Page 113 of The Sinner's Bargain

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

NAYA

I stared after him, brain still struggling to understand what he meant by that. My gaze found Cyrus’s amused one from where he stood next to the door still.

“What did he say?” I asked him.

Broad shoulders lifted. One hand slid out of his coat pocket and gestured vaguely at the small chunk of heaven around us. “It’s yours.”

I stared harder at him. Maybe I fainted and this was some weird dream.

“I don’t understand,” I said at last.

He moved away from the doorway when it opened and a couple of young girls ducked inside. It brought him closer so I had no difficulty understanding him when he said, “Boss said it’s yours.”

I laughed, albeit weak and slightly dizzy. “I’m sure he didn’t mean that. That’s crazy. He can’t just give someone a bookstore.”

“It’s also a café,” he offered, nodding to the long, thin bar carved of the same dark, cherry wood as the rest of the place.

A woman stood behind it, leaning forward to hear the two girls’ orders. Behind her was an entire wall made up entirely of broken shards of a mirror held together by tangled branches and creeping vines. Shelves containing an assortment of colorful bottles hung in either side with a bigger counter across the bottom holding a series of gleaming machines and a variety of cups.

“And the boss never says anything he doesn’t mean,” Cyrus finished.

I turned to him, my heart thumping with unimaginable excitement and a steady rise of panic. I didn’t know what to do with a bookstore. Plus, there was a whole lot of paperwork required. Father was constantly complaining about it whenever he had to sell something off. I didn’t even have a real name.

“I really don’t think I can accept this,” I said, mainly to myself, but Cyrus answered.

“You’ll have to take it up with Mr. Lacroix. In the meantime, we’re already here. Why don’t you look around. Maybe get a drink.”

He was right. I had to talk to Thoran, but in the meantime, it wouldn’t hurt to have a peek.

“Will you come with me?” I asked the man.

He shook his head. “I’ll wait for you there.” He pointed to what must have even the stiffest, hardest, high back chair in the place.

“Why don’t you sit in one of the softer chairs?” I asked.

“I like getting up quickly if I need to,” was his response, and I didn’t press.

Jittery with excitement all over again, I started through the room. There were piles of books on the odd table, but the vast majority of the store’s collection lined the walls, much like Thoran’s office. Even much of the carved patterns in the railings mirrored the ones cut Thoran’s windowpane. I was strongly beginning to believe the same person had created both when a voice interrupted my browsing.

“Poe.”

I jolted and turned to the girl from behind the counter. “I’m sorry?”

Eyes the softest green I’d ever seen outside a painting of an open field narrowed. “No...” she tapped a long finger against her small mouth. “Austen.” She reached past me to a collection of Jane Austen novels bundled together in soft pink velvet. “That’s the one.”

I stared from the book to the girl with her short, pixie cut, locks the color of wet sand and her small, elfish features. She could have been a character from a children’s fairy book.

“I’m Ivelle. Resident barista and psychic.” She paused to roll her eyes. “Well, book psychic. I can usually tell what kind of book a person likes.” She shot hopeful glances between my face and the book I held. “Am I right?”

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