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That ruled out Cupid, then.
Thank God. A home full of seniors was twenty too many cupids as it was.
I took the boxes out to my car and shoved them on the backseat. They only just fit, thanks to the fact I had a baby four-wheel-drive, and I muttered several curses at Holley that she’d sent me in this and not picked them up in her own monster Jeep.
Traffic was light, so it only took me minutes to get across town to the bookstore. I was able to pull up just down the street, but I left both the boxes on the backseat for Holley herself to come and get.
I was not her slave.
I didn’t get paid nearly enough for that crap.
She looked up from the counter the moment I stepped into the store. “Did you get the decorations?”
“Yep.” I unwound my scarf from my neck.
“Well?”
“They’re in my car.” I put my keys down in front of you. “You can haul those boxes up here. They’re the size of me, for God’s sake.”
She winced. “I might have gone a little overboard.”
“A little overboard? Holley, those boxes are huge. How much did you order? Can we even afford it?”
“Yes, we can afford it. I don’t know what you’re doing with that website, but Kinsley has been in the storeroom packing orders all weekend.”
“I linked it to Etsy and Amazon.” I unzipped my coat and shrugged it off. “Or I had Tori do it last week. She did some voodoo wizard thing that means all the orders funnel through to one place, but it’s definitely helped.”
“Helped? Say, you need to order more stock. We’re nearly out.” Holley adjusted her glasses as she flicked through some sheets of paper and handed me one. “I did a stock check this morning and we need more mugs, travel mugs, and tote bags. Also, stickers. Who knew people like stickers so much?”
“Well, the stickers say, “Fuck off, I’m reading.” Who wouldn’t like those?” I took the sheet from her and scanned it.
Welp.
She wasn’t lying.
“All right, I’ll do this tonight. It should be a case of simple reordering, but I’m ninety percent sure that Tori sent me new designs this morning. We could add some new stuff, strike while the iron is hot, that kinda things.”
“Well, whatever, but we really need more of the ‘The Only Boyfriend I Need Is In My Book’ mugs. Kinsley packed up twenty this morning.” Holley paused. “Apparently, Valentine’s Day is rough on bookworms, too.”
“Mm.” I folded the sheet of paper into four and shoved it in my back pocket. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Oh, stop it.” She pulled off her glasses to clean them. “You hate this holiday. You hate every holiday.”
“Because they’re designed to make people spend money they don’t have,” I said, grabbing my coat from where I’d thrown it on the table. “And with the rise of social media, it’s just superfluous bullshit so everyone can look good.”
“You’re such a cynic.”
“No, I’m not.” I leaned on the counter. “I don’t give a shit if Seb buys you twelve red roses for Valentine’s or if Josh takes Kinsley for some fancy ass dinner. I’ll buy my own damn roses and, if I hadn’t been forced into your stupid little blind dating shit, I’d be buying my own damn dinner, too.”
“Such a cynic!”
“I am not! Do you really want roses? What are they gonna do, Holley? Die in a week? No. You want that huge Central Perk coffee mug you saw on Amazon and a share bag of cheese Doritos all to yourself. Just like Kinsley doesn’t want some fancy ass dinner where she has to wear heels, she wants pizza in her pajamas where bras are not required. Valentine’s Day is nothing but manufactured crap to make people think that’s what women want.”
“Some women want it.”
“Not the women I know. Not even you. That’s why you aren’t arguing with me,” I finished smugly.
She sniffed. “Would it kill you to just open your mind for one day? You love romance novels. Is letting love into your life that awful?”
“I love romance novels because it’s not in my life,” I said firmly. “Every man I’ve ever dated has screwed me over. You know what I don’t have to deal with when I’m done reading a book? Socks under the sofa or the toilet seat up or butt-scratching—you know what? Never mind. I live with Dylan. It’s pretty much the same thing.”
“Except you don’t get laid.”
“Oh, I do. I know excellent porn websites, and Santa left a new toy in my stocking last year.” I grinned and pushed away from the counter, glancing over my shoulder as I headed for the storeroom. “And the best part? I always orgasm.”
“Nobody likes a braggart, Saylor!”
CHAPTER THREE – SAYLOR
RULE THREE: DON’T SHOW TOO MUCH BOOB. IT’S REALLY INCONVENIENT WHEN ONE POPS OUT IN PUBLIC.
