Claimed and Catalogued (Chestnut Lane Bookstore #3)

Chapter One

Evie

I don’t know who this Santa auction is for, me or the store.

I mean, sure, I want to save the little bookstore on the mountain.

The place looks like a small hole in the wall, but the creaky pine floors and the big front windows add charm that can’t be replicated with one of those box stores in the city.

So yeah, this auction will help save the bookstore, but I also need to find a man, and I need one now.

Not any old man. I need a tall man. A man with big, broad shoulders and a deep, growly voice. I need a man covered in tattoos with a penchant for fixing things… me included.

I roll my eyes in spite of myself.

What I actually need is a grip!

I lean back in the big velvet chair at the back of the bookstore and stroke Bookmark, a sweet tabby that’s called this place home for the better part of his life.

I swear he gives the best advice of all.

Like right now for instance, I’m pretty sure he’s trying to tell me that men are overrated and that I should be one of those strong, brave women who ignore the constant harping from their mothers and show up to their sisters’ weddings alone.

Too bad I don’t listen to cats.

“You find anyone good yet?” My friend Tessa shelves a few books beside me as she talks.

“I don’t know. I think I’ve got enough guys interested. I’m just trying to narrow down the final list.”

“Isn’t the auction like… tomorrow?”

I love Tess, but she’s got a terrible habit of reminding me of timelines and other inconvenient truths I’d rather not remember.

Like the fact that I haven’t returned her crock-pot from the chili cookoff three weeks ago, or the fact that I promised to organize the craft room but haven’t gotten around to it yet, and the fact that I should no longer be looking for Santas for an auction that’s hours away.

“Also,” she says, sliding another book onto the shelf, “don’t forget you promised you’d go to the tree lighting on Main with me tonight. We can pretend you’re scouting for last-minute additions to the Santa auction.”

I glance down at Bookmark, who’s sprawled out on my lap like a spoiled loaf. “She’s bullying me,” I whisper. “Help me, Bookmark.”

When he doesn’t move, I know I have to take matters into my own hands. “About that,” I say, readjusting in the chair.

“Nope. Not a chance.” She shakes her head and leans against the back wall, darting a dagger of a stare back at me. “You’re not canceling on me. You canceled on me the last two times we were supposed to go out.”

“I’m exhausted, Tess. I’ve been pulling ten hour shifts here and—”

“You’re not too exhausted to come to a tree lighting. Don’t you have to eat food?”

“It won’t be that simple. We’ll run into everyone in town, they’ll all want to talk, and I don’t feel like talking tonight. I want to cuddle up on the couch with a bowl full of chocolate-covered pretzels and read.”

She tilts her head to the side as though she knows I’m full of it. “You’re not going to be reading. You’ll be trolling that local dating site, telling yourself you’re looking for Santas when in fact you’re looking for a date to your sister’s wedding.”

I glance toward her and blink once. “So what if I am?”

“You can come out with me tonight… in the real world. Maybe the man of your dreams will be there, ready to drop everything and join the cause.”

“The cause?”

“The cause,” Tess repeats, arms crossed as though she’s about to give me another lecture on leaving the house I didn’t ask for. “Operation Bearded Lumberjacks. OBJ for short.”

“Well, as long as you shorten it.”

She pays me and my commentary no mind. “So, wear something festive and fun. No, festive and flirty. Not this,” she gives me the once-over, “third grade teacher thing you’ve got going on.”

I narrow my brows, pretending I’m offended. I’m not. I love this sweater. “You don’t like my chicken sweater? It’s cute as hell.”

“Ya know, on second thought, maybe you’re advertising how badly you need cock. That’s a win.”

I roll my eyes and bite back a laugh. “You’re just jealous you don’t have a sweater just like this.”

“Yes,” she smiles, “totally jealous. Now put the cat down, put on some red lipstick, and let’s close up and get out of here.”

I glance down at the cat who’s currently licking his paw like he’s over this conversation. “What do you think, buddy? You like my chicken sweater?”

He doesn’t give me a straight answer, but I don’t need one. The sweater is staying.

“It’s not that the sweater isn’t cute, it’s just that the dress I brought you will look… better,” Tess says as I stand from the chair and make my way behind her toward the door.

“Any man who’s interested in me is going to have to be interested in me in this sweater.” I shrug. “It’s my favorite. I wear it all the time.”

“Sure,” Tess tilts her head to the side as though she’s annoyed, “but don’t you think you’ll have more luck drawing attention in a little red dress with a slit up the side?”

“At a small town Christmas tree lighting? Yeah, I’m sure that’ll draw tons of attention. Everyone will be looking at the girl with her tits on display.” I shake my head. “It’s a family event. My sweater will be fine.”

Tess flicks off the lights to the bookstore and grabs her coat off the hook by the door. “You can lead a horse to water… can’t make ‘em drink.”

I shake my head as I follow her out the front door of the shop and into the cold winter night. “You’re talking a big game. I could turn around any second and head home. There’s a bowl of chocolate-covered pretzels and a Christmas book waiting for me.”

“Then you’d have missed that.” She nods down the street toward a massive man leaning against a light pole on the corner of Main.

“Okay,” I shrug, “it’s a big dude. There are lots of big dudes around here.”

“That big, though?” Her tone rises at least three octaves as she speaks, then drops dramatically when she says, “Because that man is… big!”

I’m not sure I started looking at men like slabs of meat, but apparently this is who I am now.

Before the man’s face has even come into view, I can’t help but notice how tall and broad he is, how muscular his arms are, how tight his jeans fit, how his flannel shirt strains against his shoulders, how he wears his trucker cap low and mysterious, and how gray his beard is.

He’s a vibe.

“He’d be a perfect wedding date.” Tess grins and flips her hair back and away from her shoulders as we walk closer and closer toward Main Street, the twinkling of the lights and the scent of pine and sugar getting stronger with every step.

“Yeah right,” I laugh. “No one would ever believe a guy like that would want a girl like me, but I’d bet he’d pull in tons of women for the bookstore.”

“No way!” Tess tucks into my arm, pushing me forward, like the way she pushes me forward with everything I do. In some ways, I appreciate the effort. Other times, not so much. I’m not sure which this is yet. “At least talk to him first. Maybe he’s a total weirdo. Good looking people are sometimes.”

“We don’t know if he’s good looking.” I tuck my hands into the pockets of my unzipped jacket. “We only know he’s tall. We could get closer and realize he has a face for radio.”

“With a body like that, he can have two heads, both faces for radio, and he’d still be a catch.” Tess glances toward me in the darkening night, her breath fogging as she laughs.

“Well, he moved.” I shrug my shoulders as I stare at the corner where the giant once stood. “Guess it wasn’t meant to be.”

“Oh, it’s meant to be,” Tess says, holding my arm tight as she navigates us up and down the side streets toward Main.

There’s a buzz in the air tonight that’s not usually here.

An excitement that feels warm and lived in.

Families circling the tree with cocoa, shopping downtown, carrying festive bags with bright smiles as Christmas music plays in the streets, though none of them seem to be stalking the massive man in the tight jeans…

which makes me question how unadjusted Tess must be.

She is the one dragging me after all.

We cross the street, weaving through people taking pictures in front of the tree.

“He’s gone,” I say, glancing back toward Tess. “Let’s get some cocoa and scope out the crowd. Maybe there’s a single dad somewhere that’s desperate to play boyfriend-girlfriend with me for my sister’s wedding.”

She shakes her head and nods forward, her gaze fixed on me as though she’s seeing a ghost.

I follow her line of vision, and there, leaning against the brick wall by the bakery, is the massive man we’ve been chasing, and he’s looking right at me.