Dog Ears Bookstore smells of onion, primarily due to my customer who obviously indulges daily so he can make my life a test of patience and olfactory fortitude.

“Print books are dead,” he says. “As dead as VHS tapes and cassette players. Who’s gonna buy these? You should stock e-readers.” William Walters, an eccentric man who looks like the average Joe but owns half of Nashville, grouses as he pilfers through the used book table and disrupts a perfectly straight stack sending it sliding willy-nilly over the edge like a paper waterfall.

Some people experience road rage. I experience obnoxious customer spasms.

My hands fold into controlled fists, shaking with the effort to stay civil. This little man who stands here insulting my business doesn’t strike me as careful about who he pisses off. I should alert this asinine hobbit that I was raised with a pack of wolves, comprised of my twin brother and his buddies.

There’s not a delicate bone in my body.

“Sorry,” he mumbles in a not-sorry voice.

“Oh, no problem,” I lie. “That’s what I’m here for.” I stride toward the avalanche of books, stepping around the ones scattered nearest me.

Bending down, I grab several of the runaway books and notice the man’s shoes, a real indicator of this man’s character. A man wearing black dress socks with sandals is a sure sign of someone who lacks social grace.

This is my life—being pleasant to a customer who probably won’t even buy a book. Usually, I’d charm and chat with him until he is convinced the Dan Brown book in his hands will complete his life.

I heave a sigh, my shoulders slumping at the end of the sound. Times are a changin’ in the book biz, and I barely make enough profit to cover my overhead. If not for the money and house my parents left me, I’d be forced to give up on my beloved bookstore.

Maybe it’s time to be realistic. Find a job with a retirement package and great health insurance. All good things come to an end, right? Things like the carefree single life where you dine on an entire pizza for dinner (because you can), and you binge on books—the lifeblood of any dreamer with one foot in reality and the other in possibility.

I glance over at the computer where I was going through the accounting records earlier. There isn’t enough coffee in the world to perk up that depressing task. If I give up Dog Ears and work for someone else, there will be no more reading romances until two in the morning because I call it professional development.

Or forget that adult bullshit. I could commit a lifestyle U-turn instead. No need to get hasty. I’m only twenty-five and never had a chance to take the real less-traveled road. It would be nice to forget about responsibility for a couple of months. Travel the world. Explore the jungles. Escape somewhere besides the pages of a book where love and romance always end in a white picket fence and a goodnight kiss.

This would require leaving now, this very minute before I change my mind…before it’s too late.

I’m not chatty on the outside today, but my inner voice is a veritable motor-mouth.

Trill. Trill-trill-trill. The chimes over the door, once a charming addition of auditory fairy dust, now bring a warning like a police siren. The fine hairs on the back of my neck protest another customer when I am clearly out of sorts.

I neatly position the books on the sale table and turn to the door. A broad-shouldered silhouette fills the doorway.

Him. No. Not now.

Dane walks in, an ebony lock of hair falling carelessly across his forehead, not quite hiding the mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“Hey, Butterfly,” he says with a smile and continues walking toward me.

He’s the only one who calls me this, a nickname he gave me in high school. He hasn’t called me this in a while. A month ago, I would’ve given an inward sigh at his use of the name. He should know better than to use it on me at this point in time when we haven’t been on friendly terms since the night we became lovers. My heart skips several beats, then restarts.

“Hi,” I say. “What’s up?” I give him a smile more neutral than I gave customer William Walters.

“Actually, I have some news.” He slows his stride and stops a yard from me.

I steel myself to be normal, but I have nothing to do with my hands. They flutter out without my permission to straighten the children’s books on the nearest end rack. I take a deep breath. “Oh really?”

“This is our future….” He pulls a document from his jeans pocket. Waving the paper in slow motion, he raises one eyebrow. “Guess.”

I break out into a sweat. Our future. I hate this feeling, as if anything he says will break my heart. “What is it? I’m working,” I say with an edge.

“Oh. Sorry.” He looks around. William gives us an unapologetic stare.

I take a few steps behind a shelf of books and wait for Dane to follow. He meets me beside the self-help section.

“Dane. I—”

“Butterfly,” he says again as if to torture me with nostalgia. “You have to put your anger at me on hold for a day. This is important.“

“Really?” I lower my voice. “Doing the dirty deed with me wasn’t important in the least. Sure. Makes sense.”

A hint of his cologne drifts across the space between us and I close my eyes to inhale. It’s the brand, Indelible Love. It’s the stupid cologne I said I liked. I really hate him.

“Hey now. Are you so mad you can’t look at me?” he asks, a hint of sadness in his voice. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have let it go the way it did. But we’re going to be best friends forever no matter what other stupid things I do. It’s a fact, so you need to resign yourself to it.”

Silence, except for the throat clearing from my customer who clearly wants my attention.

“Please. Josie, I’m miserable. I’ve been confiding in Jimi Hendrix and—”

“Who?” I ask, cutting him off.

“Jimi Hendrix, the neighbor’s cat.”

“And exactly why are you talking to…” I trail off at his fallen expression. He actually does look miserable. I take a deep breath. “Go ahead. If you’re confiding in a cat, you must be desperate.”

“I know. Jimi Hendrix told me as much. He thinks I have commitment issues.”

“I would say you have reality issues.” Blood rushes into my ears. We are going to talk about commitment. Finally.

“So,” he says and hands me the paper.

“Is this some sort of Fifty Shades contract?” I grin at my own joke. Tamp down the giddiness, girly.

His eyebrows knit in confusion, telling me he’s not a follower of the book or the movie. Not that I swing toward the BDSM lifestyle, but there’s a lot I’d consider for this guy.

I unfold the paper. It’s not a contract or a travel itinerary (a girl can always hope). It’s a copy of a blueprint in miniature.

“It’s the architect’s drawing of our business plan for an updated bookstore,” he says. “Dog Ears 2.0.”

“Oh,” I whisper, all my expectations falling to the floor in a shattering crash.

“I don’t know why I dragged my feet over it when you’re all sorts of brilliant. This will be the best thing I’ll ever invest in. There’s no one in the world I trust more than you.” He drags fingers through his thick hair and I watch, jealous of that hand. He looks disheveled now. Reckless.

Damn him and that crooked smile which calls to my heart. I look away to the self-help shelf. One Hundred Ways to Leave Your Lover. The Official Handbook to Role-Playing with Your Sexual Slave. Yo Girl, Get On with Your Life. Some Men Can’t Be Saved. The Official Handbook to Creating Your Furry Lovemaking Costume.

I move the third book to its proper spot at the end. An audible sigh escapes me. “I don’t know. I think I need to back out.”

“Why?”

The fairy tinkling of the door chimes sound and I push up to my tiptoes so I can peer over the top of the bookshelf. Customer William exits and with it my getaway excuse.

“Dane. It was just talk. You know. Like that time we planned on breaking into the middle school so we could steal the semester exams.”

“Hey. The only reason we didn’t do that is because you’re too damned smart and didn’t even need the tests to begin with. I was game.” He points at the center of the paper. “Look at it. Really look. This oval with the open center is the wine bar. I asked for the reclaimed wood and it will all feel like an old library. Just like you want.”

“Dane—”

“We’ll have the shelves from floor to ceiling with the library ladders. And there will be that secret door that completely rotates at the push of a button so it’s a hidden entrance to another room. The sex room.”

My gaze flies to meet his. “What did you say?”

“The sampling room. For the microbrewery. What did you think I said?”

I release a shaky breath. “Oh. Yeah. Sampling.”

He smirks. “Come on. I know that you and I can get past what happened. I’m friends with girls I’ve had sex with before.”

Holding up my hand, I stop him right there. “Don’t want to hear about you and your sexcapades. Are you a total ass?”

“No,” he says softly. “Just a desperate ass. I can’t lose your friendship. I’m scared you’re going to shut me out and never let me back in. It would be simple if it were only about sex. What we have is a lot deeper than that.” He avoids my gaze, instead staring at the books in front of him. “You’re my family.”

I search his face and try to imagine never talking to him, laughing with him, trusting in him. I flash back to a memory of Dane holding me at my parents’ funeral after they were killed in a plane crash.

He’s the one I turned to, not my twin brother. He’s always been there for me.

Will I throw away everything I’ve had with him because he can’t reciprocate the way I feel? No. I can pretend it never happened.

“I guess I can get past it.”

Dane pulls me into a bear hug before I can stop him. “Thanks. I swear I won’t ever pull a dick move again.”

I go from painfully enjoying the hug to cringing at his choice of words. “Yeah. Whatever.” I push against his chest and the floor plan he brought drops to the floor. “Now go on and get outta here. I have to unbox a shipment of stock.”

“Ok. I’ll text you later.” He leans down to pick up the document. “I’m serious about a partnership. Let’s do this. You need something new to entice the book buying crowd and I’m ready to expand the business. Dastardly Bastards will always be Dad’s brainchild. I’d like to put my stamp on something. It’s a win-win for you and me.”

He finally leaves, looking back at me when he reaches the door. “Later, Butterfly.”

After the door chimes settle, I walk on shaky legs to the back storeroom. Kicking off my shoes, I sit on the floor and bury my face in my hands. Love is cruel.

* * *

It’s been four weeks since I told Dane I’d get past our ‘dalliance.’ Using that word helps me put a label on what happened and reinforces I’ll be moving on with my heart.

I’m alone in the store this morning, reveling in the smell of books and chai tea. I’ve decided to find a way to revitalize the bookstore, without Dane’s help. Thinking outside the box pumps my creative juices. Plus, the last thing I need is a venture that throws him into my life more.

At the tinkle of door chimes, I turn away from building a display of fantasy novels.

Harper Wade strolls into the store, looking cheerful enough for both of us. “Hey, girl.”

As much as I love hanging out with her, I haven’t been able to see her as much since she works with Dane and practically lives with my brother. Both situations limit what I’m able to confide.

“Hi you,” I say and walk over to meet her in the center of the store.

She lifts a white paper bag. “Pastries. I brought your favorites.”

“Hmm…” I say, pretending it sounds good so I won’t appear ungrateful. “I just made a chai tea. Want one?”

“Oh, not tea so much. Coffee? I love all the flavors you have. Can I choose?” she asks and walks to the single cup machine I keep on a wood table near the back.

“Be my guest.” I pick up my mug from the checkout counter and take a slow sip.

She’s cute as she examines each tiny single pod coffee and tea in the swiveling dispenser. “Chocolate or pumpkin. I’m starving. They both sound delicious. Maybe I’ll have two cups.”

“Go for it,” I say and chuckle. “This tea is about the only thing I can handle lately. I don’t think I can stomach any sugar,” I say and eye the bag she brought in.

“What? You’re not going all health-nut on me or something…”

I chuckle at her horrified expression. “No. Never. I’m feeling nauseous, that’s all.”

“Oh.” She pulls a chocolate coffee pod from the rack and rests her hip against the countertop. “You look pale. You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Fine. Just no appetite lately.” Ever since Dane, I’m tempted to add. But I’ve never told her my true feelings for him and I’ve certainly not confessed to sleeping with the jerk.

“Maybe you can eat yours later.” She nods, pops the coffee pod into the machine, and pushes the start button. Pulling a glazed donut from the bag, she makes a smacking sound and lifts her eyebrows as if seeing the donut will change my mind.

I roll my eyes at her. “I’ll eat it after a while. I always feel better about ten o’clock.”

“Really.” She takes a bite and licks her fingers. “When I was pregnant, I was like that. Couldn’t hold down a thing until mid-morning.”

I forget that Harper was once pregnant and married, all before she ever moved to Nashville. She seems way too young to have all those experiences behind her.

She suddenly frowns. “Anything you need to confess related to feeling ill in the mornings?”

It takes me a second to comprehend her hint.

“I can’t be pregnant.” I take another sip of tea.

“Because you haven’t had sex with anyone,” she says around a bite and licks sugar off her lips. She looks like a freaking cat enjoying that sugar way too much.

My stomach does a queasy toss and nervous laugh escapes my lips because I don’t know what else to do. It’s like she knows. “Because even if I did have sex with someone, I’d be using protection.”

“So, you did have sex lately? How long have you been sick in the mornings? Who is the guy you’re having sex with?”

An unpleasant tingle buzzes over my skin. I mentally track the last few days. Tuesday? Gah. Yes, I was sick. Monday? Ding, ding, ding. My lungs cry out since I’ve stopped breathing.

The coffee machine beeps to signal a filled cup, but Harper ignores it, choosing to stare me down.

“What?” I grumble. No. My body would feel different, as if carrying precious cargo. I’d know. It wouldn’t feel like a too-many-tequila hangover...would it?

Harper interrupts my thoughts. “When’s the last time you had your period?” she asks.

“I’ve never been regular. Come on, Harper. Not. Pregnant.” I deposit my half-empty cup of tea on the counter. She examines me with an x-ray intensity, so I turn my face back to my recent fantasy book display.

She’s attempting the mind-reading thing, and I know my face is way too transparent. Focus on something non-pregnancy related.

Sure. Studying the end cap of books, I choose to sort the books by color. Yes. Maybe a display built totally on books in shades of blue. Eragon on the left. Cassandra Clare’s latest next to it. I’ll need another—

“Oh my God. You’re ignoring me.” Harper places her hands on my back. “I’m not trying to scare you. Honey, listen. If there’s a chance at all—”

“There’s not.” I quit arranging books and pivot toward her. “I’m just not.”

This is the twenty-first century. Birth control is mostly reliable. When she leaves, I’ll pop over to the baby books aisle and confirm the stats of efficiency. No worries.

Harper nods and her eyes roam down to my flat belly. “Sure. It’s doubtful. I’m going to run a quick errand and come right back.”

Leaving her unfinished coffee and donuts behind, she jogs toward the door.

“Where are you going?” I smooth my skirt and smooth it again. She is the strangest girl I know. It’s a good thing I like strange and quirky.

They make the best characters in books and even better in real life.

Pregnant. Ha. What a thought. I smooth the fabric of my skirt a third time.

“Harper!” I yell when she opens the door.

“To get a pregnancy test from the drugstore.”

I squish down the uneasy tremble in my thoughts. No way. We had sex, sure, but with protection.

My knees wobble and I let my forehead fall to rest on the display of books in front of me.

Despite my nerves, I walk over to the nonfiction books on pregnancy and baby rearing. A book called How to Make a Life in Ten Easy Steps catches my eye. Maybe not that one.

The internet surely holds the answers to the information I need. I return to the counter and power up my laptop. Browsing to a site on contraception, I search for information on the effectiveness of condoms.

Holy condom fail. Only 86% effective? Yes, no more relying on those bad boys.

Ten minutes pass of me vacillating between an all-out sweatfest and a certainty that I’m working myself up over nothing.

I ignore Harper when she silently returns with another bag and marches straight to the store restroom. She returns to the front and gives me a hug like I’m a soldier going off to battle. “I have to go to work. Or if you want me to stay, I can call Dane and tell him I’ll be late.”

“No.” I raise one eyebrow at her pushy behavior. “And Harper Wade, if you breathe a word of your ridiculous speculation to my brother, I will hurt you. Understand?”

She stares at me. “Okay?”

“Did you answer with a question? I swear I will cut you off from…from…I’ll think of something.” Heat travels along my chest and I suck in air.

“I won’t,” she says. “Sisters above misters… or whatever that saying is.”

As soon as she leaves, I find myself in the bathroom staring at the pharmacy bag.

Unboxing the contents, I examine the test. No biggie. I’m not scared of a plastic stick. The directions seem simple enough.

You’d have to be an idiot to misunderstand them or an idiot to have unprotected sex.

Which I did not. So, it’s crazy that my hand shakes as I carefully place the instructions on the narrow bathroom countertop. All I need is a little pee and a lot of luck.

I follow each step and fasten my pants back up. Holding the stick to the light, I squint at the white plastic wand. Nothing.

Whew.

Wait. I glance at the directions again. Okay, maybe I have to give it more than a second or two. I close my eyes and lean my butt against the sink.

I’m feeling better this morning. It’s natural that metabolism changes. Taste buds change.

My body’s just not that of a college girl anymore, one who can eat junk food all the time.

I open my eyes and look into the mirror. Pfft. This is a wake-up call to get on the pill. Double protection for the win. Yeah. I hold up the stick and move it underneath the light.

Two thin rosy lines appear.

* * *

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