Page 24

Simone arched her brow. Lucy smiled to herself; it was virtually impossible to do anything on Main Street without being seen by at least six different business owners. If Lucy turned around now, she would be able to see June in her clothing boutique, or Patrick stocking shelves.

“Charles’s grandson,” Lucy said, a little zing going through her as she recalled the angle of his jaw. “He’s visiting from Ireland.”

“Ooh,” Simone said, nudging Lucy with her elbow.

“Simone, please,” Lucy said, trying not to laugh at what the woman was implying. “I am a professional.”

“Eye candy doesn’t have calories,” Simone said, wiggling her brows. “With that, I’ll let you get out of this chill. Bye, angel!”

“Bye!” Lucy waved as Simone jogged back to the warmth of her studio, and set about unloading the things from her car. She piled the baked goods and flowers into her arms, using magic to keep it all steady. From afar, no one would be able to tell she had magical powers; they would just assume she had incredible balance.

With her precarious pile, she approached the yellow storefront of Crawley Books. She waved her foot to unlock the door but found it already unlocked.

Her heart soared. Charles!

She entered with a grin that sank down her face as swiftly as her heart dropped to her toes. Horror spread through her as she took in the state of the store.

“What. Have. You. Done.” Lucy couldn’t manage more words than that. She was shocked speechless. The fairy lights were gone. The various vases of dried flowers and multicolored candles were all lined up in a neat row on one table, her clay pinch pots and knickknacks were gone, every surface smooth and bare save for the books.

Everything looked … wrong. Orderly, rather than joyfully chaotic.

“Good morning,” Grayson said, popping up from behind the counter. His eyes were a dazzling blue behind his glasses, bright in contrast to the slate-gray sweater he was wearing. He took a sip of tea, clearly pleased with himself. And why wouldn’t he be?

Grayson had destroyed her beloved bookstore. She was more certain than ever that the bookstore was the real reason he was here. He had his sights on the business, cold and practical as he was.

Well! She would not stand for it!

He had to go.

Still reeling, she set down her things and spun silently in a circle, taking in the carnage. The front display was completely stripped of any decoration and her cozy romances were gone, replaced with Penguin clothbound classics. Lucy had nothing against the classics—she loved most of them, actually!—but this was a business, not his personal library to arrange how he saw fit.

They needed to be aware of their audience if they wanted to make sales, and in November, everyone wanted cozy romances! This was a regional store; she knew this market, what would sell and what wouldn’t. Running a bookstore wasn’t simple or easy.

How dare he move things around without her consent? How dare he act as though this were his store simply through birthright instead of hers thanks to the countless years that she’d devoted to it? He was a problem.

Luckily, the solution was simple: She was going to kill him. She could see the headlines now: RENOWNED NEUROSCIENTISTS’ DAUGHTER TURNS TO MURDER IN LOCAL BOOKSTORE DISPUTE.

The source of her ire was completely unaware of her murderous intentions, however. He was positively chipper this morning, humming to himself as he strolled over to one of the lounge chairs by the fireplace, laptop under his arm. He sat down, resting his laptop on his knees before opening it up to read something over.

His sweater was open at the throat, and she saw the shine of a thin chain resting against his collar. To complete the outfit, he wore dark trousers—trousers! Had this man never heard of jeans?

His blond hair was pushed back, and his eyes were vivid behind his glasses, as though he’d been up for hours. He must have been. This … this … desecration … would have required tons of time.

Any misguided attraction she might have felt toward him vanished. Lucy marched up to Grayson, standing in front of him.

“Seriously. What the hell have you done?”

Grayson pulled his gaze away from his laptop and looked up at her. “Hmm?”

She started twitching in response to how relaxed he was.

“What. Have you. Done.”

He considered her for a moment before leaning back into his seat. “Si vis pacem, para bellum,” he said. She was going to strangle him.

“You really are insufferable,” she said, practically short-circuiting. “Don’t quote Latin at me! What does that even mean, you psychopath?”

“If you want peace, prepare for war.”