4. One More Page, One Last Nerve
Chapter 4
One More Page, One Last Nerve
Ori
M ina pokes her head into my office an hour later, jerking her thumb toward the door. “The shop is closed up, and I’m heading out.”
I nod in her general direction, but I’m more focused on our accounting figures for the last quarter. One More Page is doing better than original estimates, and the numbers keep growing.
See? Sometimes busting your ass pays off.
“Ori, are you listening?”
“Yes, but I’m sticking around for a while. I want to get a jump on decorating the window for the Christmas season.”
“Do you need me to stay?”
Darling Mina. She’s dogged in her determination to help others, although most people only focus on her outward beauty. Trust me, she’s stunning, but that’s the least wonderful aspect of the woman.
No doubt that's part of why she's so giving and helpful. I've overheard a few women in town gossiping about her behind her back—nasty, catty bitches who can't imagine that a woman who looks like a living Barbie could have a good heart.
Likely explains why she spends most evenings alone. A real shame, and one day, a real man will realize what a prize she is, whisk in, and scoop her up.
“Get out of here, Mina. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Stay off the damn ladder. Promise me.”
“No problem. The easiest deal in history. Now go.”
With a mock salute, she closes my office door, leaving me to my own devices.
I love the solitude. There’s something so peaceful about walking around the store and realizing that every book, mug, bag, and muffin—are mine.
I never imagined I’d wind up living in a tiny town in upstate New York. Then again, I never figured I’d be single at thirty-nine, either.
In every group of friends, there is one diehard romantic. In my group, that was me. I love the idea of love—the bigger, the better. My ideals make me the perfect bridesmaid, and trust me, I’ve stood up next to more than a dozen friends as they exchanged vows.
I’ve also sat on the couch holding tissues and chocolate, consoling half those women when their marriages went south.
So, while I adore the concept of happily ever after, more often than not, my all-encompassing view of the L word keeps me sidelined.
I’m not interested in doing something halfway. I want it all—the passion, the excitement, the earth-shattering love.
That’s a big part of the reason I’m single.
Men ask me out all the time, but if he doesn’t awaken something inside me, he’s not worth the bother .
An added issue is most men my age fall into two categories: either they have already walked the marriage path and have no interest in pursuing it again, or they’re like Asher Hammond—content to bed a different woman every night of the week.
So, instead of snuggling up to a handsome man tonight, I’ll focus on making Christmas dreams come true for Sparkwood. One More Page has a prime spot on Main Street, and the locals love browsing the holiday window displays.
Browsing often turns to buying, and my quarterly receipts prove that the residents of Sparkwood need One More Page in their lives.
All except for the men at Black Lotus. But to be fair, I’m riding on the assumption they even know how to read.
Look, it has zero to do with their appearance or their sexual prowess.
I don’t discriminate based on the amount of ink on someone’s skin or the number of lovers they take. Your body—do what you want with it. I do, however, harbor an intense dislike for assholes and Asher Hammond holds the crown in that category.
I scrub my face, grunting as I force the memory of Asher holding me out of my mind. He’s likely on his second round with Lydia by now, or maybe his third, depending on how much wooing she requires.
Either way, he doesn’t deserve another thought.
Time to focus on the task at hand.
I remove the fall-themed items currently decorating the window and schlep them to the top of the basement stairs.
I love that there is storage space under the shop, even if I am sharing said area with Black Lotus Tattoo. It’s an odd set-up, but according to the building’s owner, Kiki, it’s standard in this area.
The basement access lies through a nondescript door at the end of a jointly shared hallway. Beyond that area, Black Lotus and One More Page are totally separate, with our own meters and internet access.
I can only imagine if we had to share that, too.
A quick glimpse through the windows of Black Lotus reveals the darkened interior, which is yet another bonus. If their shop is closed, there is zero chance of a run-in with any of the employees.
Trust me, one interaction per day with Asher is more than enough.
To be fair, Braden and Zane seem lovely, although I rarely see them. When I do, they smile and wave before going about their business.
Asher Hammond is the exception to the rule.
I hate when people dislike me, especially when I have done nothing to deserve said treatment.
But there isn’t a chance in hell I’ll let Asher insult me and get away with it, even if he did carry my ass off that suicide mission of a ladder earlier.
And Mina would love for me to mend fences with the resident tattoo god, even if getting to know his brother better is her ulterior motive.
Not happening, lovely.
Flipping on the light, I carry the boxes downstairs. By the third trip, I’ve broken a sweat and am seriously reconsidering my plans for Christmas window dressing. On a positive note, I won’t need the gym tonight.
My front window stands bare with a last load of decor ready to return to hibernation. I perch the pumpkins on top of the box and tuck the last scarecrow under my arm. Then, with the grace of a drunken elk, I fumble down the stairs.
When a stray pumpkin slips from my grasp and rolls across the dimly lit basement, I decide to throw in the towel.
That’s enough for tonight.
I’ll awaken Santa from his slumber in the morning.
Time for a bubble bath and a glass of wine. Yes, that will do nicely.
I snatch the pumpkin from its hiding place under a table, brushing away a stray cobweb.
Funny, but I’ve never looked at the space from this angle before. Kiki mentioned when I first signed the lease that this was a speakeasy during Prohibition, and celebrities from all over the area partied until the wee hours of the night.
Didn’t hurt that the police chief at the time was a regular, or so goes the story.
Even though it’s a bit on the dingy side now, I see the potential in the space. There is history in these walls and stories just waiting to be told. In the darkened corners, I can almost see the outlines of her former patrons, leaning against the brick walls, gin in hand, as jazz music ebbs through the air.
Even the original oak bar still stands along one side, now coated in a fine layer of dust.
“The things you’ve seen,” I murmur aloud, tracing my fingertips along the bar’s brass inlay. “And the secrets you keep.”
She needs work, but it’s a magnificent spot for a bar, and it would be a huge draw in Sparkwood. Locals here love their history and their spirits—liquid and otherwise.
There have been rumblings in town about renovating the basement and returning her to her old glory. Word on the street is that Asher Hammond wants to take the reins on that project.
Not that he’s said a word to me.
No surprise there.
However, if he hopes to move forward, he must ensure I’m on board with the idea.
After all, that’s the agreement in the original lease. When he showed up in my store earlier today, I assumed that was the reason, but instead of breaking bread and laying to rest our past grievances, he saved my ass and then played on my last nerve.
Interesting negotiation style, to be sure.
Will I grant him use of the space?
Maybe. Maybe not. I have no intention of making it easy for the man. He’s going to have to—insert a gasp of shock and awe—be nice to me and humble himself enough to say he’s sorry for treating me shabbily.
Then, and only then, I might consider his request.
Until that happens, he can kiss my ass.
Petty? Perhaps, but the bastard has it coming.
I carry the pumpkin to the back corner of the basement and safely stow the decorations on the shelves.
Time to get out of here. That glass of wine sounds better with every passing second.
A creaking sounds from the top of the stairs, startling me.
“This is what you get when you talk to ghosts, Ori,” I mumble to myself with a chuckle .
Old buildings make all sorts of noises. The chance of an actual haunting is slim to none.
But then I hear footfalls on the stairs.
And that I’m not imagining.
My heart races in my chest as I realize, quite foolishly, that I never verified if Mina did indeed lock the door to One More Page.
“Crap. I’m not in the mood to die tonight.”
Sparkwood is a safe town, but that doesn’t mean it’s without incident.
Just last week, the liquor store got robbed at gunpoint. Granted, it’s more of a mark than a bookstore, but that doesn’t mean someone hasn’t been watching.
Waiting for the right moment.
Glancing around the dim space, I spy my only possible weapon—a push broom. “If this is my lone defense, I’m screwed.”
The footsteps move closer, no doubt drawn to the light leeching from the corner. I grip the broom tighter, ready to greet whoever they belong to, while praying they’re only a figment of my sleep-deprived imagination.
Or maybe it is a ghost, which would be a welcome reprieve at this point.
It’s then I hear another sound—the upstairs door swinging shut.
A door that locks from the outside.
A door I’m certain I didn’t unlock before I wedged it open.
Stupid, stupid, stupid woman.
And then I hear a deep male voice drawl, “I know you’re down here. Might as well come out.”