Page 85 of The Tattered Gloves
I DECIDED TO head into the bookstore early the next day. With our plans for the New Year’s sale underway, I knew we had a lot of work ahead of us, and Sam would probably try to take it all on himself.
What I hadn’t expected was to find the store nearly empty when I arrived.
“Are you the only one here?” I asked Sophie after pulling the door shut behind me. I took my coat off, feeling the lingering chill from the outdoors still clinging to the air.
“Yep,” she said. “It’s been pretty slow so far this morning. Sam said you weren’t coming in until three though. Did I mishear him?” She looked down at the schedule that was always taped to the counter by the register.
“No, he’s right. That is my normal time. I just thought I’d come in early and help out with the sale.”
“Oh, right. He mentioned that. Um, I think he made a list of books to pull in the stockroom,” she said, picking up her phone to check a text message that had just come in.
“Any idea when he’ll be in?”
She smiled, setting her phone down and refocusing her attention back on me. “I have a feeling it will be soon.”
I had no idea what she was talking about, so I just headed for the back, unsure of what the protocol was in regard to your boyfriend or semi boyfriend or guy you liked and his sister.
Should I have stuck around and tried to strike up a conversation?
Were we supposed to be friends?
Did it matter if she liked me?
I had no idea.
So, instead, I hid in the back with my books.
All fifty thousand of them — or so it appeared. I nearly fell over from the massive piles that had erupted overnight. Sam must have been here for hours, making lists and pulling books from the shelves.
“Did I go a little overboard?”
I turned around to see Sam standing behind me, his hands in his pockets and his cheeks still red from the cold outside. He wore a knit beanie on his head, something I’d only seen on him a time or two before but instantly loved. It framed his face, pulling the loose pieces of hair away from his striking features.
He really did need a haircut.
“Depends,” I answered, pulling my eyes away from him, “on what you pulled.”
I took a step forward, glancing at each pile with a certain amount of scrutiny.
“What?” I said, pulling a book I’d had my eye on for a while. “You can’t put this on sale! It will definitely sell. It’s barely been out for three months.”
His hands left his pockets, and he wrapped his arms around his chest. “Then, why is it still here?”
Glancing around the piles, I noticed a general lack of books he tended to gravitate toward. Making my way out of the stockroom, I brushed past him, noticing the way his eyes lingered on the place where my shoulder had touched his.
“What about these?” I asked, pointing to several books from a series I knew he loved. “They’ve been on the shelf for a year.”
“They’re classics!” he pointed out. “You can’t put a classic on sale!”
I rolled my eyes. “And the comic books?”
“Also classics.”
“You’re impossible,” I muttered.
“But lovable? And maybe even a little adorable?”
“Your cuteness will not change the fact that teen romance is a huge seller for us, yet you have half of them in the back!”
