Page 2 of Checked Out by the Grinch
Evie raises her brow as she takes a sip of coffee. “Surprises all around. Does he live on the mountain?”
“Don’t know. The ad just said he’s settling his uncle’s estate.”
She waves me off. “Come on. This has all the makings of a meet-cute. You show up, he’s standing in the doorway, all tall, broody, and wearing some kind of rugged flannel, and you bond over dusty shelves and shared trauma.”
I roll my eyes. “You’ve been watching too many Christmas movies.”
“Or,” she says, ignoring me, “he’s a total disaster. Like allergic to bread, emotionally constipated, and doesn’t knowJurassic Parkwas a book first.”
I laugh. “I’ll give you a full report.”
Evie grins. “Just promise me if he’s hot and doesn’t seem like a serial killer, you’ll at least flirta little…for science.”
I grab my keys and head for the door. “We’ll see.”
“If he has a dog,” she calls out as I step into the cold, “he’s probably a keeper.”
The door swings shut behind me, and I step into the morning with a strange mix of dread and anticipation.
I need to find this book.
I need to save the bookstore.
I need to give Kade a Christmas that doesn’t come with a side of freezing nights and eviction notices.
Whatever happens outside of that is a subplot. Hopefully, areally juicysubplot. The kind that comes with broad shoulders, a square jaw, and big rough hands that know exactly what they’re doing, ‘cause this mama could use a break.
And if fate’s really feeling generous, maybe it has a happily-ever-after to spare.
Chapter Two
Grayson
“They’re vintage,” I say, holding the binoculars like I did when I was a kid. “Pre-World War II.”
The guy across from me snorts as he tugs his jeans up higher. “They’re scratched, and the strap smells like Bengay.”
I glance down. Okay, the leather’s cracked, and the lenses could use a cleaning, but they’re still worth more than the fifty bucks he’s offering. “They’re worth at least a thousand.”
The man wearing a baseball cap shrugs as though nothing means anything, then mutters something about bullshit and wanders down the hall toward the bookshelf in the back.
“We’re not going to sell anything talking to people like that.” My aunt hands me a cup of coffee and motions for me to sit with her in the living room. I can’t fathom relaxing right now, but I’m here to support her, so I do as she’s asked and sit.
“You okay?” she asks, leaning back in her recliner across from me as though the front door isn’t open, and strangers aren’t walking around deciding what everything my uncle owned is worth. “You seem on edge.”
“Is it that obvious?”
She grins and pushes back a strand of silver hair. “A little.”
“I just want you to get the best deals, and these morons just think they can walk in here and steal things.”
She takes a slow sip of her coffee, eyes on mine. “This isn’t about the money, sweetheart.”
“It should be! Uncle Pat still has receipts in his desk from the forties. He wanted to make sure he got the value of things.” I tilt my head. “He’d want to knowyougot the value of his things.”
I glance toward the hallway where a young couple laughs too loudly over a stack of vinyls. I want these people gone, every single one of them.
“You’re right. He’d have wanted me to squeeze every cent possible out of these folks, but… he’s not here.” She sets her coffee down on the table beside her chair and leans forward, pushing her round glasses up onto her face. “He’s not here, and I want his things to go to folks who’ll appreciate them. The money is secondary.”
