Page 30 of Penalties and Proposals

“Crawl back under the covers and sleep for a month, that’s what I want to do. But, I’ll open the shop today and stay status quo. I’m going to sit down with the accounts tonight and see if there is anything I can do or sell, or I don’t know, a bank I can rob to try to save the place. If I can pay off what I owe and then pay ahead six months so I can restructure, that’s the ideal scenario, but I have to see.”

A beep in my ear breaks my thoughts. A quick glance at the screen tells me it’s Frank, my editor atAthletic Edge. He’d emailed that he’d be calling, and sadly I know I need to take this call.

“Mommy, let me call you later, okay?” I say, resorting to calling her Mommy, yes, but I feel it’s a necessary tactic, plus I’m feeling vulnerable. “It’s my editor, and being up for this promotion, I need to essentially be at his beck and call as much as I can. After this call with you, I really want this promotion now.”

“Sweetie, I don’t think it would help, but you’re coming from a good place.”

The beeping stops, but I know it will pick up again. When Frank wants to talk, we talk. “I love you. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

“I love you, too, sweetie.” She sighs. “Hey, we’ve been through worse, so don’t let this get you down. Talk later.”

As she disconnects the call, the phone begins to ring. There’s no time for me to process her news or to do anything except shake it off and get my game face, and voice, ready for the day.

“Hello, Frank. What’s up?”

Falling for Books is the cutest bookstore I’ve run across in my travels in a long time. Stepping into the cozy interior, the smell of chai lattes, mochas, and other coffee delights being brewed hits your senses. There’s also the subtle scent of old books and new paperbacks filling the air. It’s like dangling a carrot to me; I love to peruse the aisle of a bookstore when I’m stressed. Disappearing into the pages of a good book can not only open our minds but help calm them, too.

Since the call with my mom, I’ve been anxious, playing out her words on repeat. When I picked up the call with Frank, Istruggled to listen. My focus purely on what he was saying, but my mind wandering back to my mother.

The thing is, the call with Frank was great. He’s gotten nothing but positive feedback on the assignments I’ve been completing for them while I’ve been here, and all of the executives are loving the pictures I’m taking of Noah in action. That part made me grin, because there are a few photos I could take of Noah when he’s with me that would most certainly show a whole other side to him, but the only two people interested in those would be us.

I did manage to agree to a call with the reporter who is finishing up the piece on Noah in the coming week. Once I’ve got the content they need for that, I’ll be done with Noah’s part of my business here. Surprisingly, when I think of things like that I get a little sad.

Turning down an aisle, I scan the shelves, trying to find something I can grab for myself. Just beyond where I stand I can hear the low voices of two women chatting away about last night’s game.

“Dan was heartbroken last night,” one of them says. “He’s always taken things like that hard, but when he’s in an arena in front of all the local fans …”

“And they’re wearing his jersey,” the other voice pipes in. “Yeah, I remember that side of him from high school.”

Fans. Cute. A few minutes later, I find a book I’ve been wanting to read,The Art of Falling in Love with Your Brother’s Best Friendby new-to-me author Anne Kemp, tuck it under my arm and head to the counter. It’s a closed-door rom-com about an ice hockey player.

Perfect.

As I approach the counter, a blonde, who must have been one of the voices I heard, turns and smiles as she accepts her takeaway cup of coffee and heads toward the door.

“See ya later, Emmy, thanks for the chat.”

“Bye, Keira.” Behind the counter, a woman with wavy brownhair smiles cheerfully. “See you at the game tonight.” She then turns her attention to me as I slide my book toward her. She picks it up and nods her head approvingly. “I read this book and loved it. Good timing, with all of the hockey madness happening around us.”

“I needed something light, but with the feels, you know?”

She nods, and a twinkle in her eye does not escape me. “I do know. Where did you find this copy?”

I point to the aisle behind me where I’d just come from. “There.”

“Thought so. If you finish this and want more like it to read, I have a whole end cap at the other end of the store for ice hockey rom-coms only.” She points to a table at about the halfway mark. “Books by Ellie Hall and Grace Worthington are there, too. If you’re in the mood for a royal rom-com, check out Kate O’Keeffe, and Elsie Woods has the cutest series set in Paris. If you’re looking for a laugh, there’s Whitney Dineen’s books, and Melisa Baldwin has a holiday rom-com I enjoyed. There are others, but those are the ones I’ve been reading lately and really digging.”

“Thanks,” I say as she starts to ring up my purchase.

“I’m Emmy, the owner,” she adds. “And I have no stake in those suggestions.”

“Good to know,” I say with a giggle. “I’m Willa.”

Tapping the counter, I gaze at the trinkets she’s arranged on the stand. Last-minute purchases for shoppers like me who love to find a tchotchke they can add to their bag.

Bookmarks, pins, stickers … wait. I point to one of the pins turning on a display. “Excuse me, but is that a Blue Rock Thrush?”

Emmy squints as she looks where I point, her mouth breaking into a grin. “It sure is. Did you know they’re rare? Only one has been sighted in the US, and that was in Oregon.”

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