Page 7 of Snowflakes and Sparks

Him reminding me of that horrible letter I’d sent him all those years ago almost made me run away again.

I swallowed down a lump of fear and excitement as the reality of things sank in. I was going to be living next door to Alex Denverton, and he looked even more beautiful than I remembered.

Chapter Three

“Alex,” I managed to say. “Alex Denverton.”

“The one and only.”

I gave him a quick once-over. The boy he was at eighteen had morphed into a man. His sweat pants hung loosely around his waist, showing the edge of his underwear. His blue shirt hinted at a well-formed chest and stubble framed his face. Even though it was snowing outside, he stood in the doorway barefoot. He reminded me of a peach. One I wanted to sink my teeth into.

“Are you looking for the keys to the place next door?” he asked, materializing a key ring from his pocket. He dangled it in front of me like a carrot.

“I am. So you were you expecting me? I mean, you knew someone was coming over to get the keys, but did you know it was going to be me?”

He grinned. “Oh, I’ve been expecting you all right.”

I didn’t know how to reply to that. What did that even mean?

“There’s no need to look so shocked.” Alex laughed, raking a hand through his unruly hair. “The owners live far away and I deal with the subletting of the place. I was notified a couple of days ago that you’d take over the shop next door.”

“I’m only here temporarily,” I blurted out.

“So I’ve been told. Here.” He placed the keys in my hand and gently closed my palm. Even though I was wearing mittens, I could feel his warmth traveling through the fabric.

“Welcome to the neighborhood, Suzie. Even if it’s only temporary. I’ll see you around,” he said before closing the door with a loud thud.

I walked back to my new house. I didn’t know what I had thought would happen if I ran into Alex, but living next door to him certainly never crossed my mind. I could only hope he was illiterate so he never had a reason to come into the bookstore. A girl could dream, right?

I stuck the key labeledFront doorinto the keyhole and pushed the door open. The place smelled so musty that I doubted anyone had been inside since Claire died. I threw open some windows and let the icy air travel inside. Much better.

With my suitcases inside and fresh air filling my lungs, I decided to look around the bookstore before unpacking. I picked up copies of brand new books, their spines and covers in mint condition. I leafed through a book from my favorite author and smelled the pages. There was nothing like the smell of a new book, the anticipation of a new story and the knowledge that you’re about to embark on a journey with a cast of unknown characters. One day I’d write my own book. All I needed was time.

The size of the store was nothing compared to the one in L.A., but it had such an intimate feel to it that I instantly fell in love. Small round tables were placed throughout the store, each one containing a selection of genre books. The side wall consisted of bookshelves that ran from the floor all the way up to the ceiling. At the back was a big shelf with rows and rows of notebooks, mugs and pens.

I walked over to the counter and let my fingers trail the length of it. Wrapping paper was stacked neatly under the cash register and little premade gift bows were placed in a beautiful glass container. One thing was clear: Claire had kept the store in an immaculate state.

Fixing the rather uninspiring window display was something I’d tackle tomorrow. First I needed a good night’s sleep before catching up on the current state of orders, deliveries and stock counts.

I took one of my suitcases and heaved it up the stairs, then repeated the process. Once all of my suitcases were gathered on the landing, I opened the door to the living area. Or should I say the battlefield of Mordor?

Judging from the state of the bookstore, I had been convinced Claire Wilson was a neat freak. But this room told a completely different story. There was a mishmash of the most repulsive furniture I’d ever come across. The couch had the color and pattern of cat vomit. It made me wonder if the person responsible for ordering the fabric had been high on drugs while doing so.

Stacks of old newspapers, half-opened envelopes and crumpled receipts were scattered all over the coffee table. Its red paint clashed so badly with the cat vomit couch that I felt the urge to shield my eyes.

I made my way to the kitchen, careful not to step into something unidentifiable. Sticky counters and a greasy washbasin stared me in the face, as if they were mocking me for thinking my stay here would be easy and smooth.

I shuddered at the thought of having to live here. This place needed some serious TLC. I scoured the cabinets for garbage bags or detergent, but all I could find were ancient-looking dishes, mismatched cutlery and a half-eaten package of cereal.

I prayed to whoever was listening up there that the stores were still open so that I could give this house a good scrubbing. I also wanted to buy a fresh pair of bed sheets, just to be on the safe side.

I stashed my keys in my coat pocket and made my way downstairs to go to the local supermarket.

My feet crunched the snow beneath me as I passed Alex’s house. I felt a burning desire to look at it, to take it all in, to get a glimpse of what he was doing behind those walls. But I decided not to go there. I had to keep myself together if I was going to survive the next few weeks.

Besides, all he and I had shared was a teenage holiday crush. The promise of something more had been tangible in the air, yes, until I’d crashed his beloved truck and broken up with him by letter. I shouldn’t get involved with him, no matter how beautiful he looked. What would be the use anyway? I was only here for a short time and I had to focus on running Got It Covered. There was no time for crushes or flings.

Besides, a guy like Alex was bound to be involved with someone. Probably some gorgeous woman with an equally gorgeous body.

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