Hazel Island 3: Love Is Here to Stay
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Iris Morland
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25
Chapter 1
Alexandra Gray was the type of person who preferred not to think about unpleasant things. It was going to rain? She’d worry about that tomorrow. Her favorite boots were close to falling apart? She’d take care of that when the literal soles fell off of them.
She knew, however, that her Scarlett O’Hara philosophy of “I’ll think about that tomorrow” wasn’t the best way to approach running a business—especially when said business kept losing money month after month. Every quarter, profit dwindled while expenses increased.
Alex stared at her computer screen, hoping that the spreadsheet was adding things incorrectly. That number couldn’t be right. But as she reentered the numbers and tabulated them a second, third, even fourth time, the number didn’t change.
“Shit,” she mumbled in despair. She pressed her forehead to her desk and suddenly wished she were far, far away from her beloved bookstore.
When she’d purchased the Hazel Island Bookstore from its previous owner years ago, it had been something of an impulse. Alex had needed a new thing to focus on. She’d been drifting, no goal in mind. Then Max had told her he’d planned on closing the place when he retired. Alex, overly optimistic as she was wont to be, told him she’d buy it from him.
Her older sister Jocelyn had told Alex that she had been an idiot. And Jocelyn would say the same thing right now if she saw this spreadsheet.
“Alex?” A knock sounded on Alex’s office door. “I need another set of hands out here. Afternoon rush,” said Chris, her only employee.
Alex snorted. There was no such thing as a rush in this bookstore. It was more of a slow, meandering trickle. Occasionally they got extra foot traffic from large groups of tourists. Their best months were the height of the summer season and then another bump around the holidays. During the summer, though, was when people forgot their e-readers at home and needed something to read on the beach in a pinch.
“I’ll be out in a second,” Alex called to Chris.
“Five minutes or I’m stealing from the till,” Chris joked.
“Nothing to steal from the till,” she said to herself, sighing. She needed to figure out a strategy to get out of this hole she’d dug. She’d thought of a handful of ideas, but they all needed one thing: money. And Alex was light on the money front.
When she went back out into the store, inhaling the scents of pine, ink, and paper, her mood lifted. No matter how much of a burden it was, she loved this bookstore. She loved the huge windows that beckoned customers to come inside. The excitement on people’s faces when the book they’d been dying to read was finally released. Alex loved unboxing new shipments of books, flipping through the pages, and sometimes getting distracted from sorting and shelving more times than she could count.
Chris was shelving in the back. Three customers were browsing, two of whom were regular customers.
“You made it sound like this place was packed,” said Alex.
Chris, a tall, skinny guy with hair longer than Alex’s, shrugged. “I thought you could use a break from number-crunching.” He took in her expression. “Considering the look on your face, I’m gonna assume it didn’t go well.”
Alex forced herself to smile. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
“I’m on your payroll, darling. If anyone should worry, it’s me.”
“The help shouldn’t ask questions. Get back to work,” joked Alex.
Chris saluted her with an eye roll. Despite his sarcasm, Chris was a dedicated, efficient employee. He’d recently graduated from college and had come back to live with his parents, not sure what he wanted to do with his life. Although he was only four years younger than Alex, she felt motherly toward him. He still had some of the dewy-eyed hopefulness of one’s early twenties.
She knew from experience that that hopefulness tended to fade with age.
I’m not even thirty and already I’m so cynical, she thought wryly.
After one customer checked out, Alex was organizing books in the back when the entrance bell chimed. “Welcome,” she heard Chris say. “Let me know if you need help finding anything.”
“Will do,” said a masculine voice.
Alex froze. Peering through the shelves, she watched the man, wishing he’d turn toward her.
She knew that voice. She’d heard it in her dreams for the past three months.
Finally, she saw his face. She inhaled. It was him. She knew it like she knew her own name.
Under the stars, the waves gently lapping at the shore, this man had kissed her like a man starved. It had been a kiss she could never, ever forget.
She watched the man begin to browse. Did she continue working and have him find her? Or did she take the bull by the horns and surprise him?
Alex smiled devilishly. Coming around the shelf, she approached the handsome stranger, her heart beating like crazy in anticipation.
“Do you need help finding anything?” she asked, sounding rather breathless.
“No, I’m…”
She saw the moment recognition hit him when he finally looked at her. Then he stared at her, like he wasn’t sure she was actually a real person.
“You,” said the man, incredulous.
Redness crept up Alex’s face. Why was she blushing? Kissing a handsome stranger was hardly out of character for her. But seeing the mystery man in person was like a slap in the face.
By moonlight, he’d been handsome. By daylight, he was breathtaking.
Light blue eyes, a jawline that could cut glass. His hair was a light brown, with a slight curl to it. Alex wondered how curly it became when it grew out. She also wondered how silky it would feel under her fingertips.
“Me,” she said with a smile.
The man finally tore his gaze from her. “Are you following me?” was his next question.
“Following you?” She let out an incredulous laugh. “You’re the one who came in here.”
He shook himself, a smile slowly forming on his face. The transformation from frowning annoyance to amused interest was like a lightning bolt to Alex’s stomach.
“You never did tell me your name,” said Alex.
“Neither did you.”
“I asked first.”
He chuckled. “What would the fun in that be? Names are boring. Besides, what if you have a terrible name?”
Alex shot him an outraged look. “I don’t have a terrible name!”
“Of course you’d say that. And then next you’re telling me your name is Drusilla or Agnes, and I have to act like I’m still interested when in fact I’d like to run in the opposite direction.”
“Why do I have the feeling you’re the one with a terrible name? From now on, I’m going to call you something ridiculous.” Alex tapped her chin. “Barnaby? Milton? No, how about Nebuchadnezzar? I’ll call you Nezzie for short.”
As Alex spoke, she began to reorganize a shelf that had books out of alphabetical order. Her shirt rose as she stood on tiptoe, showing off a flash of midriff.
Her mystery man’s laughter at her joke faded away. Alex had to restrain a grin when she could feel his heated gaze on the bit of bared flesh.
Checkmate, she thought.
But before she could say something else, the man’s phone rang, insistent and loud inside the quiet of the bookstore. He took the call and stepped away from Alex. Based on the expression on his face, it wasn’t good news. The frown from earlier was back on his face.
“I have to go,” he said to Alex quickly. He stuffed his phone back into his pocket, and then—without another word—he stalked from the store.
Alex stared at the door for a long moment, completely nonplussed. She didn’t even hear Chris sidle up next to her.
“Sooooooooo,” he said, “what was all that about?”
“We were just talking.”
Chris shot her an incredulous look. “You guys looked like you were about to rip each other’s clothes off right here in the DIY aisle.”
“Chris! Keep your voice down.”
“There’s nobody in here now.”
She was annoyed to see that Chris was right. She hadn’t been paying any attention to her other customers. She’d been so enthralled with this mystery man that it had been as if they’d been the only two people in existence.
“Who was that guy, anyway?” said Chris into the silence. “I’ve never seen him before. Tourist? It’s kind of late in the year for tourists.”
“I have no idea.” Which was true. Alex wasn’t sure if he’d moved here permanently or was simply staying here for months at a time—or he just really liked visiting.
Luckily for Alex, a few more customers entered, giving her a respite from Chris’s questions. Alex didn’t know how to answer them. She hadn’t told anyone—not even her two best friends—about the kiss with the stranger on the beach. It had been such a lovely, dreamlike moment that she felt like talking about it would take away its magic.
After the store closed for the night and Chris had left, Alex was once again in her office, her mind no longer on mystery men or their kisses. Instead, she was researching ways to expand the bookstore in some direction that would be profitable.
She’d considered adding a coffee stand, but there were three other cafes on the island already on the same street. As far as hosting famous authors, it was a tough sell considering that Hazel Island was tiny and remote. You could only get there by ferry. When authors had the choice of signing in Seattle or on Hazel Island, they chose the big city every time.
The exception had been the famous—and famously reclusive—romance author Lila White. But she’d canceled her signing only a week before, and she hadn’t replied to any of Alex’s attempts to rebook her.
Alex was about to go home when she checked her inbox one last time. Opening the email, she felt the breath leave her body in one fell swoop.
New rental management
Building has been purchased
Rent increase
And at the bottom, it was signed by some real estate developer from Seattle who’d probably never even seen this building in person. And he wanted to increase Alex’s rent by twenty-five percent.
Alex felt sick. She was just barely paying her rent currently. A twenty-five percent increase? That was insane. It couldn’t be legal, she thought frantically.
Worse, her lease was up for renewal in three months. Which meant she either had to figure out a way to pay for the rent increase, or she had to shut her doors.
“No, no, no, no,” she kept repeating. She wanted to tear her hair out.
Correction: she wanted to tear out the hair of this guy who’d sent her this email.
It was such a cold, perfunctory email. No apologies, no explanations given. He expected she’d hand over the cash without protest.
She scowled at the signature: Aaron Morrison. “Fuck you, Aaron Morrison,” she hissed as she began to type out her reply. “Fuck you with a rusty spoon, you greedy asshole.”
Although she was tempted to include those exact words in her email, she had just enough self-control not to. Her email, though, was a master class in passive-aggressive business talk.
An increase this large is outrageous, she wrote. I will be inquiring with the appropriate authorities to ascertain if an amount so outrageous is even legal.
She sent the email after making sure she hadn’t included any typos. She probably shouldn’t have threatened her new landlord, but she was too angry to care. She wasn’t about to roll over and let this Aaron walk all over her.
When she received a reply not even five minutes later, she let out a grim laugh.
“Let’s discuss this over the phone at your convenience,” was all that it said.
“I’m going to make you wish you’d never been born,” she vowed.
