Page 2 of Another Story

The shop isn’t big, but I’m proud of the work I’ve done here, the signings I’ve organized, the social media presence I’ve built to make sure this place gets recognition from all over the world.

Because we’re not only fighting against bigger bookstores, but online retailers.

Still,Bordeau Booksis an experience; the stacks of stories are organized in ways to get readers excited, the decorations minimal but lending to the bookstore’s overall aesthetic. I love to let the exposed wooden support beams and the large windows enhance the store’s beauty. And the authors who’ve come here to sign have given us bursts of clientele, some who have become loyal customers.

It hasn’t been enough to change the impending fate of this store, but perhaps our luck is changing.

“Welcome to Bordeau Books,” I greet, leaning forward to set my own book on the counter.

He turns as soon as I speak, his gaze zeroing in on my face for a moment until it travels down, over my cleavage showcased by my many undone buttons, down my torso, to my propped leg, the front slit of my dress leaving it bare to his stare.

“Anything I can help you with?” I ask as he nears, bringing my leg down so I’m no longer tilted back, and adjusting my dress.

He has a dark aura. Dark hair, thick, dark eyebrows, and dark lashes that frame bright green eyes.

His steps seem measured, they’re so purposeful. But he has a grace about him that makes me think he’s dangerous.

Powerful.

I’ve read about men like him, never knowing what one looked like up close.

Confident.

My relationships with men in this town are nearly nonexistent, making my experience with the opposite sexlimited. These are the same guys I watched date and dismiss my classmates and get into trouble. The same ones who picked on me when I had braces and acne. Now that these were things of the past, I had no interest.

I always assumed I’d one day travel the world and find love that way but, I never left.

My sisters had been the ones to go while I stayed behind and tended to our mother’s dreams, coaxing the bookstore into the new age of online competitors and the like.

I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t resentment.

For my lack of freedom, my lack of life and love experience.

But the man approaching the desk doesn’t seem to be lacking in anything. He doesn’t offer words. Only a quiet smirk until he reaches me.

“Just looking for a break from the crowd,” he answers, his voice skating over me like the sweat sliding down the back of my neck.

“Yeah, it can get pretty hectic,” I offer, unable to look away as he lets his smile rest where it remains.

His eyes sayhello.

His mouth saysI’m trouble.

My brain doesn’t give a damn.

“Seems that way.”

He turns and I try my hardest to ignore how soft his T-shirt looks, stretched over what looks to be a body that knows labor. I fear the heat is making me delirious, but I know I haven’t had sex in so long, I wonder if I remember how to anymore.

“What’s your story?” he asks me as he attempted to peruse near where I’m sitting.

The chuckle that erupts from me wreaks of nerves and stops short when he glances over his shoulder at me. “What do you mean?”

He’s pulls a book from its place on the shelf closest to me. I’m familiar with the premise and when his brows raise, I adjust my skirt again.

No man so attractive should be in this shop alone with me, reading about a reverse harem as I mentally salivate over him.

He sets it back and takes one of those audible breaths that doesn’t seem to do anything more than lead to words. “I mean, does it compete with the one I just picked up?”

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