Chapter 3 #2
Avery stares at the dog, then at me, then at the books I've handed to her. "Fine," she mutters, shifting her entire layout around Pancake instead of moving the dog again. "The three-legged menace wins."
She points to a crate on the floor beside the cart.
"That one," she says. I pick it up and set it next to us.
She pops the latches and lifts the lid when her phone starts ringing on the shelf.
She taps speaker and sets it down without breaking her rhythm.
"Hi, Shane," she says, already sorting the top layer.
"Hey, boss," a guy answers, easy tone, a smile in it. "You want Read This Before You Spiral packed first or Touch Grass?"
"Touch Grass," she says, sliding a row into place. "Grass, Fur, Feathers, and Unpaid Therapy, and Future Main Characters will travel tomorrow. Everything else only if you don't run out of time or save for the next day."
"Got it. Also which loading entrance are you using at the pop-up and is the back corridor alarmed?"
"I used the back this morning so the moving guys had more room for the big furniture. From now on though, we'll use the front," she says, not looking up. "The back corridor's alarmed. So don't trip it."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he says. "I'll come over around noon with some lunch. I still haven't seen the space."
"Sounds good," she says, and reaches for the next set.
I listen while I pass her the next authors in sequence. He sounds like a likeable guy. The back and forth is easy. She gives direction without thinking and he follows without pushing back.
My attention shifts to him as he talks, tracking the details he asks about and the way his focus lands on the space layout and not particularly bookstore specific. Too interested in the logistics to be casual.
I file it without comment. There's no real reason to suspect him based on a clean background check.
A clean record means he hasn't been caught, which is different from meaning he's safe.
Saying anything means explaining what I'm doing inside a Ventura County arson investigation, which isn't a conversation I'm having today.
The fact that I don't like how easily he fits with her life is a separate problem and I know it, and I'm keeping the two things apart.
We keep moving, shifting from one shelf to the next as they fill, books sliding into place and rows tightening until the two sections start to hold together across the wall shelves and the aisle.
Avery sits cross-legged on the floor, opening two boxes. The first one doesn't contain whatever she's looking for. The second one contains what she wants.
She hands me a sign that reads Escape Reality, We Support It and says, "This goes on the wall above the Fantasy/Sci-fi books. There are nails and a hammer on the front counter. And, that one hangs above the Romance section."
She points to the Fall in Love, You Coward sign and adds, "I marked the ceiling."
I look at the signs.
Most stores sell books. Avery built a place people could disappear into for a while.
Then I look at her.
She catches it immediately and narrows her eyes. "Don't."
I take the sign and start toward the counter. "Didn't say anything."
She follows a step behind me carrying another stack of books. "You thought something."
I glance back. "That sounds like a you problem."
She snorts once under her breath and points toward the ladder. "Hang the sign, Callum."
I grab the hammer and nails from the counter and feel the memory catch as I cross back to her, the same quick sting from a Laramie cookout when she told me my music was embarrassing and I laughed it off, earning something sharper in return.
I keep moving and my hands stay busy, because for a long time the only way I handled her was to treat her like Jonah's kid sister and stick to it.
Even after Jonah and I left for the fire academy ten years ago, I told myself I didn't have time to think about her, though I kept track anyway and called it something else.
"Hand me K through M." She snaps her fingers once in my direction without looking up, already shifting the next row into place.
I pull the next stack, check the spines, and pass them over. She shelves them one by one then taps the row straight.
"Plot Twists and Emotional Damage sign goes above where the Thrillers will be on the middle south wall," she says, pointing with her chin.
I climb the rolling ladder, center the sign, and hold it in place.
"Higher and left three inches."
"You're enjoying this."
"Immensely."
I adjust. "Here?"
"Perfect."
I set the nails and step down.
Her phone buzzes and she checks it, typing a quick reply before pocketing it without breaking rhythm.
"Rugs in the open space between Romance and Mystery," she says.
I'm already moving before she finishes, dragging the first rug into place and squaring the corners with my shoe.
She pauses, looks at me, then at the rug. "That looks good there," she says.
"Felt like that's where you'd say it would go," I answer, pulling the second rug in place next to it.
Her mouth tightens like she's deciding whether to argue, then she looks back to the shelves. "Sofas on the long edges. Two chairs at the far end with their backs to the rear. Then four chairs on the other side."
I drag the sofas into place, set the tables between them, and angle the chairs to open the line to the front window.
She watches, then shakes her head. "No. Move the smaller set so each chair hits a corner."
I reset the chairs until the flow opens and the line pulls toward the front window.
By the time the light has shifted and the front windows throw a brighter wash across the floor, it's just after noon. A drift of harbor salt and a cool breeze slides through the space when we hear a chime and a guy steps in with a paper bag in each hand and a drink tray hooked in his fingers.
"Lunch delivery," he says with an easy grin, surfer-blond hair pushed back and sun-browned skin, his eyes going straight to Avery. "Turkey for you, roast beef for whoever is currently moving your furniture for free."
Avery doesn't look up from the shelf she's finishing. "And don't let him pretend he's helping. He already rearranged half my store."
"You're welcome," I say.
She reaches for another stack. "Nobody thanked you."
Shane points at the sandwich bag. "I did notice you skipped breakfast again."
Avery finally glances over. "I had coffee."
"Coffee isn't breakfast."
"It absolutely is."
"This explains so much," I say.
She rolls her eyes but takes the bag from him.
"Shane Booker, Callum Thorpe," she says. "Please tell me you finished Feed Yourself, Please."
"Almost," he says, setting the bags down. "I'll be done packing the rest of the store by end of day. People keep stopping by to panic about you closing without warning."
"You'll finish the store? Wow that was fast. Thanks!"
"You're welcome. I have a system."
"And you told them that I didn't close, right?" She hands me a sandwich as he nods.
"Yep, told them the temporary location and said we'd be open in a few days."
I take the sandwich and offer my free hand to Shane. "Callum."
"Shane," he says, shaking my hand. He's solid and looks relaxed. Like he belongs here with Avery surrounded by books.
"What's the timeline on remediation at the original building?" he asks.
"Inspection tomorrow," she says. "Repairs start after. I'll know more once the city signs off."
"Who's watching the place in the meantime?"
"Cameras at night. You'll focus on helping me run this place," she says, shooting him a look without heat.
He laughs. "Heard." He grabs the empty bags and heads for the door. "I'll text you when I'm done."
"No need," she says. "I know you've got it."
"Yes, boss," he says, and slips out.
I tell myself the unease under my ribs is timing, or the fact that I walked in late to a system that already works. I keep my face even and let it go.
Avery sets her cup down, picks up some books, and nods toward the shelf. "We aren't done."
Pancake thumps onto the rug and claims the center.
"Sorry," I say.
"Leave her," Avery says, already reaching for the next stack. Her phone buzzes again. She glances, answers in two taps, and tucks it away.
I watch her work. She handles the books with care, almost reverent, like each one matters more than the previous. The smudge of dust on her cheekbone shifts toward her temple as she moves. Her sweater has ink stains at the cuffs that look permanent.
She catches me watching and raises an eyebrow. "Problem?"
I gesture vaguely toward her face. "Hold still."
She narrows her eyes. "That sentence has historically never improved my day."
She swipes at her cheek anyway, misses entirely, and somehow makes the smudge worse.
"Better?"
"No," I say, and reach out before I think better of it. My thumb brushes the smudge on her upper cheek and temple and wipes it away.
She stills with her hand hovering over the shelf, a book half slid into place, and when she looks at me the room goes quiet in a way that has nothing to do with sound as I keep my hand there a second longer than I should.
Her gaze drops to my mouth and comes back to my eyes like she's deciding something, and I lean in.
For one reckless second, I think she might meet me halfway.
Then Pancake shifts on the rug with her nails scratching against the floor and I drop my hand, taking a step back.
She takes the book and turns back to the shelf. She does it the way Jonah's kid sister learned to do everything. Fast, clean, no evidence. Like the line was never there.
We fall into a rhythm that works easily. I focus on the shelves instead of her and keep my hands moving because a minute ago I was close enough to kiss her and now I'm pretending I wasn't.
She calls the move, I make it, then she changes it and I make it again until she pauses with a stack in her hands and says, without looking at me, "You don't have to keep helping."
I hand her the next set of books. "I know."