by Viv Royce
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Find your Bliss with these great releases… His Reason to Stay
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Dating for Keeps
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Viv Royce. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
10940 S Parker Rd
Suite 327
Parker, CO 80134
[email protected]
Bliss is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Erin Molta and Candace Havens
Cover design by Bree Archer
Cover photography by pixdeluxe, anilakkus, and clu/Getty Images
ISBN 978-1-68281-496-3
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition January 2020
Dear Reader,
Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.
xoxo
Liz Pelletier, Publisher
Chapter One
“Is it true the bookstore is closing?” The elderly lady leaned across the counter confidentially, her delicate green-veined hands stalling on the canvas bag she was unfurling to put her purchases in as soon as they were wrapped.
Cleo Davis’s smile froze on her face. Her fingers clenched the heavy metal tape dispenser in the shape of an elephant.
Closing, closing. The word sounded like a death knell in her head. Put the beloved volumes in crates to return them or donate them to the library, say goodbye to her daytime environment full of fairytale figures and faraway destinations, where she could get lost in a recent release in a long-standing series or discover a new author, all by turning the page.
“I’m so sorry,” the elderly lady said, reaching out to touch Cleo’s hand. The countless little wrinkles around her blue eyes deepened as she whispered loudly, “What will you do when it’s no longer here?”
“Oh no,” Cleo rushed to say, “the shop isn’t closing. It’s going to continue as part of the Stephens bookstore chain. Mr. Fellows wanted that for stability.”
He had told her in the same breath that he had wanted her to lead the shop, but he didn’t expect her to put her own money into it. “You’re so young,” he had said. “You probably don’t have savings, and I don’t want you to have to take out a mortgage and tie yourself to this building and the shop for decades to come. Who knows, you might meet someone and want to move away from here.”
Cleo had wanted to protest that she had no intention of leaving Wood Creek and that falling in love was really the furthest thing from her mind. But he’d already moved on to why becoming a part of the Stephens chain was the best choice for all of them. “You can continue to live upstairs, paying rent to them, like you used to do to me, and you can work in the shop and…keep doing what you’re so good at.” His broad mouth had curved into a smile, and he had patted her on the shoulder like he always did after a good day of sales. “I have full confidence in you.”
Cleo suppressed a sigh. If only she had that much confidence in the advantages of being part of the Stephens chain. She had believed back then upon the announcement—and still did, for that matter—that her dear boss had a far too rosy view of how things would go once the top dogs of the Stephens chain were in control. What if they wanted her to turn it into a cookie cutter bookstore instead of the specialized shop she ran now?
“I’m so happy for you,” the customer enthused, clapping her hands together and beaming at Cleo. “And for the shop. The whole street! Heart Street’s atmosphere depends on shops like this one to keep that warm family feeling. It wouldn’t be the same if you weren’t here.”
It won’t be the same, anyway. She forced herself to smile widely as she helped the customer pack her purchases—picture books for her grandchildren and a new cozy mystery for herself—into her bag. She accompanied her to the door and waved after her as the elderly lady walked down the street to the flower shop on the corner. The owner was changing the window, giving some daffodils in a low turquoise bowl a prominent place.
Cleo took a deep breath of the chill February air outside.
A child cried, a high-pierced wail that tore at Cleo’s eardrums. She jerked around and ran into the back of the store where the play area was: a two-turreted castle built from what looked like books that were glued together. Cleo had spent a lot of spare time building it herself, and it was one of her favorite things in the store. Its entrance was an archway just high enough for a kid to go inside, and a little boy of about four years old stood under it, crying his heart out while his chubby hands rubbed at his eyes.
Cleo fell to her knees and reached out to him. “Did you hurt yourself?” She scanned his features for a bump or bruise. The child was red from crying; she couldn’t see a thing.
He said something in reply to her question, but his sobbing made it impossible to understand him. He didn’t move closer to her, either, but turned half away, pointing inside the castle. What does he mean? It’s so dim in there.
“Where’s your mommy?” she asked.
His answer was totally unintelligible.
“Did you come in here all by yourself?”
Between his gasps, the only thing she could make out was…bear.
Bear? Yes, of course. He had come in while she’d been serving the elderly lady. He’d been with an older child and had been carrying a black teddy bear under his arm. A teddy that was nowhere in sight.
“Did you lose your bear?” she asked.
He nodded so violently a tear splattered off his cheek.
“Where?”
He pointed again to the back of the castle.
Cleo had no idea how anything could get lost inside the castle, but he wouldn’t make sense until she found his toy. Then she’d figure out where the other child had disappeared to and what to do with him and his teddy.
“I’ll go find him. You stand here…” She gently pulled him toward her and placed him beside the castle entrance. “Wait for me to go get the bear, okay?”
“Puddles.”
“That’s a nice name. Now I’ll go find Puddles.” She crawled into the castle as best she could. Kind of claustrophobic. Panic crunched her chest, and she kept talking out loud. “Where’s your bear? Where did he go?”
…
Mark Stephens stood on Heart Street in Wood Creek and looked around him with a frown. His trained eye immediately noticed everything cluttering the sidewalk: tall stands with see-through shawls and l
arge feathered hats outside the clothes shop, racks with discounted shoes at the shoe shop, tacky yellow signs announcing a special winter sale. The toy shop already had outdoor toys at the ready: hula hoops and a basket with balls, as if to will summer to arrive prematurely. In February?
There was too much asking for attention, like they were all trying to say something to the potential customer at the same time. Missed opportunity. A shame as they’re probably working hard to make a living.
He knew exactly how he would change this street’s appearance, if he were in charge here, of the community council, the chamber of commerce, or whatever governed these store owners. He assumed there was somebody governing them, but in a small town like this, it might also be possible that everybody was doing their own thing and nobody bothered to look at the bigger picture.
The home decoration shop had two stands, each on a side of the door, full of scented candles, beaded mirrors, silver photo frames, deer antlers, and wooden tea boxes. And a cup looking a lot like his mother’s beloved Wedgwood with the pink roses. A wedding gift from her parents, the china set was her baby. Last Christmas, one of the cups had shattered, breaking a piece of his mother’s heart in the process. Can this be a replacement cup?
He snapped a close-up of it with his phone and sent it to Tamela to ask her if it was the right design. Roses, tea roses, peonies, they were all the same thing to him, so his little sister would have to save him from a floral faux pas. Perfect excuse to contact her.
A stab of pain slashed through his chest. He needed an excuse now, like he was a distant friend she’d rather not talk to. Their bond was broken.
He clenched his phone and looked for number 17. The bookshop with the illogical name, Rook. It probably had a link with town history or something. On the phone, Mr. Fellows had sounded like a friendly, knowledgeable man who was eager to see his legacy continue. But does he understand the consequences? The shops chosen to become part of the Stephens brand were expected to follow a predetermined path, a set of steps to ensure they would exude the right atmosphere and reflect the brand’s values.
Some people were eager to make those changes, as they understood their shop’s survival depended on it. Change was necessary, vital even.
Others resisted and worked against him, making it a painful process for all involved. They thought they could take the Stephens name and then continue as they wanted. No strings attached. Like James.
His jaw tightened and he walked faster, his annoyance and frustration reverberating in every step. It was unfair to judge someone new by experiences from the past, or let the very personal problem with Tamela’s ex-boyfriend rule his mood, but he was only human. And not at his best when it was eleven in the morning and he hadn’t had a decent cup of coffee.
First point of assessment: store window. He expected the usual offer of chart toppers combined with something that worked well for the venue: cookbooks for the elderly ladies, a memoir signed by a local author, or something for kids. He wasn’t prepared for the miniature forest with a waterfall and a cottage at the heart of it. He leaned down to look better at the waterfall’s rocks. Not plastic, no. Papier-mâché, handcrafted and painted. A tiny figure with a red cap walked through the forest toward the cottage. Little Red Riding Hood?
He straightened again and studied the titles on the books that were on display behind the enticing scene. Yup, fairytale books for kids. Not the well-known titles his own store carried, but volumes he had never seen before. Where has Mr. Fellows unearthed these?
Mark let his gaze run across all the books in the window display, finding thrillers to the left and women’s fiction with the recurring theme of hearts and homecoming, and even his coffee-deprived brain managed to arrive quickly at the rather shocking conclusion that not a single one of these titles was familiar to him. The covers looked great, they were on brand in every way, but the titles and, indeed, the authors were unknown. Maybe the lack of coffee is messing with my mind?
He rubbed his forehead a moment, glancing surreptitiously around him. Must be this town, the street, the whole… It all seems like a fairy tale.
Too good to be true?
Yes. Definitely that.
He pushed the door open, and a sweet tinkling sound came from somewhere over his head. Not a crisp buzzer suggesting urgency, but the enticing sound from an amusement park attraction. And there in the back… He narrowed his eyes to see better. Is that actually a turret made of books?
He walked closer, and his jaw dropped. An actual castle built of books, or elements resembling books. It seemed likely that the same person who had crafted that waterfall in the window display had been at work here as well. This would have taken a lot more time, though. Attention had been paid to all the details: titles on the spines, faded lettering that seemed to retain traces of gold dust…
The castle was the perfect size for kids. Little Tamela would have dragged him over here and forced him to go inside ahead of her. It had to be as pretty and detailed in there as it was on the outside. Two feet stuck out, in bright pink sneakers with white laces. The narrow ankles above suggested the sneaker wearer was female. She seemed to be moving backward as he could now also see legs clad in chocolate brown velvet pants. A hand appeared, the fingers making a grasping movement, and a muffled voice said, “Give me the tongs from the little stool.”
“Sorry?” Mark leaned over, not sure he had heard right.
The voice repeated, “On the little stool to your left. The tongs. I can’t reach the bear any other way.”
Bear? Mark blinked.
The outreached hand’s fingers snapped in impatience. She was in an awkward position, half folded into the book castle, so he moved to the stool, picked up the metal tongs, and put them in the hand.
Her fingers brushed his a moment as they closed around the tongs. “Thank you.”
The hand disappeared inside the book castle.
Despite his lack of caffeine, Mark had to grin. What’s she doing in there? Castle repairs? He leaned back on his heels, watching the pink sneakers that moved as the woman inside was obviously exerting strength to do something. He heard her mutter, “Yes, that’s right,” and then, “No, you stupid bear.”
Bear? She has an actual bear in there?
He really had to wake up from this odd Alice in Wonderland-like dream and walk in a rational world he could make sense of and control.
“There you are!” the voice from inside the book castle exclaimed. “Oh, poor you, you look so scruffy with all the dust on your ears. I should clean in the corners, huh? But first return you to your owner. Come on.”
The sneakers wriggled backward, and the chocolate brown legs came out, topped with a pink sweater the exact color of the sneakers. Blonde hair was pulled back in a sporty ponytail. She scrambled to her feet and stood in front of him, just a fraction shorter than he was. Her face was turned down as she surveyed the thing in her hands, a rather ragged old black teddy bear, and she plucked a dust bunny off its left ear. Her brows puckered in concentration, but her lips parted in a ready smile that lit up her face.
She looked at him with beaming eyes, ready to say something, it seemed, but then hesitated, as if realizing he wasn’t the person she had expected him to be. Disappointment pricked because that gorgeous smile wasn’t for him. Remember what you’re here for.
He gave her a questioning look. “Miss Davis?”
Chapter Two
Cleo’s breathing rasped from the repeated attempts to retrieve the runaway bear. It grew even shallower as she stared into the ice blue eyes of this unfamiliar man. With his short-cropped blond hair and athletic physique, he could have been Daniel Craig materialized in her bookshop. Nice surprise on an ordinary day.
If only she hadn’t been clutching a raggedy teddy bear full of dust. Her clothes had probably picked up dust bunnies here and there, and her hair could no longer be called styled. Just my luck. A ner
vous giggle threatened to break free. “Where’s the little boy?”
“What little boy?”
“The little boy who owns this teddy. He lost him in the book castle, and I went in to retrieve him. I thought he would wait here.” Cleo looked around her. Her elation over having found the bear died a quick death at the idea the little boy was now missing. What if he had gone outside to look for his mommy or older brother and was now wandering in the street where he could run under a passing car?
The door opened, and a woman walked in briskly, carrying the child on her arm. The older boy followed her with dragging steps, kicking the small stool as he passed it.
“Ah!” the woman called as she spotted Cleo and drew closer. “Do you…” Her gaze fell to the bear in Cleo’s hands. “There he is,” she said to the child on her arm. “Now stop crying.”
“Here’s Puddles. He really liked it in the castle. He was looking for treasure.” Cleo held up the bear to the little boy, who pulled him from her grasp and buried his face in his tummy. The mother said, “I only asked Boyd to keep an eye on his younger brother while I was across the street.” Without a further explanation or apology, she grabbed the older child by the shoulder and marched him out of the shop.
Cleo stared after them as the door closed, and she laughed. “That went well.” She looked down at the dust clinging to the knees of her pants. She didn’t want to lean down and pick it off in front of the Daniel Craig lookalike, so she put on her brisk smile. “Sorry about that. All in a day’s work. How may I help you?”
He reached out his hand.
She stared at it. Why introduce yourself when you want to buy a book? Uncertain, she put her hand in his. His grasp was warm and firm, and the contact was too short for her liking.
“Mark Stephens.”
“Cleo Davis,” she replied on autopilot. The name he mentioned sank in, dropping her stomach. “Stephens? As in…”
“I’m the risk assessor for the chain.”
Risk assessor. She hadn’t expected the Stephens chain to send one.
