Page 18 of Embers in Autumn
“Sure,” he drawled. “Tired from what? Carrying buckets or carrying around thoughts of a certain bookshop owner?”
Santos grinned, raising his eyebrows. “Bookshop? Oh, this is getting interesting.”
Connor, bless the rookie, leaned forward like he was listening to the plot twist in a movie.
“Relax,” I said, taking a long sip of beer. “It was coffee. That’s all.”
Mike slapped the table, nearly spilling his drink. “You hear that? Coffee! The universal code for a date-that’s-not-a-date-but-absolutely-a-date.”
“Not everything is a conquest,” I muttered.
“For you, maybe,” Mike shot back, grinning. “Me? I like my freedom. No woman has ever pinned me down, and none ever will. You think I’d trade late-night poker and my couch for scented candles and brunch dates?” He shook his head dramatically. “Not this guy.”
“Maybe you’re just scared,” Santos teased.
Mike puffed out his chest. “Scared? Please. I’m smart. There’s a difference.”
The table erupted with laughter, and even I couldn’t help but chuckle. Mike loved his reputation, wore it like armor. He’ddated more women than I could count, but none ever stuck, and he was proud of it.
“You know what I think?” Mike went on, pointing his beer at me. “I think Bennett here is finally cracking. Took a pretty face and some books to do it, but I see it in his eyes. That man’s a goner.”
I shook my head, but I felt the heat creeping up my neck. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?” Mike leaned closer, smug. “Or is it that for the first time in years, you actually look like a man thinking about something other than work and your kid?”
The words landed sharper than I expected, because they were true.
I didn’t answer, just tipped my glass back again. The foam clung to the rim, bitter on my tongue, but the thought of Amber’s laugh was sweeter than anything O’Malley’s had on tap.
The guys carried on, voices rising over the music and chatter of the bar, but for me the noise dimmed. I was already halfway somewhere else, standing again in a cozy bookstore where autumn light had touched her hair.
And I realized Mike was right, though I’d never admit it out loud.
I was alittle bitgone.
CHAPTER 6
Amber
The weekdays had been brutal. Rain had hammered the town without pause, turning streets into rivers and leaving the shop eerily quiet. I’d sat behind the counter listening to the roof creak and the drains groan, watching water blur the world into gray. Hardly anyone had braved the storm, and every hour the till stayed empty felt like a weight pressing down on my chest.
But Saturday morning dawned bright. At last.
The sun cut through the clouds with a golden sharpness, warming the cobblestones and painting the world in color again. I heard on the radio while brewing my coffee that parts of town had been hit hard by flooding, basements and storage units soaked. I whispered a silent thank-you that my little corner of the world sat up on a hill. If water had found its way into the shop, I would have lost more than inventory. Books carried souls, and souls did not survive water damage.
I stepped outside before unlocking the front door, mug in hand. The air smelled fresh, washed clean, sharp with the scent of wet leaves. The apple tree just across the street had turned overnight, its canopy flaming gold and russet. Yet the rain and wind had stripped it bare in patches, a confetti of leaves scattered along the pavement. I caught myself smiling. Autumn in full swing, imperfect but beautiful.
Inside, I set the day’s playlist to something soft and cheerful, adjusted the pumpkins on the display table, and flipped the sign to Open. Within half an hour the bell chimed.
A woman stepped in, her hand clasped around a little boy’s.He was maybe four, cheeks still round with babyhood, eyes darting everywhere at once. The woman wore a light scarf and a smile that looked relieved to be out of the house.
“Hello,” I said warmly. “What are we looking for today?”
“Something to keep him busy,” she admitted, brushing windblown hair from her forehead. “He’s suddenly decided walls are for drawing. I thought maybe some coloring books, and a bedtime story so he doesn’t keep begging me for cartoons.”
The boy tugged at her hand, his other reaching for a basket of plush animals by the door. I crouched down so I was on his level. “Hi there. Do you like to color?”
He nodded, shy but eager.
