Page 48 of Will Bark for Pizza
I thought there might be a couple of Diana Davenport titles, but I certainly didn’t expect an entire shelf dedicated to her.
Not a single book was dusty, either.
“Have they beenselling?” I whispered, finding it hard to believe. Sure, Diana did well digitally. She’d sold more e-books than I could ever count. But being an indie author, my books rarely made it into bookstores, even independently owned ones. The few that carried them were Lila’s doing. And she had to lay the charm on thick to convince bookstores to carry my books when the author was adamantly opposed to doing in-person events.
The rattle of the doorknob snapped my attention to the front. I quickly re-shelved the book, and led Husker to the front to meet Dad and the appraiser.
“Kira, how’d you get in?” Dad asked, his expression one of genuine surprise.
“My key.”
“Did I—” He lifted his ball cap and ran his fingers through his thick hair. “Thought I forgot, but guess you got it. Anyway, this is Phil Clausen. He’s here to do the appraisal.”
I shook hands with the man a few years my dad’s senior. Whereas Dad was in his usual work pants and blue shirt with his name stitched into the pocket—he likely came straight from the hardware store—Phil wore dark-wash jeans and a gray polo. He held a heavy-duty clipboard against his chest, looking much too professional for my liking.
It’s not his fault. The voice in my head sounded a lot more like Mom’s than my own.
“This is a great location,” Phil said, wearing a smile that felt both professional and genuine. “Lots of possibilities here.”
I forced a smile in return, but my stomach was tying in knots at what this all meant. The iced coffee no longer sat well—my fault for avoiding breakfast once again to avoid Beckett. Probably a good thing, considering the sudden and violent flip my stomach just managed to complete.
“You okay?” Dad asked.
“I’ll be right back.” Husker trotted alongside me as I beelined for the restroom in the back. I didn’t lose thecoffee, thankfully, but I was sweating as though I were trapped in a sauna, despite the chill in the bookstore.
My vision blurred. I braced my back against the cool tile wall opposite the door and slunk to the floor.
Husker placed his head in my lap, and I focused on stroking his head, his soft fur grazing my fingertips—the only sensation grounding me to reality.
This wasn’t my first panic attack. I experienced them when I was faced with the sight of my own blood. And during my Dark Ages, I had panic attacks for a variety of other reasons that had nothing to do with blood. But the familiar territory was never pleasant.
“Breathe, Kira.” I whispered the command.
My temperature increased to inferno levels. Sweat poured from me profusely. I wanted my sweatshirt off, but I couldn’t muster the strength. The spinning room was fading to black.
“Kira, are you all right?”
“Here come the hallucinations,” I murmured, working harder to breathe, and finding little to no relief. Because Beckett Campbell was definitelynoton the other side of the door. Maybe Dad, but not the military veteran I’d been hiding from, and shamelessly fantasizing about.
“Kira?” Husker popped to his feet and stared at the crack between the floor and the bottom of the door.Huh. Maybe I wasn’t imagining it.
“Yeah?”
“You okay?”
My shirt was soaked beneath my sweatshirt. I didn’t have the stamina left to pull off the toplayer. I was quickly losing consciousness. I let out a laugh that turned into a sob.
“Not really.”
“Can I come in?”
“Why not.”
The room went dark.
My head rolled back, landing on a very firm ledge. Did this bathroom have ledges? Why was this one curved just right to support my head? It was hard, but not like tile. What was this magical surface? And why did it smell like pine needles?
“Breathe, Kira.”
