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Woolf jumped on my shoelaces, and I hugged Bree and Quoth tight as I burst out laughing. Morrie ran to the kitchen and returned with a saucer of kitten milk and some treats for Grimalkin, and Heathcliff watched in wide-eyed awe as Maximillian wobbled his way down his arm like a tightrope walker.
Nevermore Bookshop was changing in more ways than one. And I couldn’t be happier.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SIX
The next morning, I checked on Grimalkin and the kittens, helped Heathcliff to open up the shop, then went across the road to Nevermore Gallery. Quoth was hanging a series of paintings of landmarks around the village by a local watercolor artist. There were already a few tourists inside, browsing the bright artwork Quoth had hung on every surface. In the communal art space, two potters were bent over freshly fired bowls, painting designs with multi-colored glaze.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing my fiancée before her second cup of coffee?” he teased as he folded me into his arms.
“I was going to go upstairs and get some writing done.”
“Of course. I’ve left your studio all ready for you.” Quoth tucked a strand of his obsidian hair behind his ear. “I’m happy to hear you’re going to keep writing. After the nightmare of Meddleworth and Hugh Briston’s retreat, I didn’t think you’d want to pick up the pen again.”
“Actually, the opposite is true. Ever since we got back, I’ve been itching to sit down and work on my book. Hugh may have been awful, but I did learn a few things from him. Plus, I’ve been texting Christina. She lives in London, and we think we might meet up some weekends to work on our drafts together.”
“She’s still talking to you, despite the whole suspecting her of being a murderer thing?”
“Women in literature should stick together,” I said. “She said she was actually flattered that we considered her a suspect, and she thinks she might write a version of the whole ordeal in one of her future books.”
“What about you?” Quoth leaned in close. “Will the Meddleworth locked-room mystery be part of a Mina Wilde story any time soon?”
“I don’t know. Right now I’m just grateful to be far, far away from that castle.” I brightened. “Oh, and Christina has decided to self-publish her latest book. She thinks I should do it, too.”
“Doesn’t that mean selling your books through The-Store-That-Shall-Not-be-Named?” Heathcliff growled as he and Morrie poked their heads through the door. “To people who read ebooks?”
“Hey, ebooks are great,” I said. I’d been reading on a Kindle ever since my eyesight started to get worse. Now I read mainly audiobooks, which Heathcliff also had many rants about. “And Christina told me that I’d be able to print paperback copies that we could sell in the store. She made it sound pretty cool, actually.”
“Mina Wilde, published author.” Quoth wrapped his arms around me. “It has a nice ring to it.”
“It does. But I actually think I’m going to use a pseudonym. The story is too close to our real life – I don’t want people to get the wrong idea about us, or to suspect any of it is real and take you away for testing.” I shuddered at the thought of anyone hurting Quoth. “And I really,reallydon’t want my mother reading all those intimate sex scenes.”
“Oooh, a faux identity under which you can get up to all kinds of shenanigans.” Morrie rubbed his hands together with glee. “Can we make suggestions?”
“No suggestions.” I folded my arms and glared in his direction. “Shouldn’t you all be back at the shop? I saw tons of people coming in.”
“We’re surplus to requirements,” Morrie said. “Everyone’s come to see the kittens.”
“They’re not for sale,” Heathcliff growled.
Grumpy, surly Heathcliff has really warmed to our chaotic, animal-filled life.
“No one’s buying anything, and Grimalkin’s holding court in her human form, annoying the bejeezus out of Heathcliff, so we’re going to Oliver’s for pastries.”
“And kitten milk,” Heathcliff added.
“Oooh, pastries!” I perked up. “Bring us back some. But don’t think you can slack off today. You have work to do.”
“What work?”
“I’ve got a book deadline and we’re getting married in three months.” I handed Heathcliff a thick, bright pink planning folder. “You’d better get cracking. You have a wedding to plan.”
TO BE CONTINUED
