BookLove.
Well, that would put her in a better mood. Books and bookshops always did. She blew out a breath and swerved her path, aiming for the door and pushing her way into the small shop, surprised she’d never noticed it before. The wind ceased, and she was enveloped by a lovely, cozy scent she couldn’t quite put a finger on—old leather, crinkly parchment, fresh ink. She inhaled and let this breath out slowly as she felt her muscles gently relax. Her shoulders eased down from her ears, her brow stopped its furrowing, and she flexed her fingers, wiggled them, closed them into fists, then opened them again.
“Hi there,” said a guy to her left, standing behind the counter where the cash register lived. He was broad and tall and had kind eyes and swoopy hair he moved by tossing his head.
“Hey,” Sawyer said with a quick nod, then headed toward the shelves.
“Let me know if I can help,” the man said.
She never needed help in a bookstore. The simple act of wandering between the shelves—whether in a bookshop or a library—always calmed her down, always relaxed her, always helped her destress. And losing herself in a mystery or a thriller or even a horror story never failed to help get her out of her own head.
BookLove was adorable. Small and cozy, it boasted three free-standing shelves with books on both sides, then random shelves on the walls—most of which seemed to feature particular authors. It looked like there were a few book clubs, judging by the notices tacked to a corkboard near the lounge area in the back.
Speaking of the lounge area, it took way too much of Sawyer’s willpower to not flop down onto the soft-looking couch, put her feet up on the table in the center of the arrangement, and recline there for the rest of the day. She stood there for what felt like a long time, just staring, before finally shaking herself back to reality. She needed toget back to work, but maybe she could find something here to blog about.
Turning away from the lounge area with a quiet, sad sigh, she began scanning the shelves, looking to see what was new. She ran her fingers along an entire shelf of romantasy. When she reached the front of the store again, the big guy was still there.
“Hi,” she said. “Can you tell me where the new releases are?”
“Of course,” he said with his nice eyes and kind smile, and swoopy hair. He pointed behind her. “Right there on that table.”
She glanced over and laughed softly. “You mean the one that saysNewest Releaseson it?”
“That’d be the one.” He grinned back at her.
“Thanks.” She headed to the table, which was round and covered with a burgundy cloth. The sign that read “New Releases” was hand-lettered in a lovely calligraphy. Each book was a romance of one kind or another. She turned back to the guy. “Do you have any new thrillers or mysteries?”
He shook his head, and one corner of his mouth turned down just a little. “Oh, no, we’re a romance bookshop.”
She blinked at him while the words sank in. “No thrillers?”
“Just romance. Though we do have some romantic thrillers and some romantasy, which can be thrilling.”
Well, that explained why the place was so small. “Got it. Okay.” She strolled back between the shelves and looked at the titles more closely. Nora Roberts. Jill Shalvis. Lily Chambers. Beverly Jenkins. There were labels on the shelves, too. Contemporary. Romantasy. Classics. Historical. Series. Every last bit of it some kind of romance. It really was too bad. BookLove was a super-cute shop and—oh, now the name of it made more sense, too. All right. Time to flee. “Thank you,” she said with a quick wave as she exited the little shop, disappointed.
At least she had some new stuff to blog about tonight.
Her phone buzzed in her coat pocket as she set off into the wind once again toward the parking lot and her car. Worried it was Amanda again, relief washed through her as her screen showed her mom’s photo, and she smiled softly.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, honey. I’m calling to invite you for dinner.”
“Tonight?” She stopped at the corner and waited for the walk signal.
“No, next month. Yes, tonight.” Her mother laughed, a woman who continually cracked herself up with her own jokes, which made her even funnier.
“I can do that. Whatcha makin’?” The light changed and she crossed. The lot wasn’t far after that and she reached her car, got inside, and slammed the door, the sudden silence after the rushing of the wind feeling almost like a blissful relief.
“Beef stew. Your father asked me what football team I’m feeding, so there’s a lot.”
Sawyer laughed softly as she started her car and kicked on the seat warmers. “Sounds great. I can’t stay too late ’cause I’ve gotta pack, but I’ll see you tonight.”
“Bring wine,” her mother called out as she hung up, and Sawyer sat in her car, shaking her head and smiling.
She wasn’t in a giant hurry to get back to the office, so she let herself sit there, absorbing the heat as the car warmed up, people-watching as best she could from a car sitting in a parking lot. This part of Northwood was busy, considered “downtown.” Boasting tons of little businesses—restaurants, cafés, coffee shops, hair salons, bars—it was the heart of the small city. She was excited to be moving into a new place that was closer to this part of town than the suburbia she was currently in. Just one more week.
She hated moving. She’d read somewhere that moving was in the top five most stressful life events, and she didn’t doubt it for a second. While she loved the idea of a new space and a new neighborhood and fucking starting fresh, she absolutely abhorred having to pack up every single thing she owned into boxes. It was exhausting, both physically and emotionally. Her muscles were sore from lifting and carrying stuff. Her brain was battered from what it all meant to her heart.
