Chapter 5 #2
When the sensations finally fade, I lean against the wall, trying to catch my breath. Water still pounding against me, shivering with the aftershocks of the world’s most intense orgasm, I try to decide if I feel better or worse.
JULIET
My text alert dings, and it’s from Braedon of all people.
I miss you. We should talk.
Yuck. As if. Did talking about him last weekend somehow summon him?
Maggie was absolutely right when she said he wanted a mother and not a partner; I doubt the man has ever loaded his own dishwasher.
Besides, he was the one who broke up with me.
He doesn’t get to backtrack on that decision now, just because he needs someone to cook for him.
I know I should block his number, but some masochistic part of me resists the idea. But if he’s actually going to start texting me, I may have to rethink that. It’s not like I’m going to respond, so what’s the point?
Jin must see me roll my eyes, because they ask, “Everything okay?”
I nod. “Fine. Just my useless, immature ex texting me to say we should talk because he misses me.”
Jin wrinkles their nose. “You need to hit him with some Taylor.”
“Say what now?”
Jin chuckles. “You know. We Are Never, Ever Getting Back Together. The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived. I Forgot That You Existed. Send him a whole freaking Swiftie playlist.”
I laugh as I tuck my phone back in my pocket and return to the task at hand, refilling what I’ve come to think of as my “vibes” display near the register.
So far, it’s proved popular with customers, to the point that even grumpy Agnes congratulated me on the idea when we crossed paths last week.
Jin has taken to keeping a list of titles they recommend for it by the register, most of which I’ve incorporated; I’ve learned to trust their taste.
They perch atop the counter while I restock the display. Their thick black hair is cut in the micro bob with baby bangs that Michelle Forbes rocked in Kalifornia, their arms are sleeved with koi and lotus tattoos, and multiple face piercings glint in the store’s twinkle lights.
“Sales from that display are going nuts,” they observe.
I shoot Jin a smile. “I’m so glad. I really struggled with the way things are organized, so this makes me feel the tiniest bit of redemption.”
“Well, keep it up and you’ll be in the running for employee of the month,” they tease. We both laugh. Spenser would never single anyone out like that, lest it make the other handful of employees feel bad.
“More like employee of the moth,” I joke back. What can I say? I’m a sucker for a bad pun.
Jin rolls their dark eyes and hops down. “Boo. That was terrible. You good here? I’m gonna take my lunch break.”
I wave them off. “Go, I’m all set.”
I settle myself behind the counter and Flicker jumps up, something in her mouth. She’s making an insistent noise around the object, sort of the meow version of “mmmph.” She approaches me and drops the item, which turns out to be a tea bag.
“What’s this?” I pick it up and inspect it. The bag is lavender, and the label on it says “Amour” in fancy script. I turn it over and look at the ingredients, which include rose hips, hibiscus, and lemon zest.
I set it back down and look at Flick, who nudges it back to me with her black nose.
“You want me to have it?”
She nudges it again. Odd.
“Okay,” I say, tucking it into my shirt pocket. “Thank you.”
She chirps and hops down, wandering off into the depths of the store, probably to nap in one of the reading chairs. Weird, but kinda sweet. Maybe she likes me.
Spenser appears a few moments later and I flag him down. “Hey, I have ideas for the first three titles for the book club,” I say.
“Hit me.”
He leans against the counter, his shirt sleeves straining against his biceps. Once again, I wonder how he got so built when all he does—as far as I know—is run a bookstore. Even today’s vest is straining against his chest.
I give myself a little shake to regain my focus.
“Uh, I was thinking the new Bettanie Brisk novel to start. She’s popular, but not an automatic NYT bestseller, so I feel like she’s kind of a good middle-ground place to kick things off.
For April, I was thinking we could do one of those popular mysteries set in England.
You know the ones, they have flower puns for titles…
” I snap my fingers, trying to think of an example, but Spenser beats me to it.
“Radley Howard,” he says. “Garden gnome author. I think the most recent one is Pistil Whipped. Or maybe Bud Behavior.”
“Right,” I say with a nod. “For the third one, I was thinking either this travel memoir that’s getting a lot of traction on social media or something beachy to kick off the summer season. But that might be better for a June book.”
“What’s the memoir?”
I pull out my phone to show him some of the posts I saved, but of course, Braeden’s message is still there. I swipe away as fast as I can, but I can tell from the frown on Spenser’s face that he saw it.
“Lame ex trying to get back together,” I say.
“You don’t owe me any explanation about your personal life.”
“I know, but it’s just…you should know I’m not planning to leave my job and get back with him or anything. I’m happy here in Harmony Glen. Without Braeden.”
A small smile breaks out across his lips. “Glad to hear it. I’d hate to see you go.” We make eye contact for a beat too long before he clears his throat. “I mean, from the store. You’re doing good work here.”
“Right. Uh, anyway, this is the book.” I show him the cover and some of the comments about it, trying not to feel disappointed by his backpedaling.
He scribbles the title on a sticky note and shoves it in his pocket. “I’ll look into all three of them and get back to you.”
“Great. Oh, and one other thing.” I reach into my shirt pocket and pull out the tea bag. “Flick brought me this. Not sure where it came from or why she gave it to me.” I hand it to him. “Is it yours?”
He takes it and freezes. “Flicker brought you an Amour tea bag?”
“Yeah. I tried to give it back to her, but she kept nudging it to me.”
He raises a brow and continues to stare at the lavender packet as if it holds the answer to the universe. (It doesn’t. For that, he’d need to go grab some Douglas Adams books.) “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll have to do a better job of keeping the tin closed,” he finally says.
I blink at him. “So it is yours? Surprising.”
“What?” He waggles his antennae in what seems like a slightly defensive gesture. “I like tea.” With that, he turns and disappears into the stacks, much as his cat did a few moments ago.
“Like pet, like owner,” I mutter, then turn to greet Ellie as she walks in. I could use the distraction of helping her track down the newest romance novels.