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With all the e-readers and apps that let you read books on your phone, I almost forgot how good new books smell.
When I was little, the first thing I’d do when I got a new book was open it to in middle, press my nose against the crease, and inhale like it was my last bit of oxygen. My mom thought it was the oddest thing in the world, but then again, she was never a reader. She didn’t understand.
I can smell them all now—all the pretty books—along with a touch of lavender and coffee.
This is my new favorite place, and I haven’t made it two feet from the door.
And they’re supposed to have the best romance section in Nashville, and I’ll be honest, if that’s true, this place could smell like a dump, and I’d still come back.
“Hey there,” a woman with the most perfect fiery red victory rolls greets me as she steps out from behind the closest row of books. The rest of her ginger hair is curled over her shoulders, highlighting her alabaster skin, and very retro black sleeveless dress with a white border, and a couple of matching buttons down the front.
She looks like she stepped right out of a book. She’d be the perfect heroine for a tatted up, motorcycle riding alpha of a man. Or give her a few tattoos and pair her with an uptight business CEO.
Yep. Perfect.
“You in the right place?” She adjusts her purple horn-rimmed glasses and studies me. Probably because instead of answering her in the first place, I stood there like I had no social skills whatsoever while I imagined her fictional life.
I’m really great at making new friends.
“I think so.” I reach my hand up to tuck my hair behind my ear, but stop halfway, remembering the reason for the fluffy hair and let my hand fall to my side. “Best romance section in town?”
Her smile widens, and if I’m not mistaken, she has a slightly evil glint in her bright green eyes. “Oh, you’re in for a treat. New in town?” At my nod she claps her hands together, and I’m pretty sure she whispersfresh meatbefore taking off toward the back of the store. “Follow me. Up front we have all the boring, non-sexy stuff. Mystery, suspense, thriller, nonfiction… Basically stuff that would all be better with a little bit of dick.”
“Maybe not the self-help books.”
“Especially the self-help books.” She glances over her shoulder and winks at me. “So, what’s your poison?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your favorite subgenre? Tropes? What revs your engine?”
“Right now, I’m looking for a couple of new sports romances, and maybe a fake relationship or two.”
She stops abruptly, and I’m so glad I was paying attention because I almost plowed her over. “Thank God.” She turns around and tosses her arm around my shoulders. “I was really worried for a second that you’d have no idea what I was talking about. Some people tend to look at me like I have five heads when I start going off about genres and tropes. That’s when I know to give them whatever’s trending on TikTok and call it a day.”
“Sounds… horrible.”
“It is. It really is. So, what’s your story?”
I stare at her and blink a few times, not really knowing what to say here. She’s a virtual stranger, but she works in a bookstore which makes her cool people. At least, I think she works in a bookstore. She could be a really enthusiastic customer.
How much of your story is appropriate to give to a stranger who may or may not work at a bookstore?
“Sorry, I talk too much, and I have a tendency to ask personal questions and make people uncomfortable. Delilah, the girl who works in the café upstairs, tells me I’m the worst.”
“You are,” a voice shouts down from the second floor, and I can only assume it was Delilah, the café gal.
I clear my throat and fiddle with the hem of my sleeve. “It’s okay. I’m actually working on my own sports romance, so I was hoping to—”
“Do some research,” she finishes for me, her eyebrows bouncing all over the place. “I’m so excited.”
I laugh, following her as she takes off toward the back of the store. Talk about someone with golden retriever energy. I can’t believe I actually told someone I was writing a book.
Granted, it’s a stranger, but it feels good.
Doesn’t mean I’m going to tell my friends and family, but it’s nice having someone that knows. Knows and doesn’t judge.
“Don’t be too excited; it might be awful.”
