Sunday night, after my friends left, I’d walked past him lying on the couch with that damned book open in front of him and practically sprinted to my bedroom. Slammed the door. Locked it. Pretended I couldn’t hear him turning pages and that I wasn’t dying of curiosity about what he thought of chapter seventeen.
Monday morning, I emerged from my room at dawn to find him still asleep on the couch. Turned out the big bad alpha wolf was not a morning person. He’d grunted when I walked past, made a sound that was half growl and half complaint, and dragged himself to the bathroom with all the enthusiasm of a teenager on a school day.
It was hilarious. This powerful, dangerous predator who’d almost murdered a man for insulting me was absolutely miserable before 11 AM.
I’d made coffee. Extra strong. Slid a cup across the counter to him when he finally emerged, hair sticking up in every direction, eyes still half-closed.
He’d grunted what might have been thanks and downed the entire cup in three gulps.
“Not a morning person?” I’d asked.
Another grunt.
“Need more coffee?”
A nod.
I’d poured him another cup, biting back a smile. Who knew werewolf kings were useless before caffeine?
Tuesday and Wednesday followed the same pattern. We ate breakfast in relative silence. Went downstairs to work. I avoided eye contact. It was fine. Totally fine. I was handling this maturely.
But the bookstore? It wasthriving.
Monday morning, a girl had walked in and stopped dead in the doorway. Just stared at the renovations with her mouth open.
“Oh my god,” she’d breathed. “Woods & Pages got a makeover?”
“We did some updates,” I’d said, trying to sound casual instead of desperately hopeful.
“This is amazing! Do you have any romantic comedies? Like, enemies to lovers?”
A week ago, I would’ve told her we didn’t carry much contemporary romance. Now, with my new inventory? “I have an entire section. Let me show you.”
She’d squealed. Actually squealed. Bought three books. Sat down in the reading nook to start one immediately. Took about seventeen photos of her “cozy reading setup” and posted them to Instagram while I tried not to hover.
Tuesday, more people came. Friends of the girl from Monday, probably. They oohed and aahed over the changes. Bought books. Took more photos. Tagged the bookstore in their posts.
Wednesday brought even more customers. Word was spreading. Social media was working its magic. People were actually coming to Woods & Pages voluntarily.
It was more than I’d thought possible. More than I’d dared to hope for.
But I needed more.
I was getting greedy. My marketing brain was in overdrive, seeing opportunities everywhere. I had momentum now. I needed to capitalize on it. Push harder. Make Woods & Pages not just a nice bookstore but a destination.
And I had the perfect strategy.
I hated it. Actually hated my brain for suggesting it. But I knew it would work. It was the best marketing strategy in the world, and if there was one thing I knew, it was how women’s minds worked.
“Come here,” I said to Malachar after breakfast Wednesday morning.
He perked up immediately. Like a dog hearing the word “walk.” For the past three days, I’d barely spoken to him beyond basic instructions about bookstore tasks. I could see how it bothered him. The way he watched me when he thought I wasn’t looking. The way he found excuses to be in the same room. The way his face fell every time I retreated to my bedroom.
Whatever. I was protecting my sanity.
“Yes, little mate?” His voice was deeper than usual.
I held out the package that had arrived from Amazon yesterday. “Put this on.”
