by Megan Green
The woman’s smile falls as she jumps into motion. “Oh, let me get you a towel. You can’t walk through town like that.”
Before I can object and tell her my house is next door, she’s gone, the rusted screen door clanging shut behind her. I briefly debate on leaving without another word. I wasn’t being overdramatic when I said I was about to turn into an icicle. A few more minutes out here, and I might be able to give Frosty a run for his money.
But the woman is back before I can take a step, a big, fluffy towel in her arms. I snatch it out of her hands as soon as she offers it to me, wrapping the soft warmth around my shoulders and exhaling in relief. I’m still cold as fuck. But the towel is a welcome comfort.
“Thanks,” I sputter out through clenched teeth.
She gives me a sweet smile, her kind eyes sending a wave of heat through me as she looks me up and down. “Anytime. Though you might want to wait a while before you try swimming again. Like July maybe?”
I laugh at her bluntness. “Thanks. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. And I’ll get this towel back to you as soon as possible…” I trail off, fishing for her name.
She waves me off. “No rush. I’ve got plenty of others. Housewarming gift from my sister. Apparently, she thinks there’s going to be more than me living here. She gave me enough for the damn Brady Bunch.”
My ears perk up at that. Hearing she’s staying here by herself definitely piques my interest. Having a beautiful woman next door might make these next few months go by a little quicker.
No, Tag. No. That’s not why you came out here. The last thing you need to do is start something with a sweet small-town girl after that shitstorm you just endured. Back the fuck off.
“Well, it was nice to meet you…” I realize she never supplied me with her name. I hold out my hand because, even though I’m cold as hell, I won’t let it stand in the way of my manners.
“Lexi,” she says after a moment, placing her hand in mine. “Lexi Barnes. And likewise. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
My fingers curl around hers, lingering a little longer than necessary. Something briefly flashes across her eyes, but it’s gone before I can even get a good look at it. Pulling her hand from mine, Lexi spins around, grabbing the coffee mug from the table, and disappears through the door, not even bothering to say good-bye.
Well, that was weird.
She was nothing but nice—after she was convinced I wasn’t there to kill her, that is—but then, as soon as her hand touched mine, it was as if she couldn’t get away from me fast enough. And, despite her final words, I got the distinct impression that the last thing she wanted was to see me around.
Leave it alone, Tag. You’re asking for trouble.
I know I should listen to reason. I should listen to that small part of my brain that evidently isn’t frozen solid just yet. Lexi isn’t like the girls I’m used to back in Seattle. She isn’t going to roll over for me just because I’m Tag Taggart.
But the problem is…
I’ve always loved the chase.
Chapter 4
Lexi
For the past three days, I’ve done nothing but clean, clean, clean, repair, repair, repair. The first day, it was fun. The second, a slight pain in the ass but still enjoyable. But, by day three, I’m about ready to burn the damn thing to the ground and claim the insurance money.
Why on earth did I think this was a good idea?
I woke up this morning, trudged my way to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, took one look at the table I’d set up in the little breakfast nook—covered in various debris from my attempt to caulk the windows last night—and decided I was taking the morning off.
That is how I’ve found myself here, in downtown Maple Lake—if you can call a grocery/convenience/hardware store and a series of tiny storefronts downtown. There’s not even a damn streetlight here.
As I walked the quarter mile from my house, I saw exactly three vehicles on the run-down road. And, when two of them came up to an intersection at the same time, I watched as each sat and tried to wave the other one through first. You’d never see something like that in Chicago. There, the only things waving out car windows are middle fingers.
I walk along the quiet street, smiling sweetly at each person who nods and waves to me. I’m not used to such politeness from strangers. It’s a little overwhelming, to be honest—having to smile all the time. It’s not something I’ve done much of during the past year and a half. But being surrounded by kindness is definitely a feeling I could get used to.
A hand-painted sign a few yards ahead of me catches my attention. It’s nothing fancy, but the care that’s gone into its upkeep, the paint looking almost brand-new despite the weathered wood, is evident, even from down the street. And, when the words on the sign register, I hustle the last remaining feet and duck inside.
Turn the Page bookstore is my childhood dream come to life. It might be a tiny space, but every single available surface area is covered in books. Shelves line every inch of the walls, thousands and thousands of pages begging to be read. There’s an old cushioned chair in one corner and a small round table next to it with a dimly lit lamp and a stack of books resting beautifully on the top. I could spend hours in that chair, the musty, marvelous scent of books overtaking my senses and the wonderful adventures printed on those pages taking me to places I’d never been.
Just as I’m about to make my way over to my newfound, permanent perch, a man steps out of the back room, his arms laden with books and his shoulders covered in dust. He gives a little yelp when he turns and finds me standing here, obviously not expecting to see someone in his shop. I turn my face back toward the door, wondering if I maybe missed an hours sign.
Maybe they’re not open yet?
“I’m sorry,” I start, stepping forward to take some of the burden from his hold. “The door was unlocked, so I assumed you were open. I apologize for startling you.”
The man lets me take some of the books slipping from his grip, giving me a grateful nod as I catch them just before they clatter to the floor.
Once we have them all set safely on the counter beside the register, he speaks, “No reason to be sorry, dear. We’re open. We don’t get many customers this time of year. I wasn’t expecting to see you there.”
I take in the man’s appearance, a fleeting sense of glee filling my chest as I look him over. He’s everything you’d expect a small-town bookstore employee to be. He looks to be around sixty years old, his gray hair unruly on his head. A pair of wire spectacles is perched on the end of his nose, and the worn cardigan adorning his shoulders has definitely seen better days. His short stature only enhances the little potbelly he’s developed throughout the years. He reminds me of Belle’s father, Maurice, in Beauty and the Beast. He’s absolutely charming.
I hold my hand out to him. “I’m Lexi. I just moved to town.”
The funny little man takes my hand in his, bringing it to his lips for a quick kiss. “Lexi. What a beautiful name for a beautiful girl. I’m Charlie.”
I’m slightly disappointed his name isn’t actually Maurice. But Charlie suits him, too. Not Charles, not Chuck, but Charlie. Unassuming and unpretentious. He seems like the kind of guy you could sit down with, holding a cup of tea and spilling all your troubles and strife.
If I were looking to do that sort of thing.
I shrug off the bleak thought and smile back at Charlie. “Thank you. This is a lovely place you’ve got here. Are you the owner?”
He beams at me before turning his gaze to the store around us. His face is prideful as his eyes fall back on mine. Not prideful in a boastful way, more like proud of the things he’s accomplished, as if he’s worked hard for every single thing around him.
“That, I am. She wasn’t always something to look at; I’ll tell you that much. But I couldn’t be more satisfied with her now.”
“She? You mean, the bookstore?”
He nods. “Yes. Much like a woman, this bookstore sure gave
me a run for my money. There were times I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to turn it around. But she’s never let me down. And every single drop of blood, sweat, and tears that went into this place made me a better man. Just like a great woman. Not always easy, but always, always worth it.”
I smile at his response. I’ve only just met him, but he’s already told me enough about himself for me to know that I like him. He’s a bit of a romantic, just like I used to be.
My face falls at the realization, and I know Charlie sees it. But, before he can comment, luckily, the two of us are interrupted by a spritely woman.
My gaze shifts to the newcomer, and spritely really is the perfect word to describe her. Everything about her is petite—from her size to her features. Her long, gorgeous hair only adds to her ethereal appearance. And, when she opens her mouth to speak, the tone I hear is almost melodic.
Until the words she’s saying register.
“Charlie, what are you—who the hell is this?”
Her words slice through the peaceful calm I’ve been feeling since stepping foot inside the bookstore. When I turn to Charlie, I find him shaking his head as his eyes fall on the girl.
“Olivia, what have I said about using such language? Especially in front of customers. It’s not very becoming of a lady.”
The evil fairy—Olivia apparently—rolls her eyes. “Lady, my left nut. Ask me how much I care if this lady,” she drawls out the word, her negative tone letting me know how much of a lady she thinks I am, “approves of my ‘language.’” She puts air quotes around the last word, shooting me a pointed glare.
And, even though she’s been nothing but rude since the moment she stepped out of the back and I’m pretty sure she insulted me in her little tirade, I decide instantly that I like her, too. She’s the hormonal imbalance to Charlie’s kindness. The yin to his yang, so to speak.
And I can tell by the exasperated love in his eyes as he looks at her that I’m right. They might be as different as two people can be, but something tells me that either one would willingly take a bullet for the other. I wonder if they’re related.
The sound of someone clearing their throat jars me from my thoughts, and I see Olivia still staring at me, waiting for me to say something.
“I’m Lexi,” I say stupidly, holding my hand out to her.
She glances down at it briefly before bringing her eyes back to mine. When she doesn’t reach to take my hand after a few moments, I drop it back to my side, embarrassment filling my face.
“Lexi just moved here, Livvy. Try to be nice.”
“Moved here, huh? So, you’re not a tourist who’s going to try to con a free guidebook out of old Charlie here?”
I quickly shake my head. “Oh, no. I would never.”
“Mmhmm. That’s what they all say when I walk out and catch them in the act. Charlie is too damn nice for his own good. If it wasn’t for me, this place would’ve closed up shop years ago. He wants to give everyone everything for free.”
Charlie smiles at me. “Books are my passion. My life. Who am I to charge others for discovering their own love of words?”
“A man trying to run a business; that’s who,” Olivia says with a pinched expression, biting the inside of her cheek before finally turning and giving me a slight smile. “So, you’re going to be sticking around a while?”
I nod. “Yep. I bought that old lake house up the road.”
Olivia quirks an eyebrow at me. “The old Miller place? I heard someone had bought it. Didn’t believe it at first. It’s about one good windstorm away from falling into that lake.”
I smirk. “Well, let’s hope I can get it fixed up before that happens.”
“You must be a glutton for punishment, girl.”
“Probably,” I say with a shrug.
She throws her head back and laughs. “Good. That gives us something in common. It’s the only reason I still stick around here after almost ten years. No matter how much this old fart drives me insane, I can’t seem to leave.”
“Now, now,” Charlie interrupts. “There’s no need for name calling. What do you say we give Lexi here a tour, Livvy? Want to do the honors?”
An hour later, I walk away with four new books to read, a belly full of coffee, and a job.
Despite the rough start between Liv and me, once she realized I wasn’t trying to scam her surrogate father, the two of us hit it off pretty damn quick. I found out Liv—only Charlie is allowed to call her Livvy, a fact I learned the hard way after mistakenly using the nickname and receiving the look of death—had moved here with her mother when she was fourteen. Her mother had been more concerned with finding a husband than raising a child, so Liv had always had sort of a wild streak. One failed shoplifting attempt at the bookstore later, and she and Charlie had become inseparable. She liked to refer to him as the father she never had. And he called her the daughter he always wanted. They were beyond sweet.
When they offered me the job, I protested at first. Charlie had just told me that they didn’t get a lot of customers this time of year, so why would they need to take on another employee? Despite how much I liked them both, I wasn’t looking to be anybody’s charity case. I’d managed to scrape together enough before moving out here that I didn’t need to worry about money. Not for a few more months at least.
But they were insistent, telling me they were actually going to put a sign out front later today. They needed someone to help with inventory and reorganizing during the off-season. And, when Charlie pulled me toward the back of the store, pressing his hand on a large book on one of the bookshelves there, my mind was made up for me. The shelf swung inward, revealing a small room hidden behind it. There was another soft chair—the twin to the one out in the main area—and a half-dozen tiny beanbag chairs arranged around the room.
“We have weekly story time here for the local children. They get a kick out of the hidden room. It seems to get them excited about reading. But an old man in a tattered sweater sure doesn’t. I’ve tried to get Livvy to take over story time for me, but she refuses. I think you’d be perfect. Those kids would much rather listen to a bubbly blonde than this old codger any day.”
I told him I wasn’t so sure about that. He was like everyone’s favorite grandpa. But, still, I couldn’t turn down the opportunity. The thought of spending an hour or two every week in the hidden room was too good to pass up.
So, now, as I make my way back up the road to my house, I’m pretty pleased with myself. I might have taken the morning off, but it turned out not to be a waste. I made a few new friends, got a job, and found a few good books to unwind with in the evenings. And, after a few hours of intelligent conversation, I am ready to throw myself back into the repairs with renewed vigor.
All in all, I’d call today a success.
Ella would be so proud.
I look around at the changing leaves as I walk. This area really is gorgeous, and I can see why Ella and Drew love it here so much. I thought I’d have trouble adjusting after growing so accustomed to a large city like Chicago. But I have to say, I’m loving it.
I’m so lost in my thoughts and appreciation for the beautiful scenery around me that I don’t even see him. Not until my body collides with his, his large hands closing around my upper arms to keep me from falling on my ass.
“Whoa there. You okay?” a familiar voice says as he lowers his face into my line of sight.
The man from the dock.
I avert my eyes, not wanting to face him.
First, I rushed off the other day like a crazy person the second he tried to be friendly. And, now, I just ran straight into him. In the bright light of day. I don’t even have the excuse of darkness. He must think I’m a complete idiot.
“I’m fine,” I murmur, keeping my eyes on the ground. “Sorry about that.”
He laughs lightly. “No worries. Just be glad I wasn’t a truck. I don’t think you’d have fared so well.”
“I’ll pay better attention,” I say dumbly, cringi
ng as soon as the words leave my mouth. That makes it sound like this isn’t the first time this has happened. Forget idiot; he must think I’m completely incompetent.
“You do that. Where are you headed?”
“Home.”
He hasn’t dropped his hold on my arms, which makes me slightly uncomfortable. It’s been a long time since I’ve been touched by a man. The simple brush of his hand the other day on my back patio was enough to remind me how much I’d missed it. Now, with the feel of his strong fingers gripping me and the heat of his body radiating onto mine, I realize how much I want to be touched. How much I long to be held. But it’s not something I can have.
I shrug out of his grasp, taking a step back. He easily lets go of me, not putting up any sort of fight. But, when my eyes still don’t meet his, he reaches a hand out, his fingers coming into contact with my chin, tilting my face up to his.
“Can I walk you?”
I’m taken aback by the request. He’s obviously headed toward town, and I’m going in the opposite direction. Why would he turn around to walk me home?
Oh, right, because he thinks I’m incompetent. Probably doesn’t want the poor foolish girl who lives next door to get hit by a car and die on the way home.
“No, thank you. I’ll be okay. Besides, you were obviously on your way somewhere,” I say, gesturing at his slightly dressed up attire.
Dressed up might be a bit of an exaggeration. Back in Chicago, it wouldn’t be unusual to see a man in dark jeans and a zippered charcoal-gray pullover. But, around here, where nobody seems to own anything but tattered Levi’s and flannel shirts, he definitely looks out of place. That leads me to think he must be on the way to meet someone. A date perhaps?
“Nope. Just on my way into town to grab a loaf of bread and some PB and J. But that can wait if you’d like me to walk you home.”
“You got all dressed up to run down to the corner store?”
