by Kait Nolan
“I do love you. But I’m serious. We have to round up every copy of this magazine in town.” She shoved her laptop into its satchel.
Christoff gave her the Eye. “You know that means you actually have to go to the bookstore, right?”
Inglenook Books. The place she’d been studiously avoiding for the last three months because she couldn’t bear to see its proprietor. What exactly would he think of her suddenly showing up in his shop? Cecily cringed. “You could go for me.”
“I was just there, which is where I got this copy, and it would look pretty damned weird if I went and bought up all the rest.”
Reaching out for his hand, she put on her best begging face. “Christoff, in the name of all our years of friendship, you have to help me with this. Don’t make me go in there alone.”
He squeezed her hand. “Babycakes, you know I’ve always got your back.”
Cecily relaxed. “Thank you.”
“But we’re not going in there without a plan. Here’s how this is going to work.”
~*~
“Thank you. Really. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been willing to take a chance on hiring me.”
Reed Campbell shut the register drawer and looked at his newest employee. In her late thirties, Brenda Walker had just emerged from a vicious divorce, wherein her cheating bastard of an ex had traded her in for a younger model. Stress had whittled her down, and bitterness had carved deep grooves around what might’ve been a pretty mouth if she smiled. She had no retail experience to speak of, having spent the duration of her marriage as trophy wife to a cardiologist, but she knew books. An avid reader and long-time customer of Inglenook well before Reed bought the place, Brenda had been a familiar face as long as he could remember. She’d worked on a number of literacy campaigns with his mother over the years. Offering her a job had seemed like the obvious and kind thing to do, even before his mom started pressuring him to do it.
A good thing, too, as there was no chance of saying “no” to Anita Campbell.
“You’re a smart woman. You’d have figured something out.”
“Yes, well, I’m grateful to you that I don’t have to.” Brenda did smile then, and something about that curve of lips and the tone of her voice had a wisp of unease blooming.
Surely she wasn’t flirting with him?
She laid a hand on his arm, her thumb lightly stroking the underside of his forearm. “It’s nice to know that there are still some kind men out there.”
Nope. He wasn’t imagining it. Brenda was actually coming onto him.
Shit.
Reed resisted the urge to jerk away. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her feelings or shatter whatever nascent confidence she’d managed to rebuild in the wake of her divorce. But he had to shut this down in a hurry. What could he do? What could he say that wouldn’t embarrass them both?
The door chime sounded, and Brenda’s hand fell away as they both turned toward it.
Saved by the bell.
All thoughts of his cougar problem evaporated, replaced by surprise as the woman stepped through the door.
Razor sharp wit, brilliant mind, and geektastic sense of humor, all wrapped up in effortless class. Cecily Dixon. The one who got away.
With a population of only a little over five thousand, Wishful was small enough that they ran into each other often—at the coffee shop, at McSweeney’s Market, on the town green. Since her boss was about to marry Reed’s cousin, Cam, he even occasionally saw Cecily at family events. But at no point in the last three months had she deliberately sought him out. So what had brought her in today?
Christoff Bergan, the other Chicago transplant who’d followed Norah below the Mason-Dixon line, came in behind her.
“Back again?” Reed asked him.
“I’m just riding shotgun with the damsel in distress.”
Cecily rolled her eyes and crossed over to the counter. When she came straight to him instead of diverting to Brenda, Reed felt a surge of curiosity and hope.
“I need your help.”
“Name it.” He’d do almost anything to make up for the crap impression he’d apparently left her with back in the summer.
“My cousin’s birthday is next week, and I’m not going to make it home for the party, so I want to send a nice care package.”
“Okay, what did you have in mind?”
“Well, she’s really into comics, but I have no idea what she’s read and what she hasn’t. And as my knowledge of the subject extends only as far as exactly how many plot holes Chris Hemsworth’s abs make up for, I thought I’d consult someone who was rather more of an expert.”
Reed felt his lips twitch. “I can’t decide if that was a compliment or an insult to both my abs and my level of pure geek.”
“You can talk pure geek when you can quote the entirety of Pitch Perfect, including all the music and choreography—”
“—while under the influence of a pitcher of strawberry daiquiris,” Christoff added.
Reed lifted a brow.
“Yeah, that happened.” Cecily shrugged and dropped her gaze to his stomach, as if she could see through the button-down he wore. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure your Captain America board shorts were a compliment to both abs and geekdom.”
He flashed back to summer, to the feel of her hand trailing up and down his chest as they lay by the lake, watching the stars and lightning bugs come out.
“So maybe you could channel some of your natural Steve Rogers and help a girl out?”
Reed blinked, coming back to the now and hoping she meant post-super serum Steve. Putting on his best Chris Evans impression, he said, “Happy to help, ma’am. Right this way.”
He led her over to the wall of comics and graphic novels. “Tell me a bit about your cousin.”
“She’s turning seventeen. She’s brilliant and independent and stubborn and fierce in the best possible way.”
“So she’s your mini me.”
Cecily cut her eyes to his, a faint wash of pink staining her cheeks. “She also towers over me by a good five inches.”
“What you lack in stature, you make up for in personality.”
She flashed a rueful smile. “Yeah, let’s go with that. Anyway, I’d love to introduce her to something new and awesome.”
“Well, if I was going for new and awesome, with fantastic art, and a serious showcase for strong women, I’d give her this.” Reed reached past her to grab an issue off the shelf.
Cecily sucked in a quiet breath, drawing his gaze to her mouth. He’d only kissed her once—a languorous exploration that’d slid a long-running flirtation into serious what the hell had taken him so long. Looking at those glossy, pink lips, he wanted to do it again. Did she still taste like honeysuckle?
Reed realized he was all up in her space, but before he eased back, he shifted toward her, just a little. She didn’t move back, and her dove gray eyes dilated before they dropped to his mouth.
Not disinterest then. Whatever had gone wrong between them hadn’t been about lack of attraction. Reed filed that away.
“Dark Defenders is a noir style comic with a lady hero. She’s kind of a ’40s vigilante—think Agent Carter meets Batman. She has a small support team a la Team Arrow, including a detective in the local precinct, who she saves from getting shot by the big crime boss.”
“Please tell me there’s a will they/won’t they almost romance.”
Is that what this is? “Naturally. It’s an indie published comic by S.J. Wayfield that’s been taking the comic world by storm. But it’s pretty new, so unless your cousin keeps up with the cutting edge, she probably hasn’t read it.”
“Works for me.”
“You want to just grab the first issue for her to try or the first collected volume? That’s the first eight.”
“Volume.”
“Excellent choice.” Reed grabbed the relevant volume, and they headed for the register. “So how’s the job search going?”
“It’s…going. I’ve had a few interviews, but nothing that I really want.”
He sensed reluctance rather than disappointment under that statement. She loved Wishful. He knew she did. And that gave him hope that maybe, just maybe, she wanted to stay. If she did, if she could, he might get another shot.
“Well, good luck. I’m sure the right thing will come along. Brenda, you want to take this one?”
“Sure.” Brenda offered up a genuine, if rusty, smile.
Reed kept an eye on the transaction, but she rang up the purchase with no problems. She’d be fine on the register while he did some work on inventory.
Cecily lifted her bag in salute. “Thanks for the recs. I’m sure Blair will love them.”
“Happy to help.” If he asked her out right now, what would she say? He still hadn’t sorted out what had gone wrong. Better to think things through before acting.
When they’d gone, Brenda shook her head. “So strange.”
On his way back to the tiny room that housed his office, Reed paused. “What is?”
“Her friend just bought out every copy of this month’s M & S.”
“Really?” That was strange. M & S wasn’t one they usually sold out of, certainly not days after release. And Christoff had already bought a copy the first time he’d come in. “Weird.” Making a mental note to order more, he retreated to his office to hide from the cougar on the prowl.
Chapter 2
We have high hopes for her, Cecil reported of his granddaughter.
Cecily picked up her wine and took another hefty swig as she continued to read the article. Her grandfather knew how to talk the talk. He’d never say anything to besmirch the family name, which meant pretending like The Incident had never happened, like Cecily hadn’t screwed up and cost them a small fortune, and as if she were still actually a contender for doing anything legitimate in the family empire.
Cecily knew better. She knew how to read between the lines of what her family never said and had banished herself before they were forced to sort out the best way to deal with her and the embarrassment she’d caused.
She’d never imagined she’d fall in love with the work she was doing. Or that she’d find an incredible freedom in leaving behind the family name and all its attendant pressures. She was happy in the life she was making for herself, even if that life was in transition.
Someday she’d prove herself. She’d make up for youthful mistakes. And then…well, then they’d see.
But someday wasn’t here yet and having this publicity out there threatened to undermine everything she’d accomplished. At least the author hadn’t unearthed details of The Incident. Or had been discouraged from printing them. None of her Google Alerts had popped to indicate that anybody else was regurgitating that mess again, so chances were she was safe from anybody in the media sniffing out her current location.
She tossed the copy she was reading onto the small mountain of others littering their coffee table.
“What are you going to do with all of them?”
Cecily glanced at Christoff over the rim of her wineglass. “I have no idea. It’s chilly out. Maybe we’ll have a bonfire, roast some marshmallows. Make a few s’mores.”
“There are probably carcinogens in the ink or paper or something.”
“And there aren’t in the processed components of s’mores?”
“I feel less like graham crackers and Hershey bars are going to kill me.” He crossed over and flopped on the other end of the sofa. “So now what? Our recon mission was successful. Your secret, such as it is, is safe. And you got your flirt on with Reed without the world coming to an end.”
“I did not get my flirt on.”
Christoff lifted one sardonic brow. “Please.” He affected a higher pitched voice and batted his unreasonably long lashes. “‘Maybe you could channel some of your natural Steve Rogers and help a girl out?’ Lie to yourself, if you must, but don’t lie to me. I could practically smell the pheromones wafting off the two of you. You’re totally still into him. And despite your questionable ditching of him the last three months, he appears to be still into you.”
“And? It’s a moot point. I’m leaving.”
“So you keep saying. But I don’t know why you won’t let yourself have a little fun before you go.”
“I am not falling into bed with Reed Campbell just for a little fun,” Cecily protested.
Christoff’s mouth quirked into a wicked grin as he leaned toward her and stole a sip of her wine. “I never said anything about falling into bed with him. I see that lone kiss this summer has inspired all sorts of fantasies.”
It didn’t seem wise to mention she’d had the fantasies before the kiss. They’d just gotten infinitely hotter after. And so what? That’s all they’d ever be. Fantasies. Despite the undeniable attraction between them—alive and well, as Christoff had noted—she and Reed were fundamentally incompatible. If today’s bookstore mission had added a new variation to those unfulfilled fantasies that involved being trapped between that long, hard body of his and a bookcase, well, that was the price she’d have to pay for keeping her secret.
Cecily snatched the glass away and shoved him back with one foot. “You’re reminding me why I prefer to live alone.”
“With your denial. And without my very excellent falafels.”
He really did make amazing falafels. “My denial is perfectly happy with take out.”
“It’s because it’s been so long, hasn’t it? I mean, the closest thing you’ve had to a relationship since The Incident is making it to dessert after dinner. How long has it been since you’ve had any action?”
Cecily winced.
Christoff straightened. “Please tell me that Tony-award worthy performance with Pierce wasn’t the closest you’ve gotten.”
When Norah had been fired from Helios and blackballed by the firm, Cecily and Christoff had concocted an insane plan for Cecily to pretend to seduce Norah’s ex—son of the head of the firm—in order to get his admission on camera that Norah hadn’t actually done any of the things she’d been accused of. It had worked. Norah had gotten her reputation back and both Cecily and Christoff had turned in their letters of resignation before making the trek to Mississippi to deliver the news in person to the best boss they’d ever had. That they fell into work here had just been icing on the cake.
“Darling, that’s beyond sad.”
Cecily shrugged. “Precedence indicates I have crap judgment in men.” It was hard to trust anybody without wondering what they wanted to use her—or her family or money—for.
“So you had a bad experience. Did it ever occur to you that you’re just as crappy at recognizing the good ones as you are at failing to recognize the bad?”
“Should I take this as a renewal of your campaign for me to let you run my love life?”
Christoff had been on and off that train since high school.
“Which one of us is blissfully happy right now?”
“Oh please. You found Daniel by sheer, dumb luck. It had nothing to do with your being a superior judge of character or having any kind of woo woo matchmaker skills.”
“I like to think it was Fate. If not for you, I’d never have come to Mississippi in the first place, and I certainly wouldn’t have stayed. I’m just saying that if you won’t trust your own judgment, trust mine. You’re wrong about Reed.”
“So you’ve been saying for three months. And why does it even matter, Chris? I’m leaving. The job is over.”
“If you’re so set on leaving, then why have you been so precious and picky about where to go next? You’ve had offers. Decent ones. And you’ve turned them down.”
Because I’m holding out for a position worthy of a Davenport.
“I’m being picky because I can afford to be. I’m not out to be a cog in a machine somewhere. I’m out to make a mark.”
Christoff just shook his head. “Must be lonely up there on that high horse.”
Cecily bristled. “I’m no
t up on a high horse. I’m just—”
“Trying to live up to the expectations you’ve ascribed to your family, even though you’ve more or less cut yourself off from all of them.” He shoved up and headed for the kitchen. “You need to make a choice sweetie. Be a Davenport or be normal. Because this whole in between thing you’ve been rocking the last few years isn’t working for you.”
He wasn’t wrong. But there had to be some kind of middle ground. She’d been trying to walk that line without much success. And it was lonely. Because no matter what she did to distance herself from her origins, at the heart of it, she’d always be a Davenport, and she’d always wonder if anybody would be able to see her as just Cecily.
~*~
“I’d hoped it was just a one-time thing, but it’s been a week, and she’s still coming onto me.” Reed tipped back his Corona and shuddered. “It’s…weird, y’all. And I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Just tell her you’re not interested.” Eli Hamilton, king of stating the obvious, dug a chip into the guacamole at the center of the table tucked into the corner of Los Pantalones. The Mexican cantina was actually named Vaquero, but years ago, all of the neon cowboy on the sign had burned out, except for his pants. Nobody knew who’d started the nickname, but it’d stuck.
“All that time spent in the woods away from people has given you the sensitivity of a bulldozer, little brother.” Leo, the elder of the twins by ten minutes, merely lifted a brow when Eli flipped him off. “Classy.”
“And yet, I’m not the one who’s single.” He shot a grin and a wink at his girlfriend, who sat on the far side of the restaurant with her friends. Jessie blew a kiss back.
“Any day now, Jessie is going to wake up and realize what a Neanderthal you really are and drop your ass. In the meantime,” Leo turned back to Reed, “couldn’t you say something to the effect that personal involvement with employees is against company policy?”
“For one, I don’t want to draw attention to it at all because that’d make us both feel even more weird about it. For another, I wouldn’t put it past her to point out that I’m the boss and I make the rules, so I could change them.” He could just imagine being trapped in the tiny office with Brenda between him and the door, those perfectly manicured nails hooked around his arm like talons.
