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Judging by the hole he’d dug himself just before he’d said those things, he’d been trying not to say them.
I had no idea what any of it meant and, honestly, it was easier to ignore it today.
I was slightly hungover and eating my body weight in salted chips.
I shoved some chips into my mouth and brushed the crumbs off my fingers on my jeans, then grabbed my phone to reply.ME: You have?He responded quickly. I glanced at the time—twelve-fifteen. He’d be on lunch.JOSH: Yeah, he messaged late last night. He just moved nearby a month ago. Works at the Montana Bears.ME: Sports? Really? Did I ever tell you how much I hate sports?JOSH: He doesn’t play. He’s a physio for the team.ME: Oh. Does he travel with them?JOSH: Yeah, but he mostly works with the injured players who are in recovery so he’s here most of the time.ME: Oh. Okay.JOSH: Interested? He’s 29. Fits all your parameters. Never read the HP books but likes the movies.ME: He’s already better than the last one.JOSH: If you say so.ME: He can’t be much worse. And if he is, I’ll know you did it deliberately.JOSH: Why would I deliberately send you on bad dates?ME: I don’t know. Why are you happy last night went badly?Welp. So much for not bringing it up.
Nothing. No quick reply. It’d only been a few minutes since we’d struck up our conversation, so there was no way he’d suddenly had to finish lunch and get back to work.
I wasn’t buying it.ME: You’re the one who said it.JOSH: Actually, I said I wasn’t sorry it went badly.ME: That’s the same thing.JOSH: Technically not.ME: Technically is.JOSH: Do you want me to give you his number or not?ME: I want to know why you aren’t sorry my date went badly.I was well and truly in the trenches now.
May as well keep going, Kinsley.ME: And don’t try to tell me it’s just because you didn’t like the guy. That’s my brother’s line.I didn’t really expect a reply.
Which was just as well, because as I rung a customer up twenty minutes later, I still didn’t have one.
“Thank you.” I smiled at the customer and waved as she left with her adorable little boy. He waved back, and the bell over the door jingled to announce their departure.
It rang again almost immediately, and Holley’s arrival was announced by an “Oomph!” as the heavy door bumped back into her. I got up and rushed over to the door and grabbed hold of it to open it.
“Thanks.” She blew out a sigh, her bottom lip directing it up toward her bangs which fluttered. She stepped into the store with a huge cardboard box and a groan.
“What on Earth is that?”
“Books.” She grunted as she put it on the tables at the front of the store.
“Why—never mind.” I shook my head.
“Phew. That was heavy.” She opened the box flaps and pulled out a book to show me.
I frowned as I took it. The cover was an adorable illustrated one with a bright pink background and a cartoon blonde girl texting. The blue title read, “How Not To Matchmake,” and the author’s name, Abigail Lyon, was in contrasting white. “Why do you have like fifty copies of it?”
Holley leaned on the box and looked at me. “She’s a local and contacted me to do a signing here in a few weeks. She started off self-published and hit the big time a couple of years ago, and her publisher is finally sending her on a nationwide tour for her new book after the last one hit number two on The New York Times bestseller list. She said her publicist wanted her to go to Billings or Helena if she insisted on a Montana spot, but she wanted to come back home since her grandma is at the retirement home.”
“Fair enough.” I flipped the book and scanned the back cover. It was a failed matchmaking novel where the heroine fell for her client in the process of getting him a date. “Oh, this is cute. I want one.”
“Have it. When I told her we like to read books together, she had an extra three added for us as a thank you. She said she’ll sign them when she gets here.”
Yay, new books!
“Awesome. Do you want a hand taking that to the back?”
“Please.” She winced. “I think I put my back out.”
Laughing, I set the new book on the counter and moved to help her. Together, we lugged the huge, heavy box out to the storeroom and nestled it safely in the corner.
“Why didn’t you mention the signing? We haven’t done one before.”
Holley grimaced. “I actually forgot. It was only three days ago I agreed. The publisher got the books here superfast. It doesn’t even release until next week, but Andi—that’s Abigail’s publicist—said she was going to email me some promotional posters to put up. Turns out we had the book on order from the seller anyway, so we can promote the hell out of it between now and the signing.”
