“Addison,” I tell her.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she says with a small smile. And then, even though it’s entirely unnecessary, she adds, “I’m Riley.”
Despite wanting to be annoyed with her presence here, I find myself smiling back. “Nice to meet you too, Riley.”
Whenmydayoffcomes, I’m more than ready for it. The AC in the inn’s kitchen finally shit the bed yesterday, so Brenden called someone to repair or replace it, but the guy’s not showing up until tomorrow. If I had to work in that kitchen today, when the temperature is supposed to hit ninety outside, there’s a good chance there would’ve been a fatality. Either myself, or somebody else who said the wrong thing at the wrong time to me.
So it’s safer for everyone that I’m staying far away from the inn.
Another reason I’m glad not to be at work—I’m finally getting a reprieve from Brenden’s incessant teasing about my attraction to a certain famous redhead.
I threatened to cut off his coffee access if he gave me a smug look or nudged me in the ribs one more time when someone mentioned her name. It should be a good enough deterrent, because lord knows the man can’t survive without his daily five to ten cups. But since he’s still on that kick about me dating again, he might not be able to stop himself.
After spending the morning doing some cleaning around my house and giving my cat Freddie more treats than he needs, I decide to pop over to Mayweather for a visit to the bookstore.
One thing I appreciate about this place is how well the town supports all the local businesses, rather than chain stores. I could always order whatever I wanted online, but there’s something more satisfying about perusing the smaller selection at Mayweather Books. It’s run by the nicest older couple, the Landrys. They always remember the last books I bought there and give me recommendations on anything new that’s come in since.
I never used to be much of a reader. Back in Chicago, I was too busy with work or with friends. There was always something new to check outin the city. But since moving, I’ve found I enjoy relaxing on my front porch with a book and a glass of wine.
Which is good, because there’s not much else to do around here. Outside of Mayweather’s various crazy events, that is. And I prefer to avoid those if I can help it.
Armed with a homemade hazelnut iced latte to combat the heat, I step inside the bookstore. Immediately, I’m greeted by Mr. Landry, who moves out from behind the register to put his hand on my shoulder. The friendliness of people in this town is something I’m still getting used to, but I’ll admit, I don’t entirely hate it.
“Good to see you! We just got in a bunch of new thrillers,” he tells me before going back around to his side of the small counter.
“Thanks, I’ll check them out.”
I head to that section, where the newest titles are displayed on the first shelf, and start skimming the blurbs as I sip my latte. The air conditioning is cranked up in here, which I truly appreciate after what I’ve been dealing with at work. Tucking two of the books under my arm, I figure I’ll browse a couple other sections as well.
As I turn the corner at the end of the aisle, someone else is rounding it from the other side. Their eyes are focused down on their phone, and before I can say anything or weave out of the way, we collide.
In that moment, I realize three things simultaneously.
One: The person who knocked into me is none other than Riley Rowland in another flimsy fucking sundress.
Two: For such a tiny woman, she sure can make an impact.
And three: The lid of my plastic cup wasn’t twisted on properly.
Cold liquid splashes my chest, some of it seeping into my shirt and some sticking to my bare collarbone. It’s a shock to the system, but not as much as what comes next.
Riley’s jaw drops with a dramatic gasp, then she scurries into motion, shoving her phone and the books she was holding onto the edge of a shelf.As she turns back to me, she reaches out and start dabbing ineffectually at my wet shirt. At mychest.
“Um,” I say.
Realizing what she’s doing, she gasps again and steps back, holding her hands up in the surrender position. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry! That was—I mean, I didn’t see—I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t walk around with your face in your phone.”
That comes out a bit harsher than I intended, and she looks thoroughly mollified. In my defense, though, I’ve just taken an iced coffee bath. I’m still dripping onto the bookstore’s carpet, and my pulse is racing from the unexpected—and unwanted,definitely unwanted—groping.
“I’m sorry,” she says again. “It was an email from my publicist, wanting me to approve a statement, and I... I didn’t even want to read it, but I knew I couldn’t ignore it. Even though I came here hoping to ignore everything. But this was a reminder that the rest of the world is still out there, and they haven’t magically forgotten about the photos or any of it, and—”
“Breathe,” I instruct, cutting her off.
She immediately sucks in a sharp breath, and then we’re both left here staring at each other.
That’s when Mr. Landry bustles over and asks, “What’s the commotion about? Is everyone all right?”
