Page 20 of The Huckleberry Bookshop

Athena was acting almost friendly now, and had invited him to the front of her soon-to-be bookstore and café for a coffee. A Christmas miracle?

This part of the building was as much of a disaster zone as the back, but there was a shiny machine on the front counter, near where a cash register would likely go, and a promising hint of espresso in the air.

Athena’s fuzzy sweater hugged her curves like a reverent lover while she worked levers on the coffee machine, and Mullens wondered if the fabric was as soft as it looked.

“Are you done?” A woman with untamed, wavy black hair popped up from behind a stack of boxes near the front window.

Athena sucked in a breath and pressed a hand to her chest, and Mullens instinctively stepped between the two.

“Meddy!” Athena scolded. “You scared me.”

“Sorry, I was sorting.” She winced, stretching her lower back, hands on her hips. “I think I’ve done all I can. Any word on the shelves?”

“Myles said he’d come install them after Christmas.”

“Good.”

“You must be Athena’s sister?” Mullens stepped forward, hand extended. “I’m Mullens.”

She sealed her lips and she hummed a long, thoughtful “hmm” while looking him over. “I’m Meddy. Welcome to the future Huckleberry Bookshop.” She crossed the distance to shake his hand, giving it one quick pump before she turned and slipped to the door, adding, “Catch y’all later! I’ll be shooting darts with Dad at the Watering Hole if you need me.”

Before the door had a chance to close, her head popped back through. “Don’t forget—Mom and Dad’s at five-thirty, and bring our cinnamon for the melomakarona. Dad forgot to get more.”

Athena, quick as a baseball pitcher trying to strike out a batter, tossed a glass shaker of cinnamon to her sister. “Take it with you.”

She caught it and frowned at the container. “I have to play darts with cinnamon in my pocket?”

“Do you want cookies later? Because you know I’ll forget.”

Meddy stuck out her tongue.

Mullens turned to Athena as her sister left, but she was already back to making the espresso machine steam and hiss.

“You were surprisingly comfortable in the kitchen,” she said, glancing at him over her shoulder.

“Make sure that’s decaf and sugar free,” he teased, as she dropped an espresso shot into the latte she was making.

“It’s better with sugar,” she said absently. “And it’s not like you follow the rules anyway, right?”

“Are you enabling me? No!” He gasped dramatically. “You’re setting me up. You’re framing me. Where’s the camera?” He glanced around as though afraid he was being secretly recorded. “Are you live-streaming this to Louis?”

She shook her head, actually smiling at his jokes. Progress.

“It’s about moderation, right?” Her usual tough, rule-follower persona appeared to be long gone. “Plus tomorrow is Christmas. The biggest dietary-rule-breaking day of the year.”

“I thought you’d be into tea, not coffee.”

“Who said I don’t have a thing for tea? Huckleberry, blueberry, peach… Some teas are high in antioxidants, you know.” She cast another glance over her shoulder.

“Who’s this guy?” Mullens asked, noticing a gray tabby curled up in a basket set on top of some boxes. The cat’s head seemed too big for its body, but judging from the overflowing dish of dry food on the floor, it wouldn’t be long before the feline’s skinny torso caught up with the size of its noggin.

“Clem. Brant says we bought his house, and that he has rights. Can’t give him the boot—not that we would.”

“The cat’s name is Clem?” Mullens confirmed, rubbing its ears.

“Yeah.”

The feline closed his amber eyes and smiled, leaning into Mullens’ hand. “Who’s Brant?” Boyfriend? Landlord?

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