Page 28 of The Bookbinder's Guide to Love

And maybe he’d text Oz more often.

He started to write a message to his brother but then felt lame. Oz would probably ask what was wrong, assuming Wes was in trouble. That was truly the only time they communicated.

He tossed his phone aside and moved around the kitchen until he was back at his makeshift worktable. He’d practiced making signatures and binding journals last night so he’d be ready for his interview with Sera today.

He had no idea how she was going to feel about him today. Last night he’d respected her wishes and done what she’d asked him to. But this morning she might not feel the same. Hell, he didn’t. Not that he wished he’d stayed with her.

Oh, who was he kidding—he totally wished he’d stayed at her place. It was warm and cozy, unlike Grandpa’s house, filled with ghosts and drafts and regrets.

Thinking was getting him nowhere, so he pulled the paper he’d been practicing on toward him. He wasn’t sure if she used one hole in the center of her signature to bind it or three. He’d seen it done both ways. Last night he’d tried one stitch and the papers slid too much, so he suspected she used more. He had one last stack of papers that he’d punched with three holes spaced a third apart down the crease. He took the binding thread he’d found in Grandpa’s study and the stitching needle Wes kept in his bookbinding kit.

Interlacing his fingers, he cracked his knuckles and stretched his arms before he started working on the signature, which was the easiest part of the process. Then he set it with the others he’d made the night before. French binding was a pretty stitch, so he wasn’t surprised that was what Sera used.

She liked pretty things. He’d realized that when he’d been in her house. Of course, she had functional items, but they were also decorative in a distinctly feminine way that suited her. His fingers moved almost without thought as he remembered the stacks of shelves, full of not just books but small knickknacks; some he had recognized as items from stories he’d read.

Her house was a reflection of her. It was her private domain, and she’d invited him into it. Why had she brought him back there?

He wanted to think it was because she’d relaxed her guard around him, but was it more?

Or was it simply that she hadn’t wanted to be alone, as she’d said? Why would it be more?

He finished the stitching and looked down at it. Saw a few places where he’d pulled too tightly and then loosened the stitches to match. The cover was the tricky part because Sera left them unfinished so her customers could have an intention enclosed in it.

He’d watched Amber Rapp’s video last night where she talked about WiCKed Sisters. Sera’s journal had apparently changed Amber’s life. The entire visit had. But the power of words had been the strongest.

Wes had spent his entire adult life repairing and buying and selling books, and he knew words could be powerful, but he’d never taken the time to write. He remembered Sera’s planner, and before he could talk himself out of it, he pulled the bound signatures toward himself and opened to the first page.

Using the Montblanc pen Grandpa had gifted him when he graduated college, he wrote down the date and then paused. He was in his grandfather’s house in a town he wasn’t sure he wanted to be in, so he started writing to Grandpa. Saying what he should have said when he’d received the email.

The shop was busy, which was to be expected, and Sera spent the morning making journals. She couldn’t help staring at the spot where Wes had stood the day before.

A local writer stopped in to order some research books. They chatted for a while and Sera appreciated that the author used her independent bookstore instead of a large online chain. She also had to order books for a young moms’ group who came in with their three-to-five-year-olds and had tea in Poppy’s shop while their kids read a new book from Sera’s shop.

She was always happy to see readers, and becoming friends with a writer was sort of a dream come true. There were moments when she couldn’t believe this was her life. She was proud of everything she’d made happen.

Liberty had a lot of clients booked for the morning. Poppy was back, so when she had a lull at the tea shop, Sera went over to visit.

“I love the business we’ve been getting, but I’m tired,” Poppy said. They were both sitting at one of the smaller tables toward the back of the tea shop so they could see their clients if they were needed.

“Me too. I put an ad up for a bookbinder and for an apprentice in case Wes doesn’t work out. Once I get more help, I think it will be better. Merle mentioned you were hiring staff too?”

“Yes, I am. I asked around at the local culinary school and they’re sending over a few kids who need a part-time job. I don’t want to discuss too much without Liberty, but I want to hire retail staff for the three of us too. So we can concentrate on the things we love, which was what we wanted when we started.”

Sera agreed with Poppy and suggested the three of them have dinner at the tavern to discuss it later. She was glad to have something business-focused to think about. As much as she hated to admit it, she was nervous for Wes to come in later that afternoon. She wasn’t going to pretend she didn’t feel good after sex with him the night before. But it did complicate matters.

As much as she wanted to be all cool about it, her emotions had never really behaved the way she wanted them to. While sex had made her feel connected for a short while, she’d been lonely in her bed last night, hugging a pillow and crying about Ford.

She still hadn’t decided if she’d speak at his service or if she’d just write something in her journal. The words were for her. Ford wasn’t going to hear them, and his family didn’t really care about her. Hamish might appreciate them, but the truth was she would be speaking about her friendship with Ford surrounded by people who couldn’t care less about her and her grief.

“Liberty and I talked this morning, and we are going with you to Ford’s funeral,” Poppy said. “Merle’s going to watch the shop while we’re gone.”

Shocked, she could only stare at Poppy with her pretty gray eyes and kind smile. Sera blinked to try to keep from crying. This meant more to her than almost anything else. It was as unexpected as Ford’s bequest. She wasn’t alone. Mentally she knew it, but old fears and thought patterns were always lurking.

“Really?”

“Yes,” Poppy said. “Liberty said the only black things she owns are a see-through blouse and her witchy robes. So I’m not sure how she’ll be dressed. I have a proper dress—”

Poppy broke off as Sera leaned over and hugged her friend tightly. “Thank you.”

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