Perfect.
It cost a lot of money.
But it was worth it.
And now, I was actually here.
As you entered the store, to the left was a large counter and behind it, coffee machines. To the right, the bookstore, its walls painted in a soft gray against the white woodwork. Ahead and up a few steps was a seating area filled with cute little white tables and chairs. To the left of those, comfortable armchairs and sofas were arranged near an open fireplace. I’d placed some Tiffany lamps from the house in Westchester around the store to give it a cozy vibe. Behind the counter was the door that led to my office and a private restroom. The customer restroom was behind a door on the opposite wall of the fireplace.
I bit my lip as I took in the store—my store. The gray was exactly the sedate color my grandmother would’ve chosen. Maybe when it needed refreshed, I’d go for something punchier—like teal or turquoise. I was also thinking about selling sandwiches for people to enjoy with their coffees. I could make them up in the morning before the store opened. I’d have to get a permit for that but it was worth considering.
Emery’s Bookstore and Coffeehouse had been open for a week.
That first weekend had been very busy with tourists and locals. It was an extremely difficult few days in which I’d wondered if I’d made a colossal mistake. I was a shy person—there was no getting around that. Not only did I find small talk uncomfortable but I had trust issues a mile long, which made it hard for me to make myself vulnerable enough to befriend most people.
Since moving to Hartwell two months ago, I’d befriended Iris and Ira Green. They owned Antonio’s, the boardwalk pizzeria. I’d trusted them almost immediately. There was just something so genuinely good about them, even if Iris was blunt. She reminded me of my grandmother a little, minus the cold ruthlessness. She’d even aided me with the tradesmen that helped create the look of the bookstore and coffeehouse. She tried to teach me how to be more assertive with them, to tell them exactly what I wanted done.
I think she saw how panicked I was when she popped into the store that first weekend. Her brief pep talk calmed me down when she reminded me it wouldn’t be like this all the time. People were just curious about me.
And she was right. By the end of the week, the store was quieter. Most people who popped in were tourists and since it was hot, they were usually there to buy a beach read and iced tea. I had some regulars already appearing in the morning for coffee, but today’s caffeine rush had just ended.
“I have my own business,” I muttered as I picked up the paperback I was reading and sat down on the stool behind the counter. I didn’t take the rare and blessedly quiet moments of free time for granted. There always seemed to be something to do, even after hours, so I had to get my reading in when I could.
The bell above the door rang, drawing my attention.
The man striding into the store caused my breath to catch.
Jack Devlin.
Iris had told me his name when she caught me looking at him for the hundredth time when we were at Cooper’s Bar weeks ago.
Jack was tall. I hadn’t realized how tall until I saw him around town. And now, as he walked to the counter with a slight smile on his face, I realized he had to be about six four. Which was perfect for me because I was five ten.
Not perfect for me, I reminded myself.
Iris said he was a player.
I’d had enough of those to last a lifetime.
Not that I would get involved with a Devlin. Or that I was ready to get involved with anyone. My business was my priority.
Yet, staring up into Jack’s handsome face, it was hard to remember any of that. It had been like this from the first moment I saw him. He wore jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and tan construction boots. I was used to men wearing suits or preppy clothes.
Jack and his best friend Cooper dressed similarly, and together they were unfairly hot.
Jack alone was … wow.
He had these beautiful, expressive eyes, and he was now close enough that I could see they were a dark bluish gray, striking against his naturally tan complexion. His hair was dark blond, thick, and disheveled like he was always running his fingers through it. Jack Devlin wasn’t as in your face handsome as Cooper, but to me he was even sexier. It was his height, his loose-limbed walk, the exaggerated power of his broad shoulders against his lean build. And there was something about his eyes and the mischievous quirk to his mouth that was difficult to resist.