Page 10 of Falling for the Enemy

“What’s keeping you up at night, Jocelyn? If it’s a man, he better be worth it.”

She snorted. “A man. Good one. The only men worth mentioning in my life are the fictional ones.”

The observant woman’s mouth twisted, but the disapproval was clear in her dark eyes. “Would it really be so terrible to let someone love you?”

Rather than trip into that trap question, Jocelyn pushed the pastry box back onto the counter. “I have a few errands to run. Mind if I leave this here until I’m done?”

“Go ahead.”

“Thanks, I shouldn’t be too long.” Jocelyn held the door open for two tourists as they stepped into the cafe.

Main Street was in full transition. Summer winds faded like a Frank Sinatra song as storefront seashell garlands gave way to hay bales and pumpkins. Chrysanthemums now crowded the sidewalks in shades of plum, burnt orange, and burgundy. But the air hadn’t committed to autumn yet.

Temperatures hovered in an indecisive stretch ranging between sixty and eighty. Cool morning fogs yielded to afternoon sunshine, but no one knew how to dress because while everyone was ready for boots and flannels, there was still an hour each afternoon that cooked hotter than Satan’s asshole.

But autumn was there, creeping in beneath the briny air, a subtle shift that would soon surrender to woodsmoke and pumpkin-scented everything. With only a handful of good beach days left, a few ambitious locals wandered down to the water while the rest anxiously awaited the cooler weather.

Captain Claws, the copper statue lobster mascot stationed outside the maritime museum, already wore his seasonal wardrobe update. Someone, almost certainly Simon Moseley, had wrestled a flannel shirt over his shell and perched a miniature pumpkin between his claws.

Jocelyn hid a smirk, secretly enjoying their quirky town’s weirdness as she admired Captain Claws’ new duds and headed toward the public library to unload her canvas tote full of newly printed paperbacks.

The scent of old binding glue and lemon wood polish wrapped around her the moment she stepped inside the historic landmark. She dropped her bag on the circulation desk with enough force to rattle the pencil cup and startle a patron two aisles deep into the biography section.

“Donations from a grateful citizen and local literary treasure,” she announced as Ellen, the head librarian, poked her head out of the back office.

“Miss Collins! I was hoping you’d be by today.” The librarian eagerly peered into the bag and extracted a copy of Jocelyn’s upcoming release, studying the shirtless Viking on the cover. “Ooh! This one has a sword.”

“It’s not a sword, Ellen.”

The librarian’s eyes creased behind her glasses. “Such naughty wit.”

“It’s how I make a living.” Jocelyn sipped her coffee. “That’s the limited edition with the foil stamping, and I want them clawing over it at book club next week, so put it somewhere visible, but don’t let them buy it yet.”

“You’re such a tease, Ms. Collins.”

“That’s what keeps them turning pages.” Jocelyn leaned across the desk, the marble surface cool under her forearms. “Wait until you read chapter seventeen.”

“Oh, boy.” Ellen hid a smile as she tucked a copy under the desk. “That one’s coming home with me.”

“Atta girl. Smut keeps us young.” Jocelyn rapped her knuckles on the desk and pointed at Ellen. “The release isn’t until the thirteenth. You don’t have to wait that long, but try to hold out another week to build some anticipation.”

“I think you secretly enjoy tormenting others.”

“It’s not a secret. But it is for their own good. If slow burns didn’t work, I wouldn’t write them. People love a good buildup.”

“Fine, but I’m starting my copy tonight. That’s the payoff for giving you prime shelf real estate.”

“You’re doing the Lord’s work, Ellen.”

“I’m not all that interested in heaven if the smut’s stocked in hell.”

Jocelyn laughed. “That’s because you prefer the company of sinners.”

“Which reminds me,” she said as she stamped the books into inventory. “Your late fees are at fourteen dollars.”

“And they shall remain there as a monument to my rebellion against institutional overreach.”

The librarian tsked. “Why take so many books out at once if you don’t have time to read them?”