Chapter One
Friday, September 2, 2022
“Mr. Callahan, I shouldseriouslykick yourass,” Violet Anderson muttered, speaking to no one.
No one other than the rows and rows of books that filled the rows and rows of shelves in her small bookstore, that was.
“I mean,come on. I have stuff to do. Real stuff. Likejobstuff.”
While the podcast played, Violet continued to run the Swiffer over the spines and tops of the books as she did every couple of days, keeping her pride and joy, a.k.a. Shelf Help, neat and tidy. Up until two months ago, she’d handled her daily chores with an audiobook to keep her entertained because she hadn’t known what a podcast even was. Well, technically, that wasn’t true. She’d heard of podcasts but had never bothered to venture into that world due to her preference for fictional storytelling.
Boy, had she been missing out.
Now, here she was, hanging on to every word, envisioning the scenes being painted in her head by the sexy hum of that voice through her earbuds. It was the best time of day to enjoy her favorite true-crime podcast—an obsession she’d developed recently thanks to Holt Callahan, the bastard.
For weeks, Violet had been consuming them the same way she consumed books: raptly and without apology. She spent her afternoons taking care of menial chores since the store was mostly empty—or completely, as was the case now—while these new types of stories played, drawing her in, captivating her with their insight and revelation.
“Like I can really afford another obsession.” She shook her head and sighed, weaving her way toward the front.
The elementary school would be letting out in about an hour, which meant in an hour and a half, the store would be overrun with six- to nine-year-olds on the hunt for their next favorite read because today was “Even Swap” day. She’d dedicated the first Friday of every month to this day, which was a hit with the community. The rule was if you brought in one book, you could hand it over and walk out with another from one of the shelves she’d dedicated to the program. Provided you were a student at Coyote Ridge Elementary. And fine, she’d made a concession or two for students in neighboring towns since word had filtered into those communities. Who was she to stop kids from reading?
It helped tremendously that she had a whole slew of young cousins whose parents were diligent about donating their gently used books to the cause.
Setting her Swiffer duster on the counter, she plucked her earbuds out. Last but not least, she needed the multipurpose cleaner so she could—
“Holyshit!” Clutching her hand to her chest, Violet tried to stop her heart from escaping through her ribcage. “For fucks sake, Holt.Warna girl, would ya?”
Holt Callahan smiled. “I thought you knew I was here. That’s what the bells are for, right?”
“How would Iknowthat?” she countered hotly, fisting her AirPods and thrusting her hand in his direction. “You scared theshitoutta me.”
“Holt, man. Come on. You shouldn’t be doin’ that.”
The voice that came from behind her had Violet spinning, another startled scream escaping.
“Mother of dragons!” she hissed, once again clutching her chest.
“Sorry,” the man said, although the devilish smirk on his face told her he was anything but.
Violet frowned, tempted to blast him with her outrage, but she didn’t make a habit of dressing down customers. It wasn’t good for business, after all.
Holt cleared his throat. Or maybe that was a cough meant to cover up a laugh. “Violet Anderson, I’d like you to meet Simon Jennings. Simon, Violet.”
Violet cast a death ray stare in Holt’s direction. “You know this guy?”
His smile was slow and devious. “And now you do, too.”
“So you’re not a customer?” she asked Simon.
“I could be.” That devilish grin remained firmly planted.
“But not at the moment?”
A whisper of confusion—or maybe amusement—shifted through his expression. “I guess, technically, I’m not.”
“Are you an author?” She tilted her head toward Holt. “Like him?”
“Nobody’s an author like me,” Holt said with a laugh.
