A big, hand-painted sign hung above the new section: Tourist Nook.
I stepped closer, my stomach tightening as I studied the display. He’d takeneverythingfrom the old Locals Station, rearranged it, and adjusted the marketing.
Local authors were still featured, but now they were positioned as “Hidden Gems of the Ozarks” instead of “Hometown Favorites.” The hiking guides and trail maps had been moved to eye level, and there was a whole shelf dedicated to “Mountain Reads for Mountain Getaways.”
It was smart. Really smart.
And it was working.
And Ihatedit.
Three different tourists were browsing the display right now, picking up books and actually reading the back covers instead of just glancing and moving on.
I watched them for a long moment, feeling something heavy settle in my chest.
All the changes Flint was making seemed to be working better than I’d ever thought they would. The reading nook, the new displays, the focus on tourists instead of just locals.
But where did that leave me?
I didn’t like change. Routine kept me going. And now the store was evolving into something I didn’t recognize. I wasn’t sure there would be room for me when it finished changing.
“Excuse me?”
I turned to find a woman in hiking boots holding up a copy of my friend Tanner’s oldest photography book,Seasons of the Ozarks.
“Do you have any more books by this photographer?” she asked. “My husband loves wildlife photography, and this one is gorgeous.”
“Let me check.” I moved to the nature section and rustled through the shelves until my fingers found what I was looking for. “Here we go. This is his newest one, and it’s a signed edition.”
I pulled out the last copy ofGhost Pigand handed it to her. The cover showed the famous albino pig that had been spotted around Red Oak Mountain for years, his pale snout lifted toward the camera like he was posing.
“Oh, this is perfect!” The woman’s face lit up. “It’s about that white pig everyone talks about.”
“It chronicles his whole family,” I said, warming to the subject despite my mood. “The author, Tanner, spent three years tracking them through the forest. There’s a whole chapter about the piglets.”
She clutched the book to her chest. “My husband is going tolovethis. Thank you so much.”
As she headed for the register, the bell over the front door jingled, and Becky walked in.
She stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes locking onto Flint behind the counter.
“Well, hello there.” She sidled up to me, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Who’s the hottie working the register?”
“That’s Flint,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral. “He’s Marlene’s nephew. He’s running the store while she recovers. And you’re married. Don’t forget that.”
“Marlene’s been holding out on us,” Becky fanned herself dramatically. “And don’t worry, you know I only have eyesfor Leland. Are you thinking about snatching that man for yourself?”
Before I could answer, the door chimed again, and Gwen burst through.
“Avery!” She grabbed my arm and grinned, her eyes darting to Flint and then back to me with barely contained glee. “Is that him?”
I felt my cheeks flush. Imayhave mentioned to Gwen that I had a tiny, insignificant,completelymanageable crush on Marlene’s nephew. Just a small one. Barely worth noting.
“Gwen, please,” I hissed.
“He’s even hotter than you described,” she whispered back. “Look at those shoulders. And thatbeard.Oh, I just came in my panties. Avery, you have to go for him.”
“I’m not going foranything,” I muttered, “and don’t forget you’re already spoken for.”
