Chapter 9
NINE
JUNIPER
I stare at the message blinking back at me: Hang in there. Take ten minutes in that reading nook of yours.
I blink once. Twice.
Did I ever tell PourChoices I have a reading nook? I don’t think so.
Sure, lots of indie bookstores have them.
But mine isn’t exactly obvious. It’s tucked behind the table display of tropes and staff picks, between the stacks on the north side of the store, opposite the wall with built-in shelves and ladder.
A battered blush velvet chair, a basket of knit blankets in every shade of pink and cream, a little side table I found at a vintage market last spring.
It’s not official. It’s mine. My soft landing when the chaos gets too loud. Where I hide with an annotated paperback and a mug of something sweet when the weight of keeping this dream alive feels heavier than I can hold.
I scroll up through my old messages with PourChoices, just to be sure. Did I mention it when we talked about his wine bar opening next door? When we swapped marketing ideas? Nope. Nothing.
A prickle of suspicion dances down my neck, but my phone buzzes on the counter.
It’s Charlotte.
Charlotte
Hey Juni, I hate to do this, but I can’t make my shift today. Oliver’s running a fever, and I can’t find anyone to watch him.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
I let out a groan that echoes off the walls of shelves.
No help during the biggest holiday rush of the year.
It’ll be just me, my peppermint latte that’s gone cold, and a line of romance lovers needing recommendations, gift wrap, and for me to remember where I put the new shipment of special editions.
I glance back at my laptop. The chat with PourChoices is still open.
Part of me wants to type back: How do you know about the nook?
But my thumb freezes. There’s no time. There’s no headspace for that mystery today.
So I shove my phone into my skirt pocket, straighten my new Come for the Tropes, Stay for the Spice sign by the register, and force a smile for the first customer of the day.
Questions can wait. PourChoices can wait. Liam can definitely wait.
Right now, the only thing that can’t wait is my bookstore.
It’s early afternoon when three women approach the counter with their purchases. A mother and her two daughters similar in age to me.
“This is the cutest store,” one of the daughters gushes.
“Thank you.” I grab a tote bag and start ringing up their books.
The mom makes a waving motion. “And he’s a nice touch.”
“I’m sorry. Who?” My brows dip as I scan another book.
“The gorgeous man who looks like a book boyfriend reading between the stacks.” She cups her hand like she’s sharing a secret. “His British accent is on point.”
“It’s like that account for hot dudes reading,” one of the daughters notes. “You know, where people anonymously post hot guys reading in the wild?”
A man with a British accent reading in my store…what are the odds? Something tells me Liam would know.
I’m going to kill him.
I smile, but it’s thin and murderous. “It’s fake.”
The mom blinks. “Wait—really?”
“Tragically American.”
I force a polite smile, but under the surface, I’m already imagining Liam being shelved—face-first—into the mafia romance section.
After I ring them and another customer up, I make a beeline for the cozy reading nook between romantasy and LGBTQIA+ romance.
There, in my carefully curated nook, I find Liam sprawled in the plush pink armchair like he pays rent here.
Dark wool coat draped over the chair. Henley sleeves pushed up just enough to show an erotic amount of inked forearm.
One ankle crossed over his knee like he’s too cool to sit properly.
And in his hands? My annotated copy of Pippa Monroe’s latest book.
My tabs. My notes. My secret desires.
“I’m sorry, is this your villain origin story?” I ask.
He barely glances up. “It might be. Chapter thirteen is particularly engrossing.”
“Hey,” I reach for the book, but he shifts back, holding it just out of reach. “You stole that from my apartment.”
He shrugs, not fazed by my accusation. “Your coffee table is basically public domain.”
His outstretched arm lifts his shirt, exposing a taunting sliver of hard abs. Of course.
“Yeah, well, that book is off limits.”
I do my best not to ogle the unfair display, bracing my hands on the back of the chair as I lean closer, fingers stretching for the book.
With a smirk that’s lazy and infuriating, he shifts it just out of reach.
It’s just like last night with his phone and that photo he took of us.
He may have saved that photo in time, but this—my annotated book—he can’t have.
I lunge a little harder, but it’s a big mistake. My balance slips, the chair legs screech, and the next thing I know, I’m toppling straight into his lap with an ungraceful oof.
His free arm comes around my waist, steadying me like this was his plan all along.
“Chapter thirteen has a lot of tabs,” he murmurs, voice warm against my ear. “I’m taking notes.”
“Notes for what?” I snap, trying to twist away but only managing to settle in deeper against him.
“What you like.”
Heat coils low in my belly, no matter how hard I glare.
“I’m this close to throwing you out.”
“You won’t.” His grin widens and it’s pure sin. “You’re too intrigued by what I’ve learned.”
He taps one of the pretty pink tabs with maddening precision. “You’re a sucker for enemies-to-lovers. Slow burn. Banter. Forbidden tension. And apparently—” his eyes flick to mine, dark and wicked, “mirror sex.”
My entire body bursts into flames. It’s hard to pinpoint if I’m seething mad or turned on. Maybe both. It’s our conversation in the bathroom this morning all over again.
“Those are fictional preferences,” I hiss.
He shuts the book with a soft thud, his mouth so close I feel the brush of every word. “Then let’s do a case study. Compare fantasy with reality. It’d be purely academic, of course.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Just passionate.” He winks. “And according to page 297, you like that.”
I want to scream. Or kiss him. Or maybe throttle him.
Before I can decide which, I glance toward the checkout counter and freeze.
A line. A full-on holiday rush, half-off-bookmarks kind of line.
“Oh no.”
Liam leans just enough to peek around me, his hand still warm on my waist. “Looks like your book boyfriend’s popularity is contagious.”
“I hate you.” The dull ache between my legs says otherwise.
“You don’t.”
I shove at his chest, wriggling free of his lap in the least graceful escape imaginable.
My knee bumps his thigh, he grins, quietly smug, and I shoot him a withering glare before I all but sprint for the register.
The three customers in line are already starting to glance at their watches.
I plaster on a customer-service smile like it’s been stapled to my face and hop behind the counter, pointedly ignoring the heat still buzzing under my skin.
“Sorry about the wait! I—uh—was handling a plot twist.” I reach for the book of the first customer. “You know how those go.”
She smiles and nods. “Totally.”
“I thought it was a mirror in chapter thirteen,” Liam says casually as he strolls up beside me, like he belongs there. Like this is his store.
Just like my apartment this morning. He’s got some nerve.
“You are not on the clock,” I hiss under my breath as I scan the book.
“Then I’ll consider this a volunteer position. Civic duty. Holiday spirit.”
“Liam.”
But he’s already turning to the customer. “Wasn’t that just the cutest cover? I’m reading that one now—highly recommend. Dual POV, forced proximity, emotionally constipated hero. You’ll love it.”
The customer beams. “That’s exactly what I was hoping for!”
Traitor.
Liam slips behind the counter next to me, and before I can stop him, he’s ringing up a tote bag and chatting with the next person in line like he’s done this his whole life.
His sleeves are still pushed up, his forearm tattoos winking at me.
And the stack of romance bookmarks he’s handing out might as well be little green flags waving, I read romance novels, give piggy-back rides, and I’ll rub your feet.
The piggy-back ride was nice, but there’s no way I’m letting him near my feet. Liam’s thumbs digging into my arches while I suppress a guttural moan? I’d never recover.
I glance at him sideways, begrudgingly impressed.
“Where did you even learn how to do this?”
He shrugs. “I pay attention.”
“You’re a menace.”
“I’m a multitasker.”
Liam ends up helping me through the entire customer rush, somehow managing to charm every person while also upselling tote bags like it's his personal mission. I don’t know if I’m impressed or horrified.
“You know, most people panic in retail chaos,” I mutter as I bag up an entire stack of holiday romances.
“I thrive under pressure,” he says, sliding a credit card back to a customer with a wink. “And I’ve got fast hands.”
I’ve fantasized far too many times about the capabilities of Liam’s hands, and it has gotten me nowhere.
“Stop talking.”
A moment later, the bell above the door jingles again as the last customer leaves, and I finally exhale.
Liam glances around like he’s soaking in every corner of my store before his eyes land back on me. “Looks like you figured it all out.”
I think he’s referring to my meltdown about the budget and marketing plan last Christmas, the one he was patiently helping me untangle before I decided to ruin everything by kissing him like a desperate idiot.
Part of me wants to let him think I did all this on my own. That I’m thriving and fully capable without his help. But I can’t quite take all the credit.
I turn away and start organizing the bookish sticker carousel, most of which are holiday themed.
Sleigh my Tbr.
Merry and Bookish.
Hot Cocoa & Plot Twists.
“I didn’t do it alone,” I admit.
“No?” Liam shifts, leaning one elbow on the counter beside me.
“There’s this small-business forum for Summit County. One of the guys on there talks me through stuff sometimes. PourChoices—that’s his username.” I add, “P-O-U-R. Like pouring wine or whiskey. I don’t actually know his real name.”
Liam’s quiet, but there’s a telltale glint in his eyes. I’m suddenly babbling to fill the silence. “He’s really smart. He helped me figure out my budget, and he listens to me rant about tropes. He’s kind of the real deal.”
“Hmm.” He watches me with an unreadable expression. “Sounds like you’re a fan.”
I squint at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Nothing. Just wondering…” His mouth curves into a maddeningly smug grin. “Do you like him? More than a friend?”
“What? No.” I scoff, maybe too loudly. “First of all, I don’t even know him. Second, what are you talking about?”
“First, Wiley. Now this forum guy. I’m starting to think I’ve got competition.” He playfully arches a brow, but the fierce glint in his eyes gives him away. Just like last night, my body reacts to his overt jealousy by lighting up from the inside out.
I cross my arms to cover my quickly hardening nipples. “I’m not a complete weirdo who has a crush on a guy I’ve never met, Liam.”
His grin grows, but his eyes soften with sincerity. “Good.”
I glare, but it’s not as sharp as I wish it was. The way he’s looking at me is making it harder to be annoyed with him.
“You got it from here?”
“Of course I do, it’s my store.”
He hovers closer, like he wants to say something. To do something. But I clear my throat, and he leans back.
“I’ll see you later.”
“Byeee!” I call to his retreating frame.