Best Laid Plans

“Gabe. Let me give these books to you.”

I lean closer, shaking my head. “Let me support your business.”

She screws up the corner of her lips, sighs, then holds up a finger. “Be right back.”

A minute later she returns with a new hardcover. Glancing from side to side, she slides it over to me. “It’s the new Sandra Brown. It doesn’t come out for a few more days. Give it to your mom as a gift.”

She gives me the change from the bills, and I thank her. “She’ll love it.”

And she does, indeed, when I head over for dinner and give the book to my mom.

“You win the prize for my best son ever,” she says to me as she clutches the book.

“Was there anyone else in competition?” I tease, since I’m her only son.

“Hmm. You’re right. But I still like you a whole helluva lot.”

“Gee, thanks, Mom.”

“I love you.” She winks as she settles into the couch with her book then shoots me a genuine, “Thank you so much.”





*



Later that night, there’s a new game of Words with Friends waiting for me, and the first word Arden has played is CURIOUS.

I want to read something into it, but mostly I’m damn impressed she led with a seven-letter word.

When my shift starts the next morning, we’re called to a small warehouse fire, and handling that blaze is a hell of a lot easier than trying to use a word game to decipher a woman.





7





Arden





Men make no sense to me.

Like right now.

I’m on my turf, in my zone, recommending the right wine to go with the right book all night long like I’m a rock star at this, and I am. The whole time this guy keeps staring at me.

He’s been here the last few nights, so I think he’s a local.

He’s handsome, with a square jaw and close-cropped brown hair. He wears a white dress shirt and a checkered tie, so I guess he’s in banking or law.

Every night he buys a book, drums his fingers on the counter, and smiles before he asks me how I’m doing.

Every night I smile back and say, “Great.”

Fine, I know I’m not like my friend Perri, smooth and cool when handling men. But she’s a cop, and I’m a—well, I’m the good girl in the crew. Virgin till twenty. Serious boyfriend in college. Another serious boyfriend in my mid-twenties. Then David.

That’s it. I’ve been with three guys. I’ve never played the pickup game. I’ve never even been on a dating app. And I’ve never made a move on a customer, even though Mr. Businessman has great taste. Last night he purchased Kristen Hannah’s The Nightingale. The evening before it was Hidden Figures. Each time he asked me if I liked the books. Of course, I told him.

I mean, really.

They’d have to take away my license as a bookstore proprietor if I didn’t adore those works.

Tonight, Mr. Businessman makes his way to the counter, a paperback tucked under his arm. There’s a gray tie knotted on the cover, and I blink. Is that book what I think it is?

“Hey. How are you?” He grins at me a little sheepishly.

“Terrific. How are you?”

“Fantastic.” He sets down the book, taps his finger against the knot, and meets my gaze. “I’ve heard so much about this book, I figured I should probably read it.” He lowers his voice, glances from side to side. “But don’t tell the guys at my office, ’kay?”

I bring my finger to my lips. “It’ll be our little secret.”

He smiles as I ring the purchase up. “Great. I figure it can’t hurt to know what women want these days.”

He’s buying the book to better understand the fairer sex? Okay, I’m down with that, I suppose. “Smart man. A lot of women definitely still like reading this book.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it, then.” He clears his throat and fixes his eyes straight on me. “Do you like it?” The words come out staccato. Like he truly wants to know what I think of Fifty Shades of Grey.

And this is why men make no sense.

Is he asking if I like being tied up? Does he want to know if I enjoyed the story? Is he asking my advice so he knows if it’s a good gift for his girlfriend?

I answer truthfully. “It’s a fun book. I can see why it was so popular.”

My reply earns another smile. “Good to know.”

I tuck the receipt between the pages. “Here you go.”

He doesn’t leave. “So, I’ve noticed you’re here all the time. I trust this is your store?”

“My baby. Opened it five years ago. Love it, especially the book clubs.”

“I like what you do here. It’s more than just books that have people coming in.”

Does he mean me? Or . . . “Well, I do work with book clubs all around the county and set up book and wine events—pairing wine with different books.”

“That’s awesome. Do you like wine?”

“Like a hammer loves a nail,” I say, then I want to smack myself because does that sound like the worst come-on ever?

But he doesn’t seem to notice. “There’s a great wine bar down the street if you ever want to . . .”

I straighten my spine.

Holy smokes. He’s asking me out. The handsome guy is asking me out.

Men do make some sense.

This computes.

But before I can say, Why, yes, I’d love to, I catch a final glimpse of the tie on the cover. Nerves grab hold of my throat. They tighten their grip, strangling words, choking them to silence. What if this guy is like David? What if he wants some version of a woman I don’t know how to play? What if he’s looking for a naughty girl rather than a nice one?

The nice girl in me answers, “Oh, that wine bar is great. You should totally go there.”

I skedaddle to help another customer, nearly tripping over Clare, who gives me an imperious yellow-eyed stare for deigning to go near her.





*



“I froze. I completely froze. Like that dumb statue.” I gesture to the dude riding the bronze horse as Perri and I walk through the town square later that night.