Page 9 of Breaking the Ice

Oh God! He’d turned it into one of those horrible modern places where peopledid coffeewhile they discussed high-powered deals. Traded futures. Hired and fired.

The books were superfluous.

Birdie would be rolling in her grave. Her precious books had been the one and only focus – she hadn’t needed neon or coffee. The books sold themselves. None of this power-lunch crap. You didn’t need a business suit and a wallet full of cash to be welcome at Birdie’s. Second-hand books were cheap and dressing down was practically mandatory.

Nick appeared at the door and gave her a cheery wave. He was wearing fashionably tatty jeans and a plain white T-shirt. Despite her anger at him she felt the pure masculinity of him reach out and touch herthrough the glass.

For the love of all that was holy.

Pity he’d just desecrated something sacred because, good looking or not, he’d definitely blown it in her eyes. He may be God’s gift to women but he obviously had no soul!

He posted ahelp-wantedsign in the door and came out to join her, whistling a happy tune, a huge grin splitting his face, deepening the cleft in his chin and twinkling in his eyes. “Look straight to you?” he asked with a dazzling smile.

Yikes.How many hearts had he broken because he just didn’t know how to switch that thing off? Luckily, after five years of witnessing a parade of women come and go during his brief visits home, she was immune to his charms.

“Ahh, sure,” she said, her gaze drawn to the utterly lovely upward curve of his mouth.

“So.” He spread his arms. “What do you think?”

He was proud, that was obvious, but did he truly not realize the sacrilege he’d committed?

“I liked it better the old way.”

“Oh dear. Do I detect a note of hostility, Sam?”

He turned teasing brown eyes on her and once again she felt overwhelmed by his pure masculinity. She gave a little sniff. “Disappointment.Birdie will be rolling in her grave.”

Oh, God. She sounded so stuffy! But if Nick thought he could look good and smile and all would be forgiven for the travesty in front of her, then he was wrong.

“Oh don’t be such a fuddy-duddy,” he said with a laugh then grabbed her hand as he pulled her toward the shop. “Come on, I’ll show you round.”

The bell over the door dinged as it always had. It was a comforting, familiar noise and Samantha was slightly mollified.

“Ta-da!” he announced as he slowly pivoted her around to take in all his renovations.

She saw an antique coffee machine popular in tea houses back in the twenties and a fat, squishy, beat-up, leather couch taking pride of place in the window. There were scatter cushions, beanbags, antique beaded lamps and art deco coffee tables in what looked like an old-fashioned common area.

The space was a mishmash of pre-loved fixtures and furniture and looked so inviting she just wanted to grab a book and throw herself among it. Samantha watched the people rushing by outside and loved that she could see out but they couldn’t see in. It was like a secret world where you could indulge your romance book fetish without fear of ridicule or recrimination.

“Oh…” She breathed out on a pent-up breath. “It’s… wonderful.” She’d been wrong. Birdie would have loved this.

Samantha turned to the back and noticed a new computer system set up on Birdie’s old counter which had been sandedand revarnished but was definitely the same mahogany piece that she’d sat behind every day of her life.

There was even a bowl of mints sitting beside the computer.

And then there were the books. He hadn’t changed a thing with them. Oh sure, they’d been rearranged to make the best use of the available space and the bookshelves were now sturdy wood, but the books were the same. Thousands and thousands of spines jutted out, their booky smell lost among the newer aromas of leather, sawdust and varnish.

Hopefully it wouldn’t be long until their distinctive aroma permeated the entire store again as it had in Birdie’s day. Because that had always been the best part of walking into the shop – the almost tangible aroma of aged ink on weathered paper.

She could feel her fingers starting to tingle and recognized the familiar feeling she always experienced in Birdie’s. She wanted to walk around the shelves and find something to read.

A couple of newer shelves near the counter caught her eye and she wandered over to them. They were chock-full with Westerns. Vintage, paperback Westerns.

She selected one and looked at it. “Branching out?” she murmured, turning to him.

“You can’t beat a goodLarry and Stretch,” he said with a grin.

She looked at him dubiously. “You’re seriously going to stock Westerns?”

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