“Mommy! I want this!” The little girl’s cries grated on my ears as she reached for one of the picture books on the lower shelves next to the cash register of my bookstore—Tall Tales. She could have been no older than five, her grabby hands all covered in chocolate while her pleas fell on deaf ears. Her mother was buying two books from me (both about finding inner peace, interestingly), and ignoring her completely.

I saw this all the time. Adults who pretended their kids didn’t exist and kids who felt they needed to get ever louder to be heard. I didn’t judge—I knew I would make a horrible parent myself—but I did feel bad for the children sometimes.

I felt even worse for my books, though. Most of the time, it was them that took the brunt of the attack. Today was no different. The mother paid for her purchases, the little girl waved Charlotte and the Caramel Bear at her to get some attention and, in the process, smeared chocolate all over the cover.

I sighed. “That’ll be twenty-five dollars, ma’am, and if you’d like to add this book for your daughter—”

“That won’t be necessary. She doesn’t like books.”

I raised my eyebrows and looked at the girl, still waving the book around. It certainly didn’t seem as if she had no interest in books. But I knew what it was like when your parents had a set idea of who you were before you ever got a chance to tell them. “You can have it for free,” I said. “Special gift on the house.” The way it looked now, I couldn’t sell it anyway.

“Are you sure?” The lady looked skeptical.

“Certainly. It’s a promotion. Just take it.”

“Well, thank you,” she responded with a tight smile. “Say thank you, Caroline.”

“Thank you, mister,” Caroline said, not as loud now that she could feel eyes on her.

“You’re welcome.”

A moment later, the two of them left my store, the little girl bouncing beside her mother. I probably shouldn’t have rewarded her for bad behavior, but when I looked at her mother, I felt that she was punished enough. Anyway, it was time for lunch now.

Stepping away from the register, I flipped the Open sign on the door so it would read Closed to the next customer. But just as I was about to do so, a familiar red-head entered the store.

“Hello, sir,” Conner said, polite as ever. I didn't break out into a smile, but the corners of my lips turned upwards a bit. Conner was one of the kids who didn’t hurt my books. In fact, the eleven-year-old was my best customer. His allowance wasn't big, but he spent every last cent of it on books. I should know; I sold them to him.

“I was about to close the store for lunch, but you can have a quick look around if you want.” Mostly, Conner knew exactly what kind of book he wanted.

“Oh, that's too bad.” The young boy's forehead creased.

“Something wrong?”

“Not exactly, but I was hoping to hide out here for an hour or two.”

Hide from what? I flipped the Open sign and studied the boy. “Trouble at home?”

“Not trouble, but it's hard to read there. My baby sister is being cranky.”

“I'm sorry about that, but—”

“What's that?” Before I could tell him that I really needed to go get lunch, Conner interrupted me by pointing to something farther back in the store.

“That's just—”

“Isn't that the old phone box that used to be outside the store?”

That was exactly what it was. All my life, the red phone box had stood by the street. The years had taken a toll on the paint job, as well as the letters. Pho box, it said now, where it used to say Phone box. On the right side, someone had left a mediocre graffiti depicting male genitalia, while on the left side, someone wrote Omegas call me for a good time along with a phone number in black marker.

It was not the kind of thing you expected to see in a bookstore.

“They were going to tear it down,” I explained.

Conner regarded me with a curious expression, head tilted. “So you took it?”

“So I took it,” I agreed as if it was the most natural thing in the world to offer refuge to an old phone box. I owned a bookstore. I was allowed to be a little eccentric, wasn’t I?

“What are you going to do with it?”

Good question. “I don't know yet.” I glanced at my watch. “And it's really time for lunch now.”

Conner sighed in a way that I'd learned was characteristic of him. Not like he was suffering great pains, or like he was disappointed, but like the ways of the world had somehow managed to affront him again.

“I could watch the store for you while you grab lunch,” he suggested.

“I'm afraid you're too young for that.”

“I could go buy us sandwiches to eat here.”

“Around the books?”

Lips curling, Conner pointed at the desk behind the register. “You keep a dog around the books.”

“That's different. Betty belongs to the store,” I said, following Conner's gaze to take in the sight of my dog, lazing on my chair. Betty had been my grandmother's dog, a wire-haired yellow Labrador. I’d inherited her along with the store.

“Can I bring my dog?” Conner asked.

“Absolutely not.” The boy's dog was much younger than Betty and too excitable.

Conner made a face but recovered quickly “We could eat the sandwiches away from the books.” He looked around the store. “By the box. We'll be careful.”

I chuckled. The kid really wanted to stick around. It wasn't altogether a bad idea, but I never got around to considering it before someone else stormed into the store, completely ignoring the Closed sign.

Who else but my sister?

Now it was my turn to sigh, and I did it with all the disappointment I could muster. “Lissy, have you still not learned how to read?”

She ignored my words. Of course she did. “Mother and Father are furious!” she started. “How could you cancel dinner like that?”

“I didn't cancel dinner. Dinner is still happening.”

“But you're not coming.”

“Exactly.” And this was not the sort of conversation I wanted an audience for. I shot a glance at Conner, who took the hint and left. Good kid. I turned my attention back to my sister. “You realize what our parents are trying to do, don't you?”

Lissy was only a year younger than me, and while she was quite a bit more temperamental than I was, she wasn't stupid. She had to have noticed what was going on. “They're trying to help you reach the next stage of your life,” she said, arms crossed in front of her chest.

I snorted. The sound came out of me before I could stop it. “Help me reach the next stage of my life, right.” I scoffed. “They're trying to get me married, that's what they're doing.”

“Well,” my sister shrugged almost helplessly, “that is their job, is it not?”

I shook my head. My sister might have a point there. Arranging marriages was literally my parents' job, but still. I was their son, not their customer. “You know you're next in line once they've got me set up.”

Lissy waved me off. “I'm not worried. I knew this was going to happen, and unlike you, I've made preparations.”

“Preparations? Do tell, dear sister.” What could she possibly have planned to get our parents off her back?

“I’ve found myself a mate, silly.” She flicked a lock of hair back from her face.

“Seriously?” I hadn't heard my sister talk about a potential mate and I hadn't seen her gallivanting around town with anyone either. “Who are they?”

“A male omega. Mother and Father are going to love him.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

I leaned back against the table with the register, feeling a headache coming on. “Do you love him?” Why was this always such a difficult question for the members of my family?

Lissy looked at me is if she couldn't decide whether to be amused or affronted. “I get the feeling maybe you've read too many of the romance novels you're selling here.”

“Do you now?” I rubbed my temples. She had no idea. “I get the feeling maybe you've read too few books altogether.”

“And yet I'm the one with a partner and you're the one with a problem.” She smirked, the way she always did when she thought she'd won in some childish competition against me.

“Oh, I'm not the only one here with a problem, believe me.”

She laughed as if I'd made a joke. “Doesn't matter anyway, does it? You've got to come to dinner and let our parents introduce you to whomever they want you to mate...” She looked around. “If you want to keep this shop, that is.”

I sighed. This house had been my grandmother's. My parents had allowed me to take over the store after her death, but they still owned the property. “I'll never give up this shop.”

“In that case, you'd better come to dinner.”

“What's it to you, anyway?”

“I like when my family gets along.”

I gave her a look. Lissy might have fooled anyone else, but not me.

“Okay, fine,” she said finally. “If you're not coming, everyone's going to focus on me all evening.”

That was more like it. I grinned. “I'm not making any promises.”

“Don't do it for me. Do it for your precious store.”

Grimacing, I watched her flip her hair and stride out the way she'd come.

Once she was gone, I looked back at my dog, who'd slept through my argument with my sister. The door bells seemed to have roused her, though, and now she was blinking sleepy eyes at me. “You know what? You're the only sane member of my family, old Betty.” I walked around the register to scratch her behind the ear. She sniffed my arm appreciatively.

“Think it's time for lunch? I think it's time for lunch.”

But the bells above the door jingled again before I'd even finished speaking. Conner was back. With sandwiches from the shop across the street. When he held them up to me, I somehow managed to smile and sigh at the same time. I'll admit, I wasn't the biggest fan of children, but Conner was all right.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Yes.” Gratefully, I grabbed one of the sandwiches.

“We can eat around the books?”

“We're far enough away from the books,” I decided. After the conversation I'd just had, I needed something in my stomach.

“Okay then.” Conner tore the wrapping paper off his sandwich and bit into it. The smell of tuna wafted over to me and made me dig into my own lunch. “Did you sort things out with your sister?” Conner asked.

I shrugged. “It's a family thing.”

Conner nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds complicated.”

To be fair, it wasn't all that complicated. My parents wanted me to get a mate and I wasn't interested. We finished the rest of our sandwiches in companionable silence and without any further disturbances. It wasn't until I flipped the sign on the store back to Open that I got another visitor. Or rather, Conner got a visitor. I recognized the man only because I'd seen him on magazine covers—and because he'd sung at a wedding I attended some time ago. Kade Ashton was a famous singer-songwriter, and the partner of Conner's father.

“There you are!” he said approaching Conner. “Your father said I'd probably find you here.”

Conner shot him a questioning look. “Is something wrong?”

“What's wrong is that you forgot to walk your dog.” Kade's voice was amicable, even if his tone was firm. “C'mon, he's waiting outside.”

“Sorry!” Conner turned to me. “Thanks for letting me stay!” And then he was gone, hurrying to his dog.

“I hope he wasn't any trouble,” Kade said, looking at me. For a split second, his eyes narrowed as they fell on me.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“Oh, no. I'm sorry.” Kade shook his head. “I thought I recognized you from somewhere.”

“You've probably seen me around town.” Even I had to leave my store every now and then.

“Yes, probably.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Oh well, I better go and check on Conner and the dog. Sorry for troubling you.”

“It was no trouble.” Although it was a bit odd. Why would someone as famous as Kade have any recollection of me?