“What customers want is afamiliar, friendly face,” I pressed on as he led me out of the stockroom and back into the main part of the bookstore. “Someone who remembers their names and asks about their grandkids. Someone who knows what they like to read. That’sShelly. Not Mallory, whoabandonedRed Oak Mountain years ago to chase some fancy career in the city.”
Flint went still.
He stared at me for a long moment, something shifting in his expression that I couldn’t quite read.
Then his whole posture changed, his shoulders relaxing and his body angling toward me in a way that felt almost intimate.
“You really like Red Oak Mountain, don’t you?” His voice came out low and warm, almost pleased.
I blinked at him, confused by the sudden shift. “Why is that a big deal?”
“I like it, too.”
Hmm.That was unexpected. Was Flint opening up to me?
“What’s not to like?” I bantered back.
He opened his mouth to answer, but Martha Ellis headed toward the register with a stack of books clutched against her chest right then.
Martha was somewhere north of seventy, with silver hair pulled into a tight bun and sharp blue eyes that missed nothing. She had her finger in every piece of gossip that circulated through Red Oak Mountain, and she wasn’t shy about sharing her opinions.
“Welcome to Bookish, where worlds await,” I said to a tourist who ambled in while Martha settled in front of the register.
“Well, well,” she said as she waited for us to get there. “Who would haveeverthought I’d see Flint Campbell inside the city limits. I thought you’d turned completely feral out there in those woods. Maybe you’ve just beenplayingat being a savage all these years.”
Flint grunted. “Martha, haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.”
He walked behind the register, and I followed on his heels.
“Yup, it’s been more than a blue moon,” she shot back, her eyes sparkling.
Flint’s arm brushed against mine as he reached for Martha’s books, and another spark of heat shot through me at the contact.
I pressed my lips together and tried to focus on anything other than the solid warmth of him beside me.
“Let me ring these up for you, Martha. It’s nice to see you. How’s little Maddie doing?” Flint asked, his deep voice rumbling in a way that made my stomach flip.
“All grown up and married to Jack. They tied the knot last year.”
“Huh. Good for them.” His large, work-hardened hands moved over the register keys. He punched in the ISBN for the first book, and the register beeped an error.
He might be a big, burly mountain man capable of doingmanythings, but he sucked at running a register.
“You transposed two numbers,” I said quietly, leaning closer to point at the screen, while my shoulder brushed against his arm. “See? It should be 978, not 987.”
He corrected the mistake without comment, but I caught the slight curve of his lips and the way his eyes darted to me, warm and appreciative.
“So, Avery dear,” Martha said, her keen eyes darting between us with obvious interest. “How is it going, working so closely with Marlene’s nephew?”
“It’s going well,” I said carefully, keeping my expression neutral.
Martha’s eyebrows rose slightly, clearly hoping for more gossip than I was willing to provide.
“We’re having a friendly debate today, actually,” Flint said. “Trying to decide who to hire. Shelly Morrison or Mallory Carpenter.”
Martha’s face lit up with the gleam of someone who’d just been handed a juicy piece of information. “Mallory Carpenter? She’s a darling, but she wouldn’t last a month. That girl’s got wandering feet.” She shook her head firmly. “DefinitelyShelly.”
Flint turned to look at me, and grudging respect flickered in his hazel eyes.
