Page 7 of Love to Hate You

God, she was prickly.

“If you let my guys park in your lot, I’ll rent the space until construction is complete.”

She paused, and he could hear her mental calculator clicking away, see the dollar signs in her eyes. Not that he was surprised. In his experience, money was like catnip and women were tigers ready to pounce. Summer though, she was more of a bobcat. Short in stature, but vicious if provoked. And he loved provoking her.

“What about after?” she said. “When your customers use my lot, making it impossible for my customers to park?”

She wanted to play hardball—fine. He knew that everyone had their number. “A thousand dollars a day for each spot taken.”

She didn’t even balk. “No deal.”

“You don’t mind if customers from Drip and Sip or Critter Couture park there.”

“Drip and Sip and Critter Couture are allies. You, Mr. British Bully, are not.”

“Are you saying we’re at war?” he asked.

She placed her hands on his chest to push him out the door, but that didn’t stop the warm sensation from moving through his body like he’d been struck by a live wire. Then she shoved him hard and there he went—stumbling over the threshold and into the cool evening air.

“May the best bookshop win!” she said, then slammed the door in his face, the jingling bells mocking as she flipped the signed toCLOSED—but not before flipping him the bloody bird.

Chapter 3

escalating complications

Monday couldn’t have come fast enough. Freckles was finally gone, and talk about what an awkward drop-off that had been, but it was done and behind her. Now she was dealing with a romantic mishap of an entirely different kind.

“I’m telling you, Cupid is a standup comedian,” Autumn said.

Summer took in the stylized lettering and elegant embossing, and couldn’t find a trace of humor in the ecru, 220-pound weighted cardstock. Usually, getting a wedding invitation was like Christmas morning, but today it felt more like April Fool’s Day.

“Please tell me you aren’t going to go,” Autumn demanded, her expression fierce on Summer’s phone screen.

“I haven’t decided.” Just like she hadn’t decided how it felt to be invited to her ex’s wedding in the first place.

Just ten months ago they’d been talking about their own wedding, because that was the next logical step and Ken was nothing but a logical man. And now he was marrying someone else—she looked at the “MD” after Ken’s fiancée’s name and groaned.

Of course her replacement was a doctor.

She’d known this moment would come, had anticipated it for months, but seeing the proof that her ex had officially moved on so quickly was different. In her heart she’d known Ken wasn’t the one and—as one of Cupid’s Devoted Fans—she was happy for him that he’d found his person. But why couldn’t she have found hers first?

She dropped the invitation on her nightstand and walked to her closet.

“What?” Autumn’s voice was loud enough to reach through the apartment floor and echo off the walls of the bookshop. “I must have heard you wrong, because there is no way you’re considering going to that asshat’s wedding. Look me in the eye and tell me you are RSVPing a big fuck off.” Summer did not look her sister in the eye. She was too embarrassed to see the disappointment lying there. “I can help you draw the middle finger if you want.”

“We parted on good terms,” Summer said.

“He parted. You allowed it to be good terms.”

Summer didn’t see the point of ending things badly. It wasn’t like Ken had purposefully set out to break her heart. He’d been following his own, which had led him to Los Angeles for his dream job. And apparently his dream girl.

“You’re right. I’m not going. In fact, I’m dropping the invitation in the trash right now.”

“Good!”

“On to more important things.” Summer leaned her cell phone against the wall, using a book to hold it upright while she rifled through her closet. She pulled out a dress and held it up to her chest. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. It was simple, sophisticated, and professional. Exactly the vibe she was hoping for. “How about the dress I wore to Mom and Dad’s anniversary party?”

A long, unwelcome tension stretched wider between them. Summer could feel her sister’s judgment smother her through the phone. “The black one with the scalloped collar?” Autumn asked, right as Summer slipped it over her head and stood in front of her phone, giving a little cock of the hip. “Absolutely not. You look like Morticia.”

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