38. Colt
COLT
We’ve got fifteen hours until we open this bookshop, and it’s abundantly clear we won’t be ready.
The light fixture above the New Release section is dangling by its wires.
Boxes of backstock are waiting to be stored.
The chandelier needs to be hung. The accent chair needs assembling.
And the window display, which will be a marvel once installed, isn’t up.
And that’s just what I can see from here.
Yet Alice seems happier than I’ve ever seen her.
Since the moment we woke up, we’ve been struck dumb with lovesickness.
Every time we pass within three feet of each other, we crash into one another, drawn by some invisible but irresistible force.
I’ll seize her waist, she’ll hook her arms around my neck, and we’ll spend ten minutes making out.
The exhaustion is there.
But the dopamine is stronger.
I’m high on the fact that I’m not going anywhere. That I’m staying in Holly River, and it’s because she wants me here. At this point, if Ali asked me to clear every loblolly pine in East Texas with a hand axe, I’d be halfway through the first acre before she finished the sentence.
I’m not sure I ever allowed myself to admit how much I wanted this.
Since the first time I kissed her… No, from the first moment I saw her when I returned to Holly River—grown, gorgeous, the same woman who never deserted me—I knew I wanted her.
But at the time, I didn’t believe I deserved happiness, and I wasn’t used to life working out the way I wanted it to.
This time, though, it had. And as long as Alice would let me, I’d bring home her favorite pie from June’s shop (cherry), and take care of her hens (even Pickles).
I’d rub her feet after she’d been on them all day running the bookstore—just to hear those wonderfully erotic moans she makes—and act out every book boyfriend scene she wanted, especially those involving nudity.
I’d decorate for the holidays just the way she liked and take her dancing at the Hall whenever she felt the itch. I’d do all of that and more—anything, really—if it makes Alice happy. Because she’s already made me happier than any one man has a right to be.
That’s why the bookshop not being ready kills me.
Because I want to give this to her and for it to be perfect.
We’re close, so painfully close. But the fact of the matter is, the shop won’t be ready by tomorrow.
We’ll be able to open, but it won’t be as Alice envisioned.
At least not for the first week or so. And such is life.
When one thing goes well, another falters.
But as long as Alice still wanted me? Well, the entire planet could drop out from beneath my feet and I’d still grin.
Alice grabs the stepladder, unfolds it, and starts to climb.
“Not a chance.” I hook my arm around her waist and sweep her off the rungs before her feet can clear the second step.
Her laughter rings out as she reaches backward for the ladder.
“What did I say?” My lips find her neck, biting playfully. “No more than six inches off the ground at all times. My heart can’t handle another injury.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“Can’t be too careful.”
“You can, actually.” Alice points at her rolling library ladder. “What about—?”
“Off limits.”
She pulls back, eyes wide with mock horror. “You can’t be serious.”
I heave her into the air and recatch her, tightening my grip. “In fact, to guarantee your safety, I should carry you everywhere you need to go.”
Alice nods toward the fantasy section with a grin. “Well, I need to move that row of books up.”
I carry her to the wall. “Proceed.”
Alice laughs again, briefly dropping her head against my chest. Then, with a regal expression—as if one really should be carried everywhere in one’s own shop—she starts to reorganize the wall.
“There,” she announces. “Perfect.” She beams at me, and then her eyes sweep the room as if deciding what to tackle next.
A subtle shadow darkens her features, and she smiles sadly.
“I wish everything could be perfect for opening day.”
The admission, finally voiced aloud, twists my insides. Though I know Alice places the blame on her own shoulders, this is my failure. I talked her into taking the leap. I promised to help her. I’m the one with the carpentry skills, only half developed, so it was on me to finish the renovations.
I open my mouth to apologize, but am interrupted by a knock at the door. Immediately, I’m on alert, my mind jumping straight to Travis, but surely he doesn’t have the balls to show up here again. Setting her down, I hold my hand out, gesturing for Alice to stay put as I move toward the entrance.
When I peer through the peephole, my muscles relax.
I swing the door open.
“Howdy, partner.” Maggie raises her arms, a bottle of champagne in one hand and a flower arrangement in the other. “To a fully finished bookshop!”
I push open the screen door. “I don’t think that’s in the cards, but—”
“Not alone, it’s not.” Maggie steps aside.
The breath stills in my lungs, because standing in the yard is a small army of people, only some of whom I know.
June, Roxanne, and Dalton stand arguing over something while—off to the side—Frank and Grant share a laugh.
From across the street, I see Alice’s neighbor, Mrs. Devonshire, walking in our direction, Harold at her side.
Alice comes to stand beside me, her eyes wide. Confusion crosses her face at the sight of the half-dozen strangers.
“Oh, them?” Maggie says. “They’re followers. And fans! They traveled a day early to be a part of the bookshop’s completion.”
“Y’all are here to help?” Alice asks, stupefied.
“We can’t wait to help, honey,” June calls from the yard. “We’re so excited to have a bookshop in Holly River. We weren’t going to let you do this alone.”
Alice flies through the door and onto the porch, throwing her arms around Maggie. Then she turns and waves everyone toward the house. “Come in! Please come in! I’ll put on some music. I…I can’t believe this.”
Alice and I shake hands with the strangers—her followers—who even brought their own toolboxes. They introduce themselves, explaining how much her journey meant to them. And then everyone disappears inside.
I remain on the porch for a second, shell-shocked.
Somewhere along the way—whether it began in childhood or in the military—I’d decided that people were, at their core, selfish.
It made the festivals and gatherings in this town seem like the product of ignorance.
People who either didn’t realize how troubled the world was, or didn’t care.
But as I watch through the window as friends and strangers spring into action to assist us, I can’t help but wonder if the truth isn’t more complex.
That perhaps human beings are capable of both terrible things and profound kindness.
And that maybe whichever I look for is the one I’ll see.
My entire perspective, the one I’ve used to survive since I was a kid, shifts a few inches in a new direction.
“Colt.”
I turn to see Alice holding open the screen door, her angelic face glowing.
“Come on, handsome,” she says. “We can’t do this without you.”
I smile and follow her in.
Alice starts the old record player because the new speakers aren’t yet wired.
Everyone cheers when the needle drops and Dolly Parton’s “Working 9 to 5” fills the small space.
People scatter, each working on projects that Alice or I assign.
June and Mrs. Devonshire take over the coffee station, unpacking mugs and setting up the brewer.
The visitors start hauling boxes of backstock to Grant’s old bedroom, which serves as a temporary storage solution.
I’m showing Harold where to mount the paper towel dispenser in the bathroom when Roxanne taps my shoulder.
“Colt.” She inclines her head. “There’s someone at the door for you.”
I nod, confused, but thank her and navigate between the bodies toward the porch. When I push open the screen door, I find Warren standing on the other side. He looks uncertain, hands shoved deep into his pockets, posture stiff.
“Hey,” he says, looking down at his boots and then at the window to see who’s inside. “Alice texted me.”
I glance over my shoulder at Alice, who’s busy filling the glass jar on the checkout counter with June’s chocolate chip cookies. That woman, I think, shaking my head fondly. I really need to start hiding my phone from her.
“I can go if you want.” Warren meets my eyes. “But I’m not here to cause problems.” He lifts his hands in surrender. “I swear.”
I consider him for a moment longer, gauging the genuine expression on his face. Remembering that he helped me with Travis the other night, and hasn’t said shit about it to anyone. Nor did he make the situation worse, which I half-feared he would.
I sigh and shove the door open wider. “Grab a hammer.”
Warren nods and follows me in. He moves toward the toolboxes situated in the middle of the room, and he and Grant lock eyes.
Warren abandons reaching for a hammer and straightens.
He takes a step toward Grant and a few words are exchanged, none of which I can hear over the music and the sound of people chattering.
But I do see Grant nod, though his face remains wary, his gaze watchful.
When Warren walks off, Grant catches my eye and comes over.
“Your brother’s a fucking menace,” he says, watching as Warren kneels down to address the baseboards.
I nod. “That he is.”
“Can’t tell if I like him or hate him.”
I nod to that too, because I can relate.
Grant slaps my chest. “Hey. Hey.”
I look at him. “Don’t fuck my sister.”
I smile a little.
“Like, I approve and shit. But you guys can never, ever touch intimately.”
“Got it.”
“And if one day you guys want to have kids or whatever,” he continues, “adoption is the answer you’re looking for.”
“No sex,” I confirm.