AllFreeNovel
Share Us
CHAPTER ONE
I’M TROUBLE
ELOISE
Sweat rollsfrom my neck toward my breasts as I fight the urge to fan myself with one of these beloved books.
The buttons on my linen dress have been fastened lower than usual, the top of my lace bra peeking out, but no one’s coming in here anyway. Modesty is low on my list of priorities tonight, with human interaction being minimal most days.
It’s even rarer that a man offer patronage to this fine establishment.
Owning and runningBordeau Books, known for catering to romance readers, doesn’t make for an awful lot of male interaction.
Bordeau Books: Where you always come first.
The slogan was my mother’s doing. I didn’t have the heart to change it, even after the car accident that left this place in my possession at such a young age.
My eyes fall on the book I’d been reading earlier, before I stopped to stock shelves, and I sigh as I pick it up. The pages have yellowed, the thick width of the spine decorated by the dust it’s picked up over the years. When I found it, rummaging through my older sister’s things, I couldn’t help but take it from her, wanting to relive those days.
And the book was doing its job, bringing me back to a time when she and I weren’t just tolerant of each other, but close.
Now I can hardly make conversation with the girl I once called Sophie, who stood in front of me again two weeks ago as a woman named Elizabeth, my younger sister Kitty in tow. She claimed they want to help with the dying bookstore that they left me with to chase their big city dreams.
I should continue with stocking, the box of books next to me behind the register reminding me that this is why I’m here anyway. But I need—I deserve—a break, I tell myself as I lean over to turn on the desk fan. With the paperback in hand, I perch myself on the edge of the stool.
It was my idea—of course—to work during the annual Fourth of July celebration, in spite of Kitty’s insistence. I reasoned that working at night when the sun wasn’t beating down on the store would make the labor a little easier.
They’re out there, enjoying themselves—of course—and here I am, trying to make sure we’re still open for business.
It’s what our parents would’ve wanted.
I’m just opening the paperback when a group of loud kids pass, no doubt headed to the festivities. When they smile and wave, I offer them a polite tip of my chin.
And then I moan, trying to wish the heat away.
The stuffy air makes me want to prop the door open, but I decide against it, lifting one foot to place on the desk instead and tipping the chair back.
I curse the universe for my inability to afford to fix the air in here in time for the summer months, despite all the work I’d put into making this place a safe haven for romance readers.
My resigned sigh barely makes it out by the time I’ve reminded myself that it’s pointless to pity myself. I’m no one’s victim.
I’m a young woman who’s single-handedly turned a once fast-failing business into one that’s survived the technological era.
Like patching up a blown tire so it’s only a slow leak.
I hear the crack of the story’s old spine as I settle back into a headspace I’m more comfortable in.
With the book against my thigh, I start to head off into this fantasy world of love and lust and men who rip clothes off of willing female bodies.
But the thing about fantasies is they don’t last forever. So, when the bell over the door jingles, signaling someone entering the shop, I force a smile on my face. Although we technically aren’t open, I’m willing to sell to anyone wanting to purchase.
Until I notice it’s aman.Color me shocked.
I can’t see his whole face—only his promising profile—his shoulder to me as he peruses the area.
What looks like gray cotton covers broad shoulders. His twill shorts fit perfectly enough for me to witness the curve of a sculpted ass, and my eyes follow every movement the rest of his body makes. The slow sweep of his arm as he pushes his dark hair away from his forehead. The way his bicep rolls into a compact mound that makes my lips purse, as if I’m brave enough to blow them a small kiss.
He’s turned away from me now, and I wonder what he thinks of this space as I eye his exquisite calves, sprinkled with coarse hair.
