11. Presley
Presley
I stare at my reflection in the mirror. “You look like someone who works in a bookstore.”
Penny is reflected behind me on the bed.
“You don't agree?”
Her head tilts.
“Rude.”
I turn sideways and study my outfit. Black leggings. An oversized rust-colored sweater that falls off one shoulder. Brown ankle boots.
Comfortable. Cute. Appropriately autumn.
And most importantly, nothing I can easily trip over. I've learned things over the years.
Penny jumps off the bed. She's wearing a little orange sweater. Very festive.
“You're trying to upstage me, aren’t you?”
Her tail wags.
“I knew it.”
I grab my bag and follow her downstairs.
Morning sunlight pours through the windows, making the house feel entirely different than it did last night. In the daylight, it feels safe and normal.
I deliberately don't look toward the ghost when I step onto the porch.
I make it halfway down the steps, then glance over. The ghost is still straight.
Dammit, I looked.
Penny reaches the bottom and turns back to me.
I’m standing there, gripping the railing. “It was the wind.”
The explanation hasn't improved overnight.
I practically run to my car with Penny on the leash beside me.
Today is my first day at The Crooked Spine.
I'm not letting a Halloween decoration ruin it.
The bell over the bookstore door chimes when I walk inside.
Margaret looks up from behind the counter. “Good. You're early.”
“Three minutes.”
“Early is early.”
Penny trots toward her.
“And my favorite employee is here.”
“I haven't even clocked in yet, and I've already been replaced.”
Margaret bends down to pet her. “Penny doesn't require payroll.”
“Excellent point.”
“Plus, she has better customer-service skills.”
“I've been here thirty seconds.”
“Long enough to judge.”
I shake my head, then hang my coat in the staff room and return to the front.
Margaret hands me a name tag.
I stare at it. Something ridiculously emotional moves through my chest.
It's a name tag. A cheap piece of plastic with my name printed across it.
But it means something.
A job.
A routine.
A reason to get out of that big, empty house every morning.
Something that's mine.
“You okay?”
I blink and find Margaret watching me.
“Yeah.” I smile. “I'm good.”
“Good. Because I'm about to overwhelm you with information.”
“Bring it on.”
For the next hour, Margaret walks me through the register, returns, special orders, gift cards, inventory, and a computer system that appears to have been designed sometime around the invention of electricity.
I stare at the screen. “This is horrifying.”
“She's temperamental.”
“She's?”
“I've named her Mildred.”
“Of course you have.”
“She responds better when you respect her.”
I glance at Margaret. “You know computers don't have feelings, right?”
“Tell her that when she deletes an entire special order.”
I look back at the screen. “Good morning, Mildred.”
Margaret smiles. “Fast learner.”
By ten, I've checked out three customers without accidentally charging anyone a thousand dollars.
An older woman asks me to recommend a romance for her granddaughter. I show her three. She buys all of them.
A man comes in looking for a mystery his wife mentioned six months ago. He remembers neither the author nor the title but assures me the cover was “probably blue.”
We somehow find it.
A little girl spends twenty minutes sitting on the floor reading to Penny. Penny lies beside her like this is her life's purpose.
And somewhere between shelving a stack of historical romances and helping a teenager find the fantasy section, I realize something.
I'm happy.
Actually happy.
I haven't thought about the ghost hanging from my porch in hours. Or the woods. Or Grandma's empty chair. Or the fact that the life I planned is temporarily on hold.
I'm just... here.
Surrounded by books.
Helping people find stories.
I run my fingers along the spines as I walk down the romance aisle.
Maybe Stella really did know something.
I’ll never tell her that. I wouldn’t hear the end of it.
The bell over the front door rings.
“Good morning!” I hear Margaret greet someone.
A familiar voice answers. “Morning!”
I peek around the shelf. Gracie walks toward me carrying two coffees. Walter waddles beside her.
“What are you doing here?” I hold up my hands. “Not that I’m not happy to see you.”
“I wanted to surprise you. Didn’t see the point in making you wait until lunch to see my smiling face.”
I grin at her, then glance at the cups in her hands. “Please tell me one of those is for me.”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“Whether you're willing to admit I make excellent coffee despite the espresso incident.”
“I'll lie for caffeine.”
“Good enough.” She hands me one of the cups. “This one is for Margaret.”
Walter spots Penny. His entire demeanor changes. He stares at her, tail wagging.
Penny abandons her spot beneath the register and races toward him.
“Look at that,” Gracie says. “Young love.”
“I thought they were friends.”
“Walter has other plans.”
“I’m not sure Penny has any idea of his ulterior motives.”
“Probably not.”
“Typical man.”
Gracie laughs.
Walter and Penny sniff each other before Penny spins around and takes off toward the children's section. Walter slowly follows.
Gracie watches him. “He's trying.”
“That's what matters.”
“He'll get there by Thursday.”
I laugh and take a sip of the coffee. “Oh, that's good.”
“See?”
“I said I'd lie. I didn't say I'd keep doing it.”
Gracie puts a hand over her heart. “You wound me.”
“Aren’t you two supposed to be working?” Margaret walks toward us with a smile. “One of you for me and the other one at Bramble & Bean.”
Gracie points at me. “She's corrupting me.”
“I've been employed here for approximately two hours.”
“Plenty of time.” Gracie hands Margaret the coffee. “I figure this will make you happy.”
She takes it and immediately takes a sip.
She releases a content sigh, then turns her attention to me. “You're a terrible influence, Gracie.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I don't think that was a compliment,” Gracie says.
“I choose to take it as one.”
The bell rings again. Margaret returns to the counter.
Gracie lowers her voice. “So?”
“So what?”
“Do you love it?”
I glance around at the shelves, the old wooden floors, and the rolling ladders. Penny is stretched beside Walter while a little girl shows both dogs a picture book.
The answer comes easily. “Yeah, I do. I really do.”
Gracie smiles. “I knew you would.”
“I’ll never admit it to Stella.”
“Why?”
“She thinks she has witchy intuition.”
Gracie's eyes widen. “Oh, I like that.”
“Forget I said anything.”
“Too late.”
By lunchtime, my feet hurt. My coffee is gone. And I’ve learned that alphabetizing books sounds much easier than it actually is when customers spend their days putting them wherever they damn well please.
I carry an armful toward the back.
Margaret calls to me from the counter. “Can you grab a box of bags from storage while you're back there?”
“Sure.”
I head down the narrow hallway, Penny’s nails tapping behind me as she follows.
The storage-room door is closed.
I grab the handle and pull.
Nothing.
“Seriously?”
I pull harder.
Still nothing.
Penny watches.
“What the hell, Penny?”
Her tail wags.
“It won’t open.”
I brace one boot against the floor and tug. The door suddenly jerks open. I stumble backward, my shoulder hitting the opposite wall. “Ow.”
Penny barks.
“I'm fine.”
She looks skeptical.
“You're very judgmental for someone who eats things she finds beneath furniture.”
I step into the cluttered storage room and begin searching. I find the bags near the back.
Penny remains in the doorway.
“Smart girl.”
I look around.
The room is larger than I remember. With no windows and only one overhead light, the room feels dim and eerie. Boxes of books and supplies are everywhere.
My gaze goes to the heavy wooden door. It has started drifting inward.
“Oh hell no.” I hurry over and shove it open again.
Penny stares at me.
“I don't trust it.”
She sneezes.
“Exactly.”
I wedge one of the smaller boxes against the bottom of the door.
“There.”
The door stays open.
“I'm smarter than an eighty-year-old piece of wood.”
I pick up the box of bags.
The little box holding the door shifts and the door moves an inch.
I stop.
It stays in position.
I hurry out before the box decides not to hold it.
The afternoon passes faster than the morning.
By four, I've learned where almost everything is.
By five, I've sold enough romance novels that Margaret jokingly threatens to put me on sales commission.
And by five-thirty, Penny is asleep beneath the counter.
“I think you wore her out,” Margaret says.
“Existing wears Penny out.”
“She had a busy day.”
“Yes, all that attention from customers wore her out.”
Margaret makes a sympathetic noise. “Exhausting.”
“For a celebrity.”
I look down and shake my head. Penny lies on her side, completely unconscious.
The bell over the door chimes.
I glance at the clock. Twenty minutes until closing.
Margaret is carrying a box toward the back.
“I've got it,” I call.
“Thanks.”
I straighten behind the counter.
“Hi. Let me know if you need help finding anything.”
The man who walks inside doesn't answer immediately.
He's really tall with dark hair. Broad shoulders beneath a black leather jacket.
There's something about him that makes it hard for me to look away.
His gaze travels around the bookstore, then lands on me.
He stills. For the briefest second, something changes in his expression.
But it's gone before I can identify it.
His eyes are smoky gray, the kind of color that probably looks different depending on the light.
Right now, they look dark. Intense. And entirely too focused on me.
His eyes move over my face like he’s studying me.
I suddenly become very aware of my hair. My sweater. The fact that I've been working all day and probably have mascara beneath my eyes.
“Can I help you?”
His gaze travels over me before returning to my face.
“Presley.”
Something about hearing my name in his deep voice sends a strange little shiver through me.
I blink, wondering how he knows my name.
Then I remember the nametag.
Right.
Obviously.
I smile. “That's me.”
His mouth moves. Not quite a smile, but close.
He moves toward the counter.
The closer he gets, the more intimidating he becomes. And, unfortunately, even hotter.
Because apparently the universe has decided I haven't suffered enough.
“Looking for something specific?”
His eyes stay on mine. “You could say that.”
His tone is rough. Deep. Suggestive.
My breath hitches.
“Oh. Um.” I force a smile while my brain freaks out.
Get it together and stop drooling over him.
You’re twenty-six, not sixteen.
I take a deep breath and look away, trying to regain my composure.
“Just browsing?”
His eyes trail over me. “Something like that.”
Penny chooses that moment to wake up.
Her head lifts, then she crawls out from behind the counter.
The man's attention immediately drops.
He freezes.
Penny looks up at him.
For one horrible second, I remember her growling at the window.
My stomach tightens.
Then her tail wags.
She trots directly toward him.
“Oh.”
He looks at her.
Penny stops near his boots, then sits up like a prairie dog, staring up at him.
What the hell? She usually takes several minutes to warm up to strangers.
“Well, apparently you've been chosen.”
His gaze remains on her.
“Does she do this often?”
“No.” My tone lowers. “Never.”
His eyes lift to mine. “Interesting.”
That word does something strange to my stomach.
He crouches.
Penny immediately puts her paws on his knee.
His large hand moves over her head, gently and carefully.
This shouldn’t affect me. But it does.
“What's her name?”
“Penny.”
Something flickers in his eyes. Again, it’s gone too quickly for me to understand.
“Penny,” he repeats.
Her tail beats against the floor.
I smile. “She likes you.”
“I can see that.”
“She's usually a good judge of character.”
His hand stills against her fur.
For the first time, he smiles. It's small. Dark. And somehow makes him even more intimidating.
“Is she?”
My stomach flips. I have absolutely no idea why.
Penny licks his hand.
I sigh. “Apparently.”
He stands. “I'm Hades Jenkins.”
I stare at him. “Hades?”
“Yeah.”
“Like... god of the underworld Hades?”
His mouth twitches. “That's usually the one people mean.”
I blush. “I wasn't sure if there was another Hades I should know about.”
“There isn't.”
“Good. That would've been embarrassing.”
Even worse than it already is.
His eyes stay on me.
I'm starting to feel like he can see straight through me.
“So, Hades...” I gesture toward the bookstore. “Are you sure I can't help you find something?”
His gaze moves toward the shelves. “Maybe.”
“What do you read?”
“Not much.”
I put a hand over my heart.
He raises an eyebrow.
“You just said that inside a bookstore.”
“I did.”
“Margaret may ask you to leave.”
“Will you?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“Whether you're willing to be rehabilitated.”
That almost-smile returns. “Think you can do it?”
The question shouldn't sound suggestive.
It does.
Or maybe that's my imagination.
Heat creeps into my cheeks. “I've only worked here one day. Let's not overestimate my abilities.”
His gaze drops briefly to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “I won't.”
The air between us suddenly feels warmer.
Penny sits between us, completely unconcerned.
I can’t seem to look away from him.
Like he’s holding me captive without saying a word. Or touching me.
Margaret's footsteps sound from the back.
The moment breaks.
I clear my throat. “So... browsing.”
“Yeah.” He turns toward the shelves.
I watch him walk away.
Then I force myself to look down at the register.
Holy shit.
Penny looks up at me.
“Don't.” I hold up a hand. “I can’t handle the judgment right now.”
Her tail wags.
I glance toward the aisle where Hades disappeared.
Even though I can't see him anymore, goosebumps rise along my arms.
I rub them away.
It’s probably the cold air that came through the door when Hades stepped inside. That's all.
I look down at Penny. “Maybe don't fall in love with the first terrifyingly hot stranger who walks through the door.”
She stares at me.
I pause.
“That was mostly a warning for me,” I whisper.
And even though he’s nowhere around me, I really hope he didn’t hear that.