Page 19 of Another Story

It’s Ben’s turn and I don’t smile as he steps forward.

I’m not happy to see him, so why pretend?

“How’re you, Luc?—”

“Eloise,” I correct him, my face using a minimum amount of work to get the one word out.

“Sorry. Habit.” He pushes his hands into his pockets, and I’m wondering why the hell people in suits keep showing up here.

Because you’re too irresponsible to run this place.

I ignore my inner voice and address him again. “So is showing up here, apparently.”

“Please try not to think of me as your enemy,” he says, but I don’t see myself getting warm and fuzzy feelings when I think of the awful advice I took from him in order to keep some sort of balance between the business and the home my parents left, both sucking up the money they’d left us.

“Make your threats and leave it alone,” I state, ready to face the doom and gloom that comes with his presence.

He glances around the store, and I pinch my lips at the line forming behind him.

“Let me take you to dinner and we can discuss options?—”

“You can’t be serious,” I tell him with a chuckle. “You can’t ask me on a date to discuss how you’re going to take this place from me.”

The gray hairs at his temple are attractive, and yes, he’s always been someone I looked at a time or two, wondering why none of the bachelorettes in this town were ever able to snatch him up. If I paid any attention to the whispered words, it’s because he’s carrying some kind of torch for me.

Poor guy.

“I’m trying to help you,” he reasons, the mouth that typically smiles gorgeously now pressed in a frown.

It’s a line I’ve grown tired of hearing.

I don’t need help.

I need money.

And I don’t want to have to worry about where it’s coming from or what I have to do for it.

“Well, take a number, Ben.” I throw my hands in the air, ready to be done with this conversation.

“What are you talking about?” His face twists in confusion before it dawns on him, and then, “Eloise, don’t get into business with that guy.”

“What guy?”

“Come on. You know I’m talking about one of those guys from the city. No good can come of it.”

He sounds like everyone else around here, and it’s more stifling than this heatwave. Everyone whispers and judges and tries to place locks on lives that no one wants to steal anyway.

I have no desire to sell the bookstore, but even if I wanted to, why is it anyone’s business but mine? And my sisters, of course.

“Careful, now. You’re starting to sound like a small-town Hallmark hero,” I tell him, giving him a whisper of a smile as I lean forward.

He wipes the sweat from his brow with a kerchief he’s pulled from the pocket of his slacks. “Listen, I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I just want you to explore your options.”

He pleads with me as if he’s invested. I have to remind myself he wants to squeeze any penny out of me that he can. He’s here on official bank business, not to sympathize with my problems.

“I did that already and look where it got me,” I remind him.

“Just—”

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