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My stomach immediately argues that hunger takes precedence.
My brain jumps in with a reminder that I have exactly two dollars in my purse.
Coffee. It's gonna have to be coffee.
I wander through the store, its shelves lined with new and used books. There are index cards with recommendations attached to shelves. Jam band music plays softly and a few customers browse in silence.
I find the coffee at the back of the store in an alcove with a small counter. Laid out on the counter are clearly store-bought cookies and brownies arranged on paper plates.
"I'll be right with you," a male voice calls from somewhere in the store.
My luck today has been so horrible that I'm holding out little hope it will change in this charming bookstore.
I step away from the counter and survey the area while I wait. There are two over-sized comfy chairs with tables, conveniently piled with books, next to them. A quick look reveals that each of the books is a different genre. Something for everyone.
"Hey, sorry about that." A tall, lean man with light hair and a narrow scruffy face, smiles as he walks over to join me. "Coffee? Dessert?"
I snort, exhaustion having eroded my filter, then slap a hand over my mouth. "Coffee, please."
The man's expressive eyes dance as he smiles. "What was that about?" He points at my face and draws a circle around it in the air.
"Nothing. I'm so sorry. I'm a baker and I might be…" I hold my forefinger and thumb about a centimeter apart. "A bit of a snob about desserts."
"Ah." His smile widens. "And store bought isn't good enough for you?"
This is not the first impression I'd hoped to make. "Your store is lovely. I love the way you've mixed all the new and used books. The recommendation cards aren't original, but at least that one review of Northanger Abbey is hilarious."
He smirks. "Why do I feel like I'm being buttered up for something? Want extra sugar in your coffee?"
I wince. This is not going well at all. "This is a long shot, especially now that I've insulted your baked goods, but are you hiring by any chance?"
He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back on his heels. "A baker who wants to work in a bookstore? What's the story there?"
I sigh. "If you keep up with town gossip, you'll already know my story." I hold out a hand. "Dani Weston."
His hand is warm in mine, his shake firm. "Lazarus Holiday. And, yes, I've heard. You're living in a giant house on a gianter piece of land with your sisters. How's that send a baker looking for work in a bookstore?"
Ordinarily, I don't share my life story with strangers, but enough people in town already know the story that I figure it'll get around to him, eventually. "Our father's will states we don't get the inheritance unless we live here for a year. I need a job. Any job."
He leans a hip against the counter and nods, his body loose and lanky, his expression interested and open, still smiling. Do his cheeks ache? "I don't have any openings at the moment, but if you leave your resume, I'll call if something opens up. Right now, the college students are back in town for the school year and I'm full up with part-timers. During the holidays, things always pick up. I might be able to bring you in then."
I smile and nod, swallowing hard against the burn in my eyes. The holidays are three months away and I have no money today. I need work yesterday. Why have I waited so long to look for a job and why have I spent all my savings trying to keep my dream alive?
I glance over at the sad brownies on the counter. Surely I can out-bake a supermarket. "What about a baker? Think of all the people you could bring in if you had quality baked goods to offer. People come in for coffee and a treat and browse, feeling good from the sugar rush and, of course, they'll buy books."
I know the answer before Lazarus opens his mouth. I can see the no in the downward tilt of his lips and the apologetic look in his eyes.
Before he can speak, I plow forward. "It doesn't have to be a massive investment. Maybe I just bring in a dozen brownies and a couple dozen breakfast pastries tomorrow, and we see how it goes. Or—"
"There you are," a male voice interrupts us and a man, aquiline and tall, steps from between the shelves and joins us. "You get those cherry thingies I like?"
My blood freezes and my empty stomach hollows out.
Ranger.
He hasn't looked at me yet. Maybe there's time…
Before I can move, his head turns like he can smell my fear. I swallow hard as his eyes fix on me with laser-like focus. "You."
