Page 165 of Beach Reads and Deadly Deeds

Well, almost full.

Grams worked part-time for me, and between living together and working together, sometimes we butted heads—but I felt closer to her than I ever had before. Jane and Amanda were mad at me for moving to Florida, but they had already visited twice, and Jane decided to move her destination wedding to Miami. Mr. Cohn and his wife came to visit when they were on vacation. He had been so disappointed that I’d quit, but told all his clients and my former clients about my new endeavor. Word of mouth—whether to sell a book, or sell a bookstore to readers—worked. My mail-order business to New York was extensive. Best of all, he’d taken my recommendation to promote Braden, who was thriving in my former position.

“Mia!” Grams waved at me as I was writing up our weeklynewsletter that highlighted new releases, upcoming events, and recommended reads.

I looked up, and she was talking to one of our regulars. I was giddy wehad regulars. We’d been open for a month, and Mrs. Jansen came in almost every day for coffee. I’d already ordered six books for her.

I approached with a smile. “Do you have a question?”

“My granddaughter is thirteen. She says she’s too old for YA, but her mom doesn’t want her reading books that are too old for her, if you understand what I mean.” She mouthed S-E-X.

“What does she normally like to read?”

“She likes drama, but she also likes mysteries. She readNancy Drewwhen she was little.”

“I have just the author for her. Young adult, but for older teens. Light on the romantic entanglements, but a lot of drama and mystery.”

I told Grams to find her Holly Jackson in our YA section, and the two women went off, chatting about Nadine’s “adorable” granddaughter. That would be me.

I almost laughed. I didn’t consider myselfadorable, but I was definitely happier these days, even with the stress of running my own business.

Because no one could be sad when surrounded by books.

And I was even trying my hand at writing one. I didn’t know if it would go anywhere, but I found spending a couple hours a week in a fictional world I created was even more freeing than reading about worlds other authors created.

“Excuse me, but I’m looking for a book on ways to show I love you.”

That voice.

I turned slowly as the world seemed to stand still. As the voices in the store fell away and my vision blurred.

Ethan.

I opened my mouth to say something, but I didn’t knowwhatto say, and I’d never expected to see this man again.

The sexiest man I knew. The man who knew how to kissme senseless and exactly where to touch me. The man who had freed me from the shackles of my self-made prison and opened my mind to possibilities.

The man who had lied to me.

Ethan Valentine wore a suit. It was a very nice, lightweight tailored suit with a pale pink shirt that looked impeccable on his well-toned body. But his tie? Pink flamingos wearing Santa hats. Something Jason Mallory would wear, if he wore a tie.

He put his fingers to my lips. “I love that you opened this store. I love that you told me the truth about me. I love your big whiskey-colored eyes and your warm laugh and the way your nose wrinkles up when you think someone is being rude. I love your bravery and your caution. I love your ability to see people for who they are. I love the way you make me feel.”

I couldn’t speak even if I’d wanted to.

“I love you, Mia, and I want to spend every day showing you that I love you.”

“I don’t have a book on that,” I whispered, my voice catching.

Ethan smiled. “Maybe I should write it.”

“Maybe you should,” I said.

“I’ve been dreaming about kissing you, but I was afraid you might slap me.”

“I won’t slap you.”

He leaned forward and kissed me. It was as good as I remembered.

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