Page 4 of Novel Problems

My chest tightened.Shit.How the hell had I ordered 841 copies ofThe Realm of Furies? Yes, H. M. Stuart was one of my favorite authors, and I’d devoured an advanced reader copy ofThe Realm of Furiesa few weeks ago and adored it. One perk of owning a bookstore was that publishers sent me books before they were published. But there was no way I’d be able to sell 841 copies of it in Sapphire Springs. It wasn’t even meant to be released for another four or so weeks. I shook my head. The whole thing was strange.

“I’m sorry, there must have been a mistake. I don’t think I ordered these books.” I pointed at the end note. “If I did, it was a mistake on my part. Would you mind leaving me ten copies and taking the rest?” Even moving ten copies was optimistic.

The man’s smile faded further. “No, sorry, you need tosign for them all. If there’s a problem, you’ll have to speak to the main office about it.”

Two customers walked in. One took a seat at a table and another headed to the counter. I glanced at my watch, my heart beating faster than usual. The lunch rush would be starting soon, and I didn’t have time to try to convince the delivery person to take the books back. All the books Novel Gossip stocked were returnable to the publisher, so I wasn’t worried about getting stuck paying for them. It was more of a logistical issue. It’d been a squeeze fitting a café and bookstore into this space, so we didn’t have a lot of storage space for excess stock and our storage shed was completely full.

Another regular came in. I sighed. I needed to get back to work before I got even further behind. “No problem, thanks. I’ll figure it out later.” I looked around for somewhere to put the boxes. Most of the back wall was covered in bookshelves, but there was space in one corner, where a heater was, that was empty. Given how hot it was already, there’d be no need for the heater for the next couple of months.

“Would you mind stacking the boxes on the far wall?” I pointed through the aisles of books to the back corner. He nodded, and I signed the delivery receipt. “Sorry, I’d better serve these customers. Just let me know if you need anything.”

I rushed over to take the customers’ orders. I’d just started making a triple shot caramel latte when another person walked through the door. I suppressed a groan. As much as I appreciated my customers’ patronage, right now I needed ten uninterrupted minutes to prepare for the lunch rush.

I looked up and did a double-take as my eyes landed on the woman who’d walked in.

She was dressed for the warm weather, in a white tank top and straight-legged light-denim jeans with flat tan sandals. Dark brown, wavy, shoulder-length hair and curly bangs framed her face, and dark eyebrows accentuated her brown eyes. As she looked around, she adjusted the small chestnut-colored leather satchel that hung over one of her shoulders and then pushed her large tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of her nose with a finger. My gaze dropped to her full pink lips that turned up a little at the ends, like she had a secret that she’d only let a lucky few in on. She had pale skin that suggested she didn’t go outside a lot—or perhaps, she was just better than me at applying sunscreen.Damn.She was stunning.

I hadn’t seen her before, and hers was not a face I’d forget. She must be a tourist. A very attractive tourist, currently staring directly at me.Please let me not look as sweaty or flustered as I feel right now.

CHAPTER THREE

HANNAH

This place is adorable.Circular wooden tables, half of them occupied by patrons enjoying morning tea or brunch, took up the front of the store. A long wooden counter with an enormous shiny red espresso machine and an inviting display of cakes stood behind the tables on the right side. Behind the left of the counter stretched aisles of books. The walls were exposed red brick, except for the left wall, which was covered, floor to ceiling, with books on wooden shelves. Two comfortable-looking armchairs were arranged next to the shelves. Perfect for cozying up with a good book and a hot drink. The café smelled of coffee and baked goods, warm and comforting.

My shoulders relaxed. Apart from some early morning walks, which I’d timed and routed to avoid human contact, I hadn’t left my new home since I’d moved to Sapphire Springs four days ago. I’d dreaded leaving the house this morning, but now that I’d arrived, it wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. Bookstores were my happy place. And so werecafés. While completing my English Literature degree at NYU, I worked as a server in a tiny French café, Café Mignon, in the West Village. I’d loved getting to know the regulars, serving wide-eyed tourists, and the delicious free meals were an added bonus. Although I’d left my hospitality days behind me, I still enjoyed sitting in cozy cafés by myself, sipping a good coffee, either reading, people-watching, or writing. While I wasn’t in the right mindset to do that today, perhaps after I finished signing all the books, I’d grab a takeout coffee and have a quick browse of the bookshelves instead of fleeing immediately.

I sensed eyes on me and looked over to the counter. A woman stood at the espresso machine, frothing milk while she watched me. Her face broke into a warm grin as we made eye contact, revealing the hint of a dimple in her right cheek. For my first face-to-face contact since the movers left, I felt surprisingly at ease. In fact, I found myself smiling back at her.

“Feel free to grab a table anywhere you’d like, and I’ll be right over,” she yelled over the hiss of the espresso machine before turning her attention to the coffees she was making.

I blinked. I’ve been standing here, looking around. Of course she’d assume I’m looking for a table.

I walked toward the counter, taking the opportunity while the woman’s head was down to examine her more closely. Perhaps it wasn’t just her warm, relaxed demeanor that had set me at ease. The woman’s brown crew-cut hairstyle and button-down shirt gave off major queer vibes. Ever since I’d developed a crush on my super-fit, short-haired yoga instructor in college, convinced she was a lesbian, only to run into her with her husband and baby at the local supermarket a few weeks later, I didn’t put too much stock in my gaydar. Although, of course, the instructor might’vebeen queer, bi, or pan. But I still found this woman’s presence comforting.I wonder how LGBTQ-friendly Sapphire Springs is? Not that it matters, given I have no plans to socialize or date.

She handed a gigantic takeout coffee cup to a man in his fifties and then turned her attention back to me.

“Sorry, I thought you were here to sit down. What can get you?” Her voice was warm and friendly.

“Hi, sorry, I’m actually not here for coffee. I’m looking for George?”

Emma had emailed me to confirm the books would be delivered this morning and told me to ask for George, the owner. I hadn’t seen any sign of a man working here. Perhaps he was in the kitchen or at the back of the bookstore? For the first time since I’d entered, my nerves reappeared, making my mouth dry.

I was an intensely private person. I didn’t do public events, social media, or share photos of myself online, and I kept my pen name locked down to a few key people—Tania, Barb, Emma, Michael, my publicist at my publisher, and—any nerve-racking minute now—George.

“Well, you’re in luck.” The woman grinned again, and that dimple reappeared. “I’m George.”

“Hannah,” I said, my stomach erupting into butterflies at the news that this attractive woman in front of me was George.

“Nice to meet you. Are you here about?—”

The café door opened, and two women walked in, laughing, drowning out the rest of George’s question.Damnit.I still hadn’t found my hearing aid, and this was exactly the type of situation where I really needed it. Background noise. Woodenfloors. George standing on my left side.

I smiled and nodded—my usual response when I didn’t hear something. It seemed safe enough in this case. Surely she’d just asked if I was here to sign the books?

George’s smile widened. “Oh, excellent! When would you be able to start?”

To my relief, George still seemed relaxed in my presence. I exhaled. One of the many reasons why I kept my identity secret was because I didn’t want anyone to treat me differently because of who I was. But George clearly wasn’t aRealmssuper fan.

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