Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 54852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
“Thank you so much. Your whole family works on the farm?” Mom carried the basket over to her chair, leaving Finn and I to follow.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m the sixth generation to work our land. My grandfather put it in trust, and God willing, my sisters’ kids will carry it on. Assorted cousins and other relatives help out sometimes too.”
Interesting that he mentioned his sisters and their children, but not his own. I could think of a reason why that might be, but I didn’t like to presume. Besides, it wasn’t like his marital status or sexual identity were of any interest to me.
Liar. The part of me that was busy cataloging the size of Finn’s hands laughed at my weak attempt to maintain distance. He was younger than me, maybe in his early thirties, but older than Oz, and my brain and other parts were only too happy to declare him fair game.
“And you? No little farmers for you?” My mother had no such issues making presumptions, and her pointed look my direction said her matchmaking wheels were already turning.
“No.” Color stained Finn’s cheeks. “Let’s just say I might be part of your target audience for your store here.”
“That’s wonderful. Simply wonderful.” Mom took his arm. “You must let us show you around. And tell us what you like to read.”
Her use of “us” obligated me to trail behind them for the grand tour as we moved from the cooking section to the rest of the nonfiction shelves.
“Not everyone likes to read,” I reminded her, in part because I didn’t want Finn to feel bad if the most he read was paperwork relating to farm business.
“I do.” Finn’s expression narrowed, mouth pursing like I’d levied an insult. “Audio books mostly these days. A lot of mystery, thanks to sharing an audio account with my mom, but other stuff that catches my eye too.”
“The mysteries are over here.” Wanting to redeem myself, I directed him to a pleasant corner near the future coffee bar.
“Wow. Is that original?” Finn pointed at the bar and its attached stools.
“Yes. My great-great-grandfather built this building. It was a mercantile back then, and in the 1920s they installed a soda fountain counter. It’s been any number of other businesses in the years since, bouncing around various relatives, but no one managed to take out the counter. Now the building has fallen to us, and we’ve moved up from New York City to try to restore some of the building’s former beauty. Even with the changes, I still couldn’t see parting with such a cool relic.”
“I can see why.” Finn nodded. As a guy working his family’s land, he probably understood far better than most what this building meant to Mom and me. “And nice mystery section. I’ll have to come back once you’re set up for sales.”
He wandered over to the nearby historicals. I’d created an end cap featuring a number of historical romances, and my shoulders lifted at Finn’s admiration as he ran a finger across a cover featuring a rake and a lord in a close clinch.
“You read historicals?” I asked.
“Maybe.” Finn’s cheeks went the same shade as my mother’s favorite summer roses. “Didn’t know this one was out already.”
“Take it.” Utterly charmed by his reaction, I handed him one of the copies. A chicken farmer with an appetite for Regency romance. Well. Well.
“I can’t.”
“You brought us eggs. Call it a trade.” My under-used smile muscles practically creaked as I continued to offer the book.
“Okay.” He smiled back, and everything else faded away, the cutouts decorating the end cap, the rows of books, even the dimming late afternoon sun. Finn’s smile was like his laugh, easy and genuine, and as our eyes met, a low, potent ball of energy gathered in my gut. And maybe Finn felt it too because his voice turned huskier. “You like books like this too? I would have figured you for more literary tastes.”
“Well…” I hedged.
“Historical romance is Harrison’s guilty pleasure.” Mom patted my cheek. “He’ll make sure that section is well stocked, even if he won’t own up to having many of those authors’ backlists.”
“No pleasures should be guilty.” Finn’s smile turned a lot more mischievous, and that energy inside me turned to heat. I didn’t agree, of course, but I did have a certain admiration for free-spirited hedonists.
“That’s what I’m always telling him.” Mom gave a good-natured sigh. “Now, we also have a section for agriculture and gardening. And thanks to you and your birds, I’m inspired to add some titles about backyard chickens.”
“Those will be popular around here.” Finn thumbed through one of the titles on growing medicinal herbs. “Many people have small flocks.”
“Oh, I know. I’m thinking of getting a few.” Mom’s fanciful tone and smile made her look far younger.
“Since when?” Mindful of Finn’s nearness, I didn’t want to be too negative, but Mom had a long history of trying hobbies and discarding them when something new caught her eye. Owning a bookstore was her dearest and oldest dream, but even so, part of why I’d agreed to come to Burlington was to make sure she didn’t get distracted. She’d been at loose ends ever since retiring from her career as head children’s librarian at a large New York City Public Library branch.