I want this to work.
That counts for something, doesn’t it?
“You can do this, Sylvie,” I say under my breath, still standing on the stone threshold of the old building, keys poised just in front of the tarnished brass handle.
“Hi,” a voice says.
I scream, jumping and throwing my keys all at once.
They hit the shoulder of the brunette woman standing beside me and clatter against the sidewalk.
“Oh my god,” I clutch at my throat.If I had pearls to grab, those babies would be white-knuckled in my hand.“I am so sorry.I didn’t mean to throw that at you.Or anything, I didn’t mean to throw anything at you.Nothing was supposed to be thrown.”
“I shouldn’t have snuck up on you,” she says, picking up the keys gracefully and handing them back to me.“I know all too well how this place gives out that jumpy vibe.I’m Tara, by the way.I own the kolache and tea shop just around the corner.You should come by tomorrow morning, on the house.I’ll even throw in a reading.”
“Oh,” I say, doing my best to digest all of that information with my heart still acting like it’s about to fly out of my chest to freedom.“A reading?”
It’s the only word that stuck in my head, probably because I have a one-track mind for books.“Like poetry?”I ask, thrilled I’ve already found a fellow bibliophile.
“Ah, maybe,” she says slowly, grinning.“What’s your name?We knew the old place was changing hands, but that’s all that we could figure out.”
Maybe?I shake my head, trying to keep up with this unexpected public relations event.
She’s looking at me still, one eyebrow raised, and it hits me in a flush of embarrassment that I haven’t introduced myself.
“I’m Sylvie.Sylvie Barlow.”I shift the pack on my shoulder and hold out one hand, only to belatedly realize it’s the wrong hand because I still have the damn keys in my right hand.“I’m so sorry, I’m a hot mess today.”I point at a bead of sweat on my temple.“Literally and figuratively.”
To my relief, she laughs and shakes the awkwardly offered hand.“That’s Texas.It’ll keep you wishing for fall until December, and then you’ll freeze your ass off and slide on black ice for two months, and then it will be hot again before you can blink.”
It’s my turn to laugh because she’s right.
“I gotta get back to my store, so I’ll leave you to it—but don’t be a stranger.Come by tomorrow morning, okay?”Tara gives me a pointed look, and it’s clear she won’t take no for an answer.“I have a feeling you’re going to need a debrief after a night in there.”With that ominous remark, she gives a little wave and turns around, back down the street before I can ask her what that was supposed to mean.
I face the door again, a little flutter of excitement and nerves in my belly at the sight of all that gorgeous jewel-toned glass, and slide the key into the lock.It takes some maneuvering, and I mentally add “call a locksmith” to my to-do list as the door creaks open.
I expect a face full of hot air, the scent of old books and probable mold, the detritus of a bookstore gone to rot.
Instead, once the door opens fully, I’m blasted with cold air, the difference in temperature sending the little hairs on the back of my neck standing at full attention.
“Here goes nothing.”
I’ve really got to stop talking to myself.
I step into the bookstore, my new home, and the door slams shut behind me.
2
Sylvie
“Shit biscuits on a stick,” I yell, crumpling over.
If this keeps up, I’m going to need blood pressure medicine.Hell, maybe I already do.I’m pretty damned high-strung right now.
Wait.Did I take my anxiety meds today?
Maybe that’s the problem.
Frowning, catching what’s left of my breath, I hit the pause button on my exploration of the bookstore and rummage through the backpack.
