Page 1 of Overtime with Orion
1
LARKIN
Book Four next to Book One? Seriously?
I gripped the edge of the padded metal seat, trying with everything in me not to stand up and reorganize the books on the table in front of me. My friend Cassie had asked me to sit there and talk to any customers who walked up at the fall festival while she grabbed coffee.
She didnotask me to reorganize her table.
But the sight in front of me was an assault.Murder at the Harvest Fair—book four of her Crimson Harvest series—was lounging right next toA Latte to Die For, which was Book 1 of her totally different Trick-or-Treat Treachery series.
It was chaos. Worse, it was just wrong. And don’t get me started on howA Graveyard Galawas shoved in with the blue covers just because Cassie thought “the colors look nice together.”
My librarian soul twitched.
One book. One fix. She’d never know.
I hopped to my feet, rushed around the table, and slidMurder at the Harvest Fairinto its rightful place. Satisfaction hummed in my chest. But then I spottedCorn Maze Conspiracyout of order, and next thing I knew, I was elbow-deep in alphabetized bliss, reshuffling until everything made sense again.
That was when I felt someone behind me.
Oh, crap.
“I’m so sorry,” I said without turning around. My brain filled in Cassie’s glare. “I just…well, series order is part of my brain. Readers need to start with Book One, or they won’t understand who killed the baker in Book Three.”
“Where’s Cassie?”
That was not Cassie. Definitely not Cassie.
The voice was low, masculine, and way too close.
I froze, my hand still clutchingAutumn’s End, and turned around.
And—holy wow.
Tall didn’t even begin to cover it. He had to be at least six-four, with broad shoulders that strained against a dark green flannel shirt. His dark hair was effortlessly smooth—the kind that didn’t need taming—and his eyes were the most incredible shade of hazel I’d ever seen. And he was staring at me like I was some kind of fascinating puzzle.
My mouth went dry.
“Coffee,” I managed. “She went for coffee.”
One corner of his mouth lifted, like he was fighting a smile. “And you are?”
“Larkin.” My cheeks burned. “Cassie’s friend. The librarian.”
“The librarian,” he repeated, and there was definitely amusement in his voice now. His gaze swept over the books I’d rearranged, then back to my face. “So that’s why you’re staging a book rescue mission.”
“I wasn’t—okay, fine. I was totally reorganizing them.” I gestured helplessly at the table. “But chaos and mysteries don’t mix. How are readers supposed to follow an ongoing arc if BookFour is sitting next to an entirely different series? It’s…physically painful.”
He actually chuckled at that—a low, warm sound that did something fluttery to my stomach. “Physically painful?”
“You don’t get it. My brain is wired for order. Cassie organizes by…vibes. Like, she put her Halloween mystery next to the blue covers because they ‘look pretty together.’ That’s not organization. That’s aesthetic sabotage.”
“Sounds like Cassie,” he said, and something in his tone suggested he knew her well. Really well.
My heart sank a little. Of course. A guy who looked like this didn’t just wander up to small-town book booths. He was probably Cassie’s secret admirer or something. She was always getting fan mail—mostly from women, but surely some attractive male fans too.
“Are you…” I cleared my throat. “Are you waiting for her? Because she should be back any minute.”
