Page 21 of South of The Skyway

“Is there a word for someone who gets excited by frisson?”

“Ohhh yes. Oh, man.” Noel snapped her fingers, saying, “I know this. I swear I know this.” The espresso machine let off a cloud of steam as our manager, Wrenly, popped her grinning, freckled face around the bar. Dark chocolate curtain bangs framed her baby face, long hair in a frizzy braid down her back.

“Oooh! Oooh! Um. It’s like a fear-kink?”

The customer’s face flushed, her throat bobbing, but she bit her lower lip, shrugging. “Maybe?”

“How dark are we talking here?” The sing-song phantom voice carried from the back room as Holland carried out her lilac laptop, looking inquisitive. “Any triggers?”

“Not that I’ve found.” It was somewhere between a statement and a question.

“Mmm, I’d say Penelope Douglas.” Holland shut her laptop, moving towards the coffee shop as Noel turned to the left, rising on her tiptoes.

“You thinkingDevil’s Nightseries?” she clarified, glancing at Holland’s navy-blue eyes as she stepped under the archway between the coffee shop and our bookstore. Where Wrenly boasted full, soft curves, our bookstore manager was almost gangly, her chestnut hair tucked behind both ears giving her the endearing eternal air of youth.

“I mean, it’s kind of jumping in the deep end. Have you read any bully romance?”

The chuckle shimmered in the air, and I smiled, turning back to my office as their conversation spiraled into favorite reads and more recommendations. Whether she’d known it or not, she’d unwittingly found her people when she wandered through those front doors, subconsciously summoning our top dark romance readers like a beacon. If she wanted them, there were friends-a-plenty and themed book club nights pinned all over the bulletin board beside the bathroom. That had always been the vision—a community for the quiet, bookish girls otherwise on the outskirts of society. Watching it thrive was…well, it elicited this uncomfortable warm thing in my gut that usually sent me fleeing.

Retreating to the cubby I called an office, I slunk into my seat, wiggling a finger on the mouse to wake up my computer.

Clicking keys filled the space until I’d penned out the last of my emails just as another came in.

“Fuck,” I breathed, closing my eyes and rubbing a thumb between them where my perpetual frustration began to show my years. Well, Noel would be disappointed with that piece of news. The space we’d been bidding on across the street had been scooped up. No doubt, another out-of-state investor swiping the profitable real estate out from under good locals. The bookstore had overflowed into the cafe, shelves now lining walls and duplicating as decor. It was time to expand, and in our effort to be the Florida version ofPowell’s, we thought swiping up more of this block was the way to go.

With a huff, I leaned back, crossing my arms as I bobbed in my chair.

The gift basket from a new roaster glared up at me from my desk, a little miffed I’d yet to sample anything. I sighed as I peeled the crinkling plastic open, pulling a bag of beans out and sucking down a long whiff.Damn. It smelled amazing. I unfolded the top, rocking the bag back and forth to survey the beans. Perfectly dry. Well, if they could get past Wrenly, they might stand a chance.

When I strode past our newcomer, now happily settled in with an espresso, coffee cake, and a stack of romance books that would make evenmytoes curl, she smiled up at me, nodding as Holland settled in beside her, laptop again open. I’m sure she’d get the rundown on all of our upcoming events before she escaped, her bag ten pounds heavier.

“Wren?”

“Right here!” she hollered back, emerging from the kitchen with a towel over her shoulder.

I leaned over the bar, stretching across it on my belly to extend the bag still held between my hands. “Free sample bag! You wanna give it a test run? See if it’s up to par?”

“On it!” She flashed me a cheeky smile, turning for the main pot and pulling out the filter bin with a subtle clunk. “It’s been extra busy,” she noted happily as she swiped the bag from me. I braced my chin on my hands, kicking a foot up.

“Good. We had that influencer post last week, and it’s been chaos in here since.”

“You both deserve it.” She turned back, carafe in hand, and her eyes went wide. Wrenly blew out a long breath, jerking her chin over her shoulder as she clumsily lowered the carafe onto the counter with a skittering thud. When I turned to follow her attention, I found blue eyes and a mile-wide grin.

No way.There was no freaking way. I was suddenly acutely aware of how short the hem on these shorts was and the provocative way the bar positioned my backside.

“Well, hello.” That warm timbre snaked up my spine as his eyes pointedly flicked to my ass and back. “Happy to see me?”

TEN

RHYETT

Contract in hand, Clementine assured me she’d pull the listing on the building immediately. She’d looked through the mood board and business plan, then had chomped at the bit to be a part of the project. Something about the old bones there just felt…right.

Always an encourager of following intuition, I canceled the remaining showings after the tour. I could see it. Every room brought to life a vision of what we’d craft within it. I knew where the bar and lounge would go. There was already the skeleton of a kitchen in the back, and two bathrooms plumbed and in need of a build-out. This was my fucking catnip. Nestled in a location that couldn’t be beaten, it was perfect. Precisely what I was looking for when it came to my own personal project.

Sun beat down against my skin as I opened the door, and I turned up to face it, basking in the warmth. Rearranging the afternoon would be about twenty minutes of phone calls and emails. For a moment, I thought I might be an idiot committing to the third property I toured, but then I opened my eyes to a smiling Clementine as she straightened the sign out front, traffic buzzing and voices chattering, and I grinned right back. Breathing life into old buildings was an art all on its own, and I’d been dying to tackle a project. We had eight months to renovate and be up and going before the snowbirds came flooding down to fill the seats.

Which would fit perfectly under the bar…Which I’d stick in the back corner sharing a wall with the kitchen adjacent to that glorious window—maybe add an arch, since the pane and rotted frame both needed to be replaced, anyway—plenty of room for a bench seat. Imagination already in full swing, I cleared my throat as Clementine fished her keys from her bag.

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