Exes Don’t (Fall In Love #3)

1. Trope Round-Up

1

Trope Round-Up

Rose

I peruse the shelf in front of me at Mood Reader with a discerning eye. Here at the adorable book store where I work, we’ve got books in every genre, but my attention lingers on our romance titles. The trope gang is all here: enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, mutual pining, co-workers. The list goes on and on.

My gaze snags on a new release with a bright, red and green illustrated cover, and I feel a familiar tug of longing. Not, as you might assume, to have a whirlwind holiday romance like the one this story promises to deliver, but to write a book of my own.

Too bad I gave up on that dream a long time ago—about five years ago, to be exact. Right about when some of my favorite romance novel tropes hit too close to home…and blew up in my face.

If—and that’s a big if—I ever manage to write my romance novel, let me tell you the tropes that will not be included.

Number one. There will be no sports. No professional athletes with chiseled muscles for days and charisma and charm to boot. No swooning, screaming fans and high-stakes games. None of that garbage.

Number two. There will be no royalty or celebrity characters. Talk about making things complicated. No way. My book will include normal, everyday, common people.

Number three. This is a big one. There absolutely, positively will be no spies. No undercover work. No secrets and intrigue. No cloak-and-dagger shenanigans. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be…trust me.

Finally, number four. Perhaps the most significant trope I plan to avoid—miscommunication. Lying, hiding feelings, keeping secrets…that’s the absolute worst.

“Hey, Rose.” Mia, my boss and the owner of Mood Reader pops her head around the New Release shelf I’ve been organizing, stirring me from my thoughts. “You sure you don’t mind closing up for me when you get done?”

“No problem at all.” I wave her off. “Get out of here. Patrick is waiting.”

Mia blushes, and if I had a normal heart, it would do a little pitter-patter, squeeze in my chest, or take off in a gallop at the sweetness of it all.

Something like that.

Objectively speaking, Mia and her husband, Patrick, are darling. He adores her. We’re talking hearts shooting from his eyes, showering her with constant attention as if she’s the only person in the room. The stuff of all these romance novels I’m surrounded by.

But even though I recognize the love between Patrick and Mia, I don’t have a normal heart. I’ve got a heart that’s been locked down and suffocated under so many layers of deceit I can barely find my own pulse most days.

“I owe you.” Mia gives me a side hug before she floats down the aisle toward the check-out counter and retrieves her winter coat. She’s so in love she’s glowing.

A horn honks from Main Street, and I follow Mia to the door.

“You kids have fun,” I tell her.

“Always do. Don’t work too hard.”

“So bossy.” I pout. “It’s like you’re my boss or something.”

“Nah. That’s me being your friend. Good night!”

I smile as Patrick hops out of the driver’s seat and jogs around the front of his truck to open Mia’s door. She climbs in, and he makes sure she’s situated before closing it and hurrying around to his side again. They drive off, and I sigh, flicking the lock on the front door before turning around and slouching against it.

Mood Reader is my happy place…my sanctuary in Cashmere Cove. My sister, Poppy, and I moved to this small town that sits on the Wisconsin peninsula, along the Bay of Green Bay, a little over a year ago. Our younger sister, Noli, followed us shortly thereafter. The whole Kasper clan now calls this charming, waterside town home. I never thought I’d find a position like the one I have at Mood Reader. My work is fulfilling, and Mia is the best boss. So much of my adult life has been spent jumping from odd job to odd job, taking whatever is available. I thought coming to Cashmere Cove with Poppy would be more of the same, and my position here would be another in a long line of mundane jobs that serve only as a front. None of them are my real job, after all.

My real job is a secret.

How’s that for ominous?

I push off the door and glance at the clock.

I’ve got about thirty minutes to get things organized before my real job collides with my book store job.

I finish arranging the New Release display, straightening out a stack of library card gift tags Mia and I made to give to anyone who buys a book from us between now and the holidays, when my phone vibrates in the back pocket of my jeans.

I fish it out and find a message from Poppy.

Poppy

How’s everything in the Cove? Miss you guys!

Noli responds before I get a chance, and I find myself nodding along to her message.

Noli

You’re on your honeymoon. Why are you texting? Isn’t Mack monopolizing your time ?

Poppy and Noli are my best friends, my ride-or-dies. We’ve faced the ups and downs of life together and lived to tell the tale. Poppy, as the oldest, assumed a mother-hen role, making sure Noli and I had a roof over our heads and graduated high school after our mom died, our dad left us, and our grandmother, who had taken us in, passed away.

When I spell it all out like that, I have to cringe. We’ve been through it.

So, yeah, while we tease Poppy for being overbearing, we’re grateful for her.

Poppy

We’re getting in plenty of quality time, don’t worry. winking face emoji angel face emoji

Rose

Quality time. Is that what the kids are calling it these days?

I send off a GIF of Marvin Gaye singing “Let’s Get It On.”

Noli

TMI. gagging face emoji

Poppy

crying laughing emoji kissing face emoji

Poppy and Mack got married last weekend, on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. The wedding was stunning, and the couple was radiant and so obviously in love even someone like me with my nonfunctioning heart could feel the magic in the air. They’ve been on their honeymoon for all of three days, and I miss them. It’ll be different when they get back. They didn’t live together before they got married, but now, Poppy will move from the side of the duplex she’s been sharing with me to the other half where Mack lives.

Not sure how I feel about sharing a wall with the newlyweds, to be honest. But I’ll figure it out. I could always find a new place. It was Poppy who got us the rental when we first moved to town. We affectionately call our half of the duplex “The Downer” because it’s been such a fixer upper. But I’m not tied to it in any way. It’s been another pit stop on the endless highway of my life. Where am I going, you ask? Your guess is as good as mine.

I don’t need to be dwelling on that right now, not when I’m staring down a meeting that I’m dreading in—I check the clock again—ten minutes. I fire off two more quick texts.

Rose

Quit being such a mom and go enjoy your new husband, Pops.

And spare us the details.

Noli

Seriously. We’re begging you.

Poppy

You guys are no fun.

You know you love me!

P.S. Noli, tell Collin he better not propose to you for real while we’re gone, or I’ll kick him in the shins.

And Rosie, don’t you go finding someone to fall in love with until I’m back.

A slideshow of images flies through my mind, all of them including a handsome and kind man from my past.

“He’s not for you.” I say the words out loud to the empty bookstore while at the same time sending my sisters a message.

Rose

Still planning to die an old cat lady. Thanks for your concern. cat emoji peace sign emoji

Noli

Oh my gosh, Pops. Good byeeeeee!!!

I huff out a laugh and busy myself with the books. It’s a relief, really. To have the books.

In the past year, my sisters’ lives have exploded with happiness and companionship and all the things you’d hope for the people you love. Poppy and Mack nailed the friends-to-lovers trope. Noli and Collin are the picture of enemies to lovers. I’m so glad for them. Truly. But it’s only made all the more apparent the shell of a life I live.

There’s a single rap on the rear door. It echoes through the long, narrow bookstore, which is much deeper than it is wide, like a car backfiring.

Here goes nothing.

I swing by the check-out counter and turn off our indoor security cameras, mentally apologizing to Mia. I’ll make sure the cameras are reactivated when I’m done with this meeting, but I don’t need her asking me about the stranger who came in after hours.

The walk to the back of the bookstore has me feeling a little like Wendy, walking the plank. But there’s no Peter Pan in my story. Nope. This girl has to rescue herself—or at least grit her teeth, survive, and advance.

I flip the lock, tug my shoulders back, and pull open the door off the alley.