Second Chance Christmas

by Casey Dawes

  Annie felt the flush rise up her cheeks. Where was that hole in the floor when you needed it?

  “Do you want the magazine, too?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “Organic Gardening.”

  She looked down. She still clutched the magazine she’d used as a shield. At least it wasn’t Cosmo. But still . . . she gardened as little as possible—the results were nice, but the work was continual in the temperate California climate.

  “Uh, sure,” she said.

  “Frequent buyer card?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  She searched her wallet for the card and handed it to him.

  “My mother gardened,” he said. “As soon as the snows left Montana, she’d plant spinach and lettuce. What do you grow?”

  “Um, flowers.” she said. “Did you move here from Montana?”

  “Yep. I bought this place after the Crawfords retired. My name is John Johnson.” He put his hand out.

  She looked at it for a moment before gripping it with her own. His palm was calloused, his hand warm and his grip firm. A spark sizzled up her arm. “Hello,” she said, grasping his hand. She forgot to let go.

  He peered down at their joined hands. “This is nice,” he said, “but it’s hard to ring you up like this.” He leaned closer to her. “And there are other customers waiting,” he whispered.

  “Oh!” She dropped his hand and looked over her shoulder. A dozen people snaked through the stacks, their eyes riveted on Annie.

  He chuckled, punched a few keys and glanced at the computer screen. “Thanks for being a frequent buyer . . . Annie Renquist.”

  “No.”

  He looked up. “No?”

  “That’s not my name,” she said. “I mean, it was. I’m divorced. Now I use my maiden name.”

  “Let me fix it in our records. What do you want to be called?”

  “Annie Gerhard.”

  John smiled at her and her heart gave a little jump. He stabbed a few more keys, handed her the credit card and slipped her purchases into a bag.

  Annie turned. The row of eyes stared back at her.

  For the second time that day, she squared her shoulders and marched out the door.

  • • •

  John chuckled as he watched her exit. He admired the spunk she showed when she strode past the long line of customers, raincoat flapping, allowing him a brief glimpse of the figure underneath.

  When the sales assistant came back from her break to relieve him, he went back to shelving books. The memory of Annie’s actions lightened his afternoon. He found himself repeatedly staring at the section of the store where he’d first spotted her, willing her to reappear.

  There was something about Annie—a combination of strength and vulnerability—that he loved. He absently rubbed the stubble on his chin. His wife had had some of those same qualities. Jessica had been gone a long time, but sometimes he felt as if it had only been yesterday. Fortunately, the pain was occurring less and less. But was he ready for a new relationship?

  You’ve got enough problems, Johnson. Don’t be adding to your troubles with a woman. Isn’t buying a bookstore and finding a house at thirty-nine enough of a challenge for you?

  One of the tattooed, pierced, and purple-haired denizens of Santa Cruz approached him.

  “Where are your vampire books?”

  He led her to the right section and pointed out a few new releases. On his way back to the front of the store, he spotted a boy with mousy brown hair slumped in one of the green wingback chairs scattered around the bookstore. The kid looked like he was about 12 and bored as hell. John squatted down beside him.

  The boy glanced at him and then went back to picking at his nails.

  “Your mom around?” John asked.

  “Uh-huh.” The boy gestured in the direction of the mysteries.

  “You look pretty bored. What’s your name?”

  “Ted.”

  “Don’t like to read?”

  “S’okay.”

  “A man of few words. I like that. Got a minute? I’d like to show you something.”

  Ted shrugged again, but when John stood up, he stood too.

  John strode in the direction of the children’s books.

  The boy stopped. “I’m not going there . . . that’s lame.”

  “We’re not going there . . . we’re going past there.”

  John stopped in front of a cardboard display of books. He plucked one out and handed it to Ted. “This,” he said, “is one of the greatest adventure stories of all times.”

  The boy looked at it, frowning. “There’s a mouse on the cover. I told you, kids’ books are lame.” He held it out to John.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Adults read these books all the time. I’ve read these books and I love them. Redwall is the story of someone trying to save his home from evil. There are lots of battle scenes and mysteries and adventure. Have you heard of Lord of the Rings?”

  “Yeah. Everyone’s heard of that. I saw the movie.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “Yeah. It was great.” Ted grinned, his eyes opening wide with excitement.

  John nodded. “Then you’ll like this book. Tell you what. I’ll give you a discount—half-off. But . . . ” He raised his index finger. “You have to come back and tell me how you like it.” He took a piece of paper from his pocket, scribbled a note and handed it to the boy. “Have your mom give this to the cashier on the way out.”

  Ted eagerly took the paper. “Thanks!” he said.

  That’s why I’m a bookseller. If I can keep this old store financially alive, I can get more Teds excited about reading.

  He headed up the stairs to the office. It was one of the things that had attracted him to the store in the first place—this aerie where he could survey his domain. He sat in his chair, scanned the view below, and smiled with satisfaction. People dotted the sections, perusing the shelves. Some paused before the displays he’d painstakingly created; several people stood by the list of upcoming author visits.

  I wonder if Annie ever attends those.

  He could feel his smile broaden.

  She’d obviously been interested in him and she’d awakened feelings in him he thought were dead, or at least in a deep freeze somewhere. His one attempt at dating after Jessica’s death had been a disaster. Maybe it was time to try again.

  The moment he’d seen Annie staring at him, he wanted to pull off the knit cap she wore and release the blond curls peeking out from the edges, surrounding her face with their halo. She’d run off like a startled deer to the magazine section. John grinned again at the memory. He hadn’t had that effect on a woman in a long time.

  Close up, she’d been even more enticing than he’d thought. Her pixie face was fresh and natural. Brown-flecked green eyes had peered out from under thick, dark lashes. Dark pink lips, with a little bit of a pout. What would it be like to touch her, feel those lips against his? He’d wanted to shut down the register, whisk her away to a dark corner and find out.

  He shook the fantasy from his head. It would have to wait. First, he had to make this business viable. Second, find a house to live in. Once he’d accomplished those two tasks, he could discover what kissing her would be like. He turned on his computer.

  An hour later, he called downstairs on the interoffice phone. “Can I have the invoices from last month?”

  “What’s up, John?” Sunshine asked when she sauntered into the office. “You’ve got this silly smile on your face.”

  He frowned at the soft face of the older woman, pretending he was giving her a stern lecture. “Ah, Santa Cruz. The place where employees have permission to tell the boss whatever’s on their minds.” With her graying hair in a long braid and feathered earrings, she w
as living proof that the 1960s counter-culture was alive and well on the Central Coast of California.

  Sunshine shrugged. “We were raised to ‘Question Authority.’ You’re authority and I’m questioning. Is there a problem?”

  He laughed. His bookstore manager was incorrigible.

  She laid a folder of invoices on his desk. “What’s her name?” she said over her shoulder before she clattered down the stairs to the main floor.

  “Bring me the sales report from last month too, please,” he called after her.

  “Yes, boss.” The answer floated up the stairs.

  He thumbed through the invoices. If sales didn’t improve soon, he’d have to cut back on book orders. He tapped his pen on the desk. Cutting back on books meant cutting down on service and he didn’t want to do that. Maybe he should rethink his marketing budget instead. He leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head.

  “You must be thinking about her again,” Sunshine said, back in his office with another folder. “Here’s the sales report you wanted.” She put the papers on his desk and eyed him. “Or maybe you’re trying to pretend it’s not as bad as I know it is.”

  He looked up at her. “Sometimes you’re too smart.”

  “Don’t get concerned. The store always hits a slump at this time of year. Students study for exams and the tourists haven’t arrived. We’ll be okay.” She patted his shoulder. “We’ve got loyal customers.”

  “Umm, do we have a list of our loyal customers?”

  “Sure do, boss. I’ll be happy to get you one if you promise to tell me her name.”

  “Not on your life.”

  “Gotcha!” She whistled and headed down the stairs.

  John shook his head. He’d have to work to keep his private life safe from Sunshine.

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  Crimson Romance

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  Copyright © 2017 by Casey Dawes.

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  First Crimson Romance ebook edition NOVEMBER 2017.

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  ISBN 978-1-5072-0707-9 (ebook)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

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