Page 7 of The Nook for Brooks
It’s not like I envied the routine, the same walls every day. I loved my freedom—the passport stamps, the airports, the “where to next” thrill. But every now and then, I would catch myself staring at people like them and wondering what it would be like to have a person who knew all my shorthand too.
I shook it off. No point getting sentimental before I’d even written my first note for the article.
Still, when I headed back downstairs, I found myself lingering a little in the doorway, watching them arrange the flowers into vases and laugh over something only they understood. It looked… nice.
BROOKS
I didn’t realizeI was holding my breath until the bell above the door gave its little brass farewell and the overly confident, devil-may-care Australian was gone, taking the sunbaked smell of travel and trouble with him.
When I was certain he wasn’t going to step back inside the store and knock something else over, I exhaled with relief.
“Well, he was annoying,” I muttered to myself. “G’day? Honestly. Have the decency to greet people with arealword, for heaven’s sake.”
And that compass around his neck? Seriously, people who feel the need to wear a compass are either showing off or deeply lost.
“Brooks? You okay?”
I turned to see Gage coming in from the back-door entrance, carrying an almost-empty box from the day’s deliveries.
“I’m fine. Why?”
He set the box on the counter. “You look kind of annoyed about something. But also, a bit dreamy at the same time.”
“I’m fine. A customer was just in here, a stranger in town. I was showing him the travel section and somehow we ended up with books on the floor. Needless to say, that’s not where they’resupposed to be.” I peered into the box. “The same could be said for this.” I pulled out a single book from inside. “Didn’t you deliver this book to Mrs. Roper last week?”
Gage gave an exasperated sigh. “I did. When I dropped off today’s delivery, she shoved that one back at me like it was toxic waste. Said she didn’t like it, that the main character annoyed her. Apparently the heroine reminded her of her sister—who she hasn’t spoken to in fifteen years. Now she says she deserves a refund for the book, plus fifteen years of back pay for emotional damages. I told her we don’t have a department for family feuds, but she said she’d be taking it up with theproper authorities.”
I rolled my eyes. “For God’s sake, this isn’t a damn library. She can’t just ask for her money back because she didn’t like a book. What does she think we are, Amazon? What’s wrong with people today? They’re either bitter and angry or ridiculously friendly.”
“Who’s ridiculously friendly?”
“The annoying Australian I was telling you about.”
“The stranger in town was Australian?”
“Yes, and frustratingly so. He was so laid-back he might as well have been swinging in a hammock. And that language they use. What does ‘bingo, dingo’ even mean?”
“So… not your type.”
“I don’t have a type.”
Gage raised one eyebrow like he didn’t believe me. “Everyone has a type.”
Before I could argue, the door swung open again, and in swept Aunt Bea. You never reallyseeAunt Bea arrive—she materializes, like a tornado made entirely of glitter. Today’s ensemble was a shimmering turquoise kaftan, her wig was a towering cloud of silver curls, and her earrings looked like they could pick up a message from NASA.
“Brooks, darling!” she boomed, the bell still mid-ring. “Tell me about the handsome stranger I just saw leaving yourNook. I tried to chase after him to introduce myself, but my Jimmy Choos choose never to pursue. Run in heels like these and you might as well preschedule the ankle surgery now.”
“He was handsome?” I pretended. “I didn’t notice. I was too busy dealing with how loud and clumsy he was. Not to mention having to decipher all that Australian slang.”
She gasped, clutching her kaftan like I’d just accused the Queen of jaywalking. “Australian? That explains the shoulders. And the tan. And that swagger like he just rode into town on his brumby.”
“What the hell is a brumby? Don’t you start now.”
Bea ignored me. “Oh, I do love an Australian accent. Chris Hemsworth could read me his grocery list and I’d still feel indecent. Gives a girl goosebumps in places she didn’t even know she had feathers.”
I folded my arms. “He asked where the travel guides were. Hardly the stuff of seduction.”
Bea waved a dismissive hand, jangling enough bangles to double as windchimes. “Honey-pie, with that accent he could tell me he had mouth herpes, and I’d still let him undress me with his teeth.”
