Page 55 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
“So, what, they were… watching me… us?”
“Watching over you, more like,” June says thoughtfully. “Which, okay, sounds a little intense when I say it out loud, but it’s actually kind of sweet. Like in the book I read for the book club, when the demon prince follows Serena to her job at the occult bookshop because he can sense that other demons might attempt to claim her? How he lurked in the shadows, ready to intervene if needed but also respecting her independence. Except there were actual demons in that book trying to steal her soul.”
“I don’t think Maggie’s Diner posed any danger to me.”
“You never know,” June explains with mock seriousness. “That new cook she hired? Definitely suspicious. No one makes pie that good without supernatural assistance.”
I laugh despite myself.
We walk in silence for a moment.
June squeezes my arm. “Get used to it. Small-town life means everyone’s in your business whether you want them to be or not. At least your gossip involves three extremely attractive cowboys. Some of us justhave nosy neighbors who report on our recycling habits.”
“Oh! There it is!” I exclaim maybe a bit too enthusiastically.
The Dust Jacket Bookshop sits next to the Wildflower Bakehouse & Café, where I ate the most divine Portuguese tarts.
The bookshop itself is housed in an old brick building painted a cheerful yellow. Flower boxes overflow with petunias and what might be lavender. A hand-painted sign swings gently in the evening breeze, creaking slightly. The window display features an alarming number of shirtless male torsos on book covers, arranged around a central pyramid of copies ofInfernal Temptation.
“Subtle,” I observe.
“Loretta wants to give the people what they crave,” June says, pulling open the door. A bell chimes somewhere deep in the shop, a tinkling sound that seems to echo longer than it should.
The smell comes first, of old paper and fresh coffee mixed with something that might be sage or incense. Books are everywhere, not just on shelves but stacked on every available surface. The organizational system seems to be based more on feeling than on any logical method. A velvet fainting couch sits beneath a window, currently occupied by a huge, fluffy white cat. Two wingback chairs face each other near the register, mid-conversation frozen in furnitureform. And is that an actual church pew against the far wall?
“Oh my God,” I breathe, turning in a slow circle. “It’s like someone’s eccentric grandmother’s library exploded.”
“Wait until you see the romance section,” June says, steering me left. “Loretta believes this genre deserves its own room. Behold!”
The side room is painted a deep rose color that should be overwhelming but somehow works. Twinkling lights crisscross the ceiling like stars. The shelves are labeled with increasingly specific subgenres from Historical, Paranormal, Cowboys, Alien Cowboys, and I swear to God, Time-Traveling Alien Cowboys Who Are Also Dukes.
“That last one can’t be real,” I protest, moving closer to read the spines.
June pulls a book from the shelf. The cover features a man wearing both chaps and a cravat, holding what appears to be a laser lasso. “Lady Pemberton’s Galactic Rancher. It’s actually pretty good once you accept the premise.”
“Which is?”
“That love transcends time, space, and species. Also that aliens apparently look exactly like hot humans but with better abs.”
“June! There you are!” a female voice booms from behind us. “And you must be the friend she said she was bringing. Sophia?”
I turn to find a woman who can only be Loretta. She’s wearing a flowing caftan covered in what appear to be quotes from famous novels, the text spiraling across the fabric in different fonts. Her silver-streaked hair is piled in an elaborate updo held in place by what I realize are chopsticks with tiny books glued to the tops.
The woman is practically a walking library display with her necklaces clinking with every movement, one boasting a pendant shaped like an open book and another that might be a tiny typewriter. Plus she’s wearing a charm bracelet covered in miniature book covers. It’s… a lot.
“Yep, this is Sophia,” June says, completing the introduction. “Sophia, Loretta is the owner, operator, and high priestess of all things romance in town.”
“Oh, aren’t you just adorable!” Loretta grabs my hands. “You are most welcome here.”
“Thanks, I’m excited. It’s my first book club.”
She glances at her watch, a vintage piece with books on the face instead of numbers. “You two are the last ones. Let me just lock up, and we’ll head upstairs. The ladies are probably already deep into the wine.”
She bustles to the front door, flipping the sign toclosedand turning multiple locks. “Can’t be too careful,” she says. “Last month someone broke in and rearranged my entire mystery section alphabetically. It took me weeks to get the ambience right again.”
June and I exchange glances, bothfighting smiles.
“Now then,” Loretta continues, leading us toward a narrow staircase hidden behind a bookshelf that swings open like something from a mystery novel. “Fair warning, we really embraced the theme this month.”
