Chapter 31
Just an hour ago, there were dozens of flyers everywhere. Now there are none.
I stop at the blue mailbox, where I know I saw a flyer—and internally questioned its legality. Only a few torn shreds of tape remain, which means I did not hallucinate that moment.
Someone took the flyers down.
This is very strange. I shoot off my first group text to the Chamber, asking if anyone has seen the missing flyers or knows what happened to them.
The response is immediate: a string of confusion and lots of emojis, plus rage from Shelby for the time, paper, and precious printer ink.
No one has any clue, but the flyers were definitely here an hour ago.
I arrive at the bank and walk inside, looking for Tina. She’s not in view, so I go to the teller and apologize before sliding stack after stack of cash across the counter. A few minutes later, I am handed a deposit slip, pleased to find I was only ten dollars off in my counting.
After half an hour of me loitering around with an empty neon-pink bird backpack like an absolute weirdo, waiting for Tina McGowan, people start looking at me funny, so I head back home and grab my laptop.
I need to set up Wi-Fi, which is annoying because I need Wi-Fi to set up my Wi-Fi.
There’s no coffee shop downtown, so I kill two birds with one stone (phrasing; sorry Maggie!) by putting five bucks in Nathan’s fishbowl for a lavender oat milk latte and some quality internet time.
The first thing I do is schedule my own Wi-Fi service, which will be installed next week.
The second thing I do is search how to open a bookstore, and much to my surprise I discover a treasure trove of resources online.
There’s even a forum that seems to have every answer, link, and checklist I’ve ever needed.
I sink into a squishy chair and take notes, making a to-do list and a to-buy list. They are both intimidatingly long lists.
This is starting to feel very real. I have never been so excited about owning one of those chalkboards that you put out on the sidewalk.
When I check my inbox, Jemma is already sending me links to a sign shop that can turn around a reasonably priced vinyl sign in two days and an Etsy shop that makes those neon signs that everyone uses at weddings.
Cait has already created three very different logos, and one of them is so perfect that my eyes well up with tears.
The font, the colors—it even has a perfect little squirrel holding a peanut.
I am so lucky, I think, to have so much support.
When I moved up here, I felt like I was going to be all alone, but now I’m surrounded by generous, talented people who are willing to give their time and thoughts to help me realize what has only recently surfaced as my life’s dream.
Not only my sisters back home, but Nick and Nathan and everyone in the Chamber.
Emboldened, I make several purchases with Maggie’s card.
Each time I add something to a cart, I’m giddy.
Each time I click the Buy button, I hold my breath and nearly chicken out.
I’m not used to spending money. It’s…a lot.
But it’s happening.
It’s really happening.
I know Colonel will reimburse me from the trust, so I keep a spreadsheet of expenditures and start a folder in my brand-new NutsforBooks inbox for receipts so I don’t have to watch them pile up.
I’m being as frugal and reasonable as I can be, but it’s just really, really fun selecting your own book cart and thinking about pushing it around your own bookstore.
I was the kind of kid who once asked for office supplies for Christmas, so this is pretty much the best day of my life.
And then I have to do the hard part: I have to set up accounts and learn how to buy books and choose a POS system and and and…
Opening a bookstore is not for the faint of heart.
When my latte is nothing but lavender foam with crunchy bits and I have online shopping fatigue, I feel an immense sense of satisfaction. Nathan is in the kitchen working on hors d’oeuvres for a bachelorette while Nick gets the rooms ready, so I toss my cup and call out my thanks and goodbyes.
“You’ll be at Craft Night, right?” Nathan calls back.
And I promise I will be.
When I enter the bookstore, I’m floored by how much work has been done.
The skeletons of shelves line the two main walls.
Even more impressive, Hunter is carrying a board, his flannel tied around his waist and his muscles bulging.
I watch him slide the board into place, where it fits perfectly.
I can already imagine lining up the books on these shelves, making little labels to designate genre, dusting them every day before I flip over the Open sign in the window.
He turns and sees me, and his eyes light up.
“Everything good so far?”
I look him up and down. “Oh, yeah. Everything is amazing.”
I can’t help running a hand over the marzipan-colored wood.
It’s a little rough, but the whole room smells like progress and hope.
Hunter is watching me inspect his handiwork, his arms crossed, a few blond hairs falling over his eyes.
I turn to him and go up on tiptoe to tuck the hairs behind his ear.
“You really are building my dreams. I kind of can’t believe it.”
Oh.
Oh, it’s happening again.
He’s looking down, I’m looking up. I’m drawn to him, like being around him makes me feel light and floaty. My lips part, I hold my breath—
And he knows what to do.
He kisses me.
And my God, what a kiss.
Strong hands grasp my jaw tenderly as he steps into me, his lips landing on mine, soft but with a desperate intensity.
I tense up momentarily at the suddenness of it, the certainty.
This man knows what he’s doing, and he does not waver.
His mouth is warm, firm, hungry, and my hands are suddenly determined to touch him.
I trail my fingertips down his sides, feeling the curve of ribs, the hardness of muscle.
Hunter Blakely is a sturdy, powerful man accustomed to molding reality with his calloused hands, and he is making a different kind of magic bloom in my blood as he kisses me with his entire body.
I answer in kind, meet him eagerly. He’s pressed against me, and he walks me backward three steps until my butt hits the wall, pinning me there in the most delicious way.
I follow his lead; this man can move me any way he wants to as long as his lips keep working against mine, his tongue sliding along until I open my mouth enough to grant him access.
Somewhere—light-years beyond the cage made of our bodies, the warmth pooling between us, the hot breath passing from him to me and back again—something bangs against the wall.
He pulls away, dragging his thumbs along my jaw.
“I think your ghost doesn’t approve of me,” he says, voice low and teasing.
I look up into his eyes, and it’s like he really sees me, more than anyone ever has.
“It doesn’t like anything but fishbowls and charades,” I answer, a little breathless.
His fingers reluctantly leave my face. “So I…should’ve asked if that was okay.”
“If it wasn’t okay, I would’ve pushed you away.”
“You shouldn’t have to push a man away.”
I let my head fall back against the wall, put a hand on his chest, right over his heart.
“I don’t want to push you away.” I curl my fingers into his shirt and give it a tug.
“I…kinda want to pull you back for more. So let’s just say, from here on out, I’ll let you know if something isn’t okay, but until then, don’t stop. ”
A devastating grin. “Yes, ma’am.”
“A boy with manners, I like that.”
There’s another annoyed knock on the storage room door, and Hunter snorts and rolls his eyes. With deliberate rebellion, he puts a hand on the wall and leans in with slow purpose, searing my lips with his own. It’s brief but so hot I’m surprised smoke isn’t curling up from between us.
“I’m almost done for the day, and then I need to head to the store for supplies. Come over around seven? I’ll text you the address.”
I’m dazed from his kiss. “I’ll be there.”
There’s something formal and almost giddy about our goodbyes, as crush-drunk as two kids leaving school who will later meet up at prom.
This will be my first first date in over ten years, my only date that hasn’t been with Billy Wayne.
I scurry upstairs to begin my beauty rituals, all the while thinking about Hunter moving around downstairs, knowing he’s thinking about me, too.
I’m beginning to realize that before I arrived in Arcadia Falls, I had forgotten how to dream.
I knew everything about my hometown and the only boy I’d ever dated, but now my life is full of firsts again, like I’m just waking up from a long hibernation.
I’m full of energy, and every day brings exciting new ventures.
If I can just find Maggie and get rid of this troublesome ghost, maybe I can stop worrying for once in my life.
Well, something tells me bookstore owners never stop worrying, but at least I’ll be worrying about different things. Normal things. Bookish things.
There’s one more item on today’s to-do list, other than go to Hunter’s house and apparently sup upon steak au poivre.
I take my key ring and find the key for the antiques market.
The square is mostly quiet, other than the restaurants, which are just gearing up for the night.
I open the glass door and make a beeline for the taxidermy squirrel I remember seeing earlier and easily unhook him from the wall.
He’s mounted on a chunk of wood, vertical and looking over his fluffy shoulder with curiosity.
“How’d you like to be my new mascot?” I ask him.