Violet leaned forward, resting her cheek on his chest, her hands gliding up and down his sides. “Liar. We all pay attention to that stuff.”
He really didn’t, but he didn’t feel the need to argue. He had Violet right where he wanted her, and for once, everything was exactly as it should be.
Chapter Thirteen
Monday, September 12, 2022
“Girl, what the fuck?” Spencer asked, strollinginto the bookstore like he owned the place. “I’m gone for two days, and you go and catch yourself a live one.”
Violet couldn’t help it; she smiled. She didn’t even care that there was a customer in the store. Thankfully, it was an adult since Spencer’s mouth would put a sailor’s to shame. Plus, she had a soft spot for him. Probably had something to do with the fact they’d been best friends since kindergarten. They’d been in the same class all the way through junior high and many of the same ones in high school. Elana joined the pack in third grade, making them the three musketeers—or so their teachers liked to refer to them.
“Simon Jennings,” Spencer drawled, dragging the name out in more syllables than necessary. If she had to guess, he wasbiting his tongue, refraining from inserting the F-word (which was his favorite of all the words).
Before she could say something, Spencer tipped his chin, his gaze sliding behind her. Violet turned to see the customer coming to the counter, a book in his hand.
“Did you find what you were lookin’ for, Mr. Hawthorne?” she asked, smiling at the older man.
“I did, I did.” He set the book and his credit card on the counter. “But you can tell Mr. Callahan that my patience is runnin’ low.”
Laughing, she entered the book’s price into the point-of-sale terminal. “Trust me, I’m harpin’ on him every chance I get.”
“You’re a good girl.”
“Bullshit,” Spencer coughed into his hand.
Violet quickly took care of the sale, sliding his book into a paper sack and adding another she’d picked out when he came in a few minutes ago. She passed him the credit card and receipt.
“I added a book for Becky,” she told him, referring to his granddaughter.
As it always did, Mr. Hawthorne’s face lit up, beaming with pride for his only daughter’s only daughter.
“If she’s already read that one, tell her to come in anytime and exchange it for another.”
“Thank you, Violet.”
“You’re very welcome.”
As Mr. Hawthorne headed for the door, he paused, pointing a finger at Spencer. “Watch your mouth around the ladies, Mr. Elliott.”
“Yes, sir,” Spencer said sheepishly.
They waited until he walked out before they busted into giggles.
“He hasn’t changed since we were in his fourth-grade class,” Spencer said between breaths.
“No, he hasn’t.” When she managed to compose herself, Violet nodded toward the paper sack he’d brought with him. “Tell me that’s lunch.”
“It is.”
“What’re we celebratin’?” she asked, holding out her hands and curling her fingers repeatedly. She was starving, and the Nutri-Grain bar she had for breakfast had long since worn off.
Spencer held up three fingers.
Violet’s eyes widened. “Shut up. Three? For sale? Not for lease, right?”
“For sale,” he said, pulling their Cobb salads (a must when he stopped at Chick-fil-A) out of the bag and setting them on the counter.
“When?”
