow-up costume had been priceless. Totally worth sweating through two layers of clothes and nearly cracking my shin on the coffee table.
Sure, I also managed to collide with Easton Holt, of all people, but that was a wrinkle I hadn’t expected.
I tried not to replay that moment over and over, but it was hopeless. My big reveal turned into me half-deflating on the shop floor while Easton’s scowl loomed over me like a storm cloud. He’d been grumpy, sure, but there was also something about the way he looked at me. All awkward and annoyed, that had lingered longer than I wanted it to. It had been a little embarrassing.
Easton Holt was someone who had starred in a few too many of my young preteen fantasies to see me flop around in a dino suit for me not to be embarrassed.
I shook it off and rearranged the scones for today. They were delicious, even if I said so myself —white chocolate chips, macadamia nuts, and cranberries —and had been flying out of the case. There were only a few left under theglass dome, so I needed to get another batch in the oven. The shelves on the bookstore side also needed straightening, and I’d have to wipe up the puddles of rainwater tracked inside across the floor. Running Chapter & Crumb meant constant movement, but I didn’t mind. The hum of the shop, the laughter, and even the low buzz of gossip kept me going.
Grams built this place around community. A bookstore where you could sit as long as you wanted. A coffee shop where you never felt rushed. When she passed nearly two years ago, I promised myself I’d keep that spirit alive, even if I had to modernize it a little to keep the lights on.
That meant fun events, quirky book displays, and, yes, inflatable dinosaur costumes.
It also meant rolling with the punches when grumpy Holt men ordered cinnamon rolls without enjoying the free show that I’d just given them. Hell, that was even a striptease.
I huffed out a laugh under my breath and tried to ignore the pinch of guilt that I’d answered rudeness with rudeness, but I wasn’t going to let anyone push me around anymore.
“Need a refill, Mr. Jenkins?” I called, already lifting the carafe.
“If you’re offering, darlin’. That’s me lucky.” He grinned from his corner table by the window, where he’d camped out since before I could remember. He was as much a part of the shop as the mismatched mugs and the sagging couch near the window.
