It takes nearly all the free time I have left just to compose the message. I choose to frame it as an invitation mixed with a desperate plea for help. We were friends once, and I beta read the books that put her on the map. It wasmyidea for Patrick O’Hara to park in the middle of traffic, climb out of his sunroof to stand on his car, and proclaim his love to Minnie Barker, where she sat on a patio having lunch with a loser guy, and that scene has become a romcom legend.
In a sense, Hannah owes me.
She thanked me in her acknowledgments, so maybe she doesn’t see it that way.
Once the email is sent, I down the rest of my cold tea and put my computer to sleep. We open in two minutes, and I’m still not dressed.
Yet when I open my office door, I come face-to-face with the last sight I hoped to encounter for…ever. Dorian is waiting at the store entrance, peeking through the glass. He catches my eye and lifts his hand in a wave.
Why does the universe hate me so much? I lose my lead teacher—thanks, pneumonia—then have to put up with the longest signing in the world, on the heels of telling my college nemesis I love his books, andnowhe gets to see me in all my cats-and-books-pajamas glory. No makeup. Rumpled hair.
Who did I anger to deserve this?
“Nat?” I call through my teeth. There’s no reply.
Of course not. Why would she be anywhere but the storeroom at this moment?
I do my best to tame my hair as I cross the shop and unlock the door. “We aren’t open yet.”
Dorian’s gaze sweeps over my outfit, his eyebrows hitching. “No? Sorry, I thought you opened at nine.”
A quick glance at the clock shows it’s two minutes past. Whyyyyy?
“Yeah. Sorry. Come in.”
“I can wait in my car for a minute?—”
“No need.” The damage is done. I look like a spinster low on sleep and high on cats, and Dorian looks like he just stepped out of a university faculty meeting where the common denominator is hot professors. He’s literally wearing a sweater with elbow patches. I mean, who does that?
When he steps past me to enter the store, I catch a whiff of scent that tumbles me into images of Dorian lounging on the sofa in his rental house with a group of guys from our program, nose stuck in a book, tousled hair, sleepy smile.
The flash is over as quickly as it came. Mostly because I shove it into a box and sit on the lid. “What can I help you with?”
“I never paid for the book my sister took.” He rubs the back of his neck, drawing attention to the lean muscle in his arms as the sweater pulls taut. “It occurred to me yesterday. I’m here to rectify that.”
At this point, I’m owning the way I look. If I act like it’s not weird to run a bookstore in pajamas and socks, then it’s not weird. “We can take care of that right away.”
There’s a small stack of leftover books from the event piled on a table near the register, so I grab one as I pass and immediately begin ringing him up.
He moseys over. “Is it pajama day?”
“No.” My cheeks burn, my laugh sounding stilted. “I live upstairs, and I’ve been up for a while doing other work. I just…didn’t notice the time.”
The back door closes. Natalie hums while she makes her way through the paths of bookshelves. “Any reply yet?”
“No,” I call back. “We have a customer.”
She pops her head around the corner. “Welcome back, Mr. James.”
He taps his card on the machine, and it beeps. “I couldn’t stay away.”
I lift an eyebrow. “We actually hear that a lot.”
He looks at me. “I believe you.”
Natalie leans on the counter, facing him, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders. “So you must be local, then. Unless you stuck around for some other reason?”
“I’m local.” His smile is tight. “I just don’t like readers knowing much about me. There have been some…concerning emails before. It’s better this way.”
