Page 7 of Truth and Temptation
WYATT: I’m considering it. I’m just not sure what my plans are yet. I might actually take some time off after the opening.
DAD: That’s fine, you’ve got more than enough time accrued. But it would mean a lot to your mother if you came home next month.
WYATT: I know, Dad. I just need to figure some things out.
My nondescript answer seems to satisfy him for now because the rest of the conversation goes back to the subject of work, the upcoming opening, and a problem we’re having with our Victoria store.
We finish up our conversation, then as per usual, he ends without saying goodbye. I drop my phone on the couch and head to the shower, needing to wash off the sweat and the discontent. My hands come to rest on the wall as the hot water pelts down on my back. From this angle, the Valkyrie tattooed across my chest seems to almost stare back at me. My constant reminder of what I lost. As if I could ever forget.
My heart is heavy as I towel off. Pulling on a pair of sweatpants I go to the kitchen and straight to the liquor cabinet over the fridge. Grabbing a bottle of Japanese whiskey, I pour a healthy shot and toss it back, letting it burn down my throat. It might be a waste of good whiskey, but right now I don’t care. I need the burn to drown out the rest of my pain. I pour another shot, even larger this time, and wander into the living room to sink down on the couch. I let my eyes drift out over the view of the backyard and the ocean view beyond. Unbidden, memories start to flood in.
The shed is still there, but it doesn’t hold our bikes and skateboards anymore. The year we graduated from high school, my parents came and cleaned it all out, donating it to a local shelter. I haven’t been back here in a couple of years, so I have no idea what’s in there now.
The trampoline is gone now, but I remember I used to force Ryder to do backflip contests with me. He humoured me, even though I always won. Probably because most of the time I would go on and practice, while he would sit on the grass beside me, his nose buried in a book.
Which is why he was the one who was meant to be here right now, working for our family’s company. He’s the one who was meant to run the stores. He had the business sense, the passion for books, and the desire to carry on the legacy of Crawford Books.
Not me.
I never wanted this.
But because I left him with his last memory of being in a stupid fight with his twin brother, stepping into his shoes and fulfilling his life’s ambition felt like the only decision I could make. He deserved that much from me, at the very least.
Fuck you, leukemia. Fuck you for taking my brother from me, for forcing me into a job, a life, I never wanted.
Fuck. You.
Chapter four
Paige
“Good grief, their romance section is pathetically small. Yours is so much better.”
“Mila, I appreciate your support, but please keep your voice down. I doubt the Crawford Books team want to hear disparaging remarks about their brand-new store.” I grip the strap of my bag across my chest as my gaze darts around to see if anyone heard Mila’s comment. She’s not wrong, but still, the grand opening of a large store that has the potential to take away some of my business is not the time or place.
Mila simply shrugs. She likely has not made the connection between this store’s opening and the potential impact on my store. While Dogwood Cove is half an hour away from Westport, it feels close enough that if I don’t have a strong enough marketing plan, the opening of a large chain store such as Crawford Books could be my downfall. Truthfully, I didn’t want to come to the opening today, out of a petulant desire to not be seen as supporting the competition in any way. But Mila needed to come to Westport to pick up some piece of equipment for her café and suggested we stop by and check it out.
It has been an eye-opening experience, to say the least.
“All I’m saying is, your store caters to a different audience. You’ve decorated with a personal touch, you carry a great variety of books, and you sure as hell ensure more diversity than what I’m seeing here.” Mila gestures over to what I agree is a pathetically small romance section. Scanning the titles, I see very few authors of colour represented in the already slim selections available. Disappointing, really, when there are so many incredible authors out there, providing us with stories of love from their own voices.
Mila and I continue our walk-through of the store. I have to admit, they’ve set it up well, with space in the aisles, a few chairs scattered throughout, bright lighting, and enticing displays at the end of each shelf. We stop at a table laden with plated sandwiches and drinks. Mila picks up a scone and examines it critically before taking a small bite.
“Dry. Too dry,” she comments before taking another bite. “Mine are way better. Hey, you could offer some scones and muffins in the store, if you want?”
I look at her in horror. “Food? Around my books? No, thank you. If people want to eat while they read, they can pay for the book first.”
Mila laughs and rolls her eyes at me, but I know she means well. This isn’t like it was with Wyatt; I’ve been around Mila long enough that I can read her social cues and know when she is teasing me.
The truth is, I have very particular opinions about books. When people eat, their fingers get greasy. And greasy fingers leave marks on pages. And that is unacceptable. It’s up there with dog-earing the corner of a page instead of using a bookmark, or the ultimate faux pas — breaking the spine on a book.
Near the front of the store are an older couple who I recognize from the Crawford Books website. Hank and Giselle Crawford are the CEO and COO of Crawford Books. Along with Hank’s brother, Paul, who acts as CFO, they took over the company from Hank and Paul’s father, James, about ten years ago. As one of the largest bookstore chains in Canada, I made a point to research them before I opened my store. Their business model is solid and sustainable. There is no pattern of them eliminating smaller, independent stores on purpose, but the fact remains that they can provide a level of service and a volume of inventory that I can never hope to match.
I suppose it is unfair to call them my competition, as they are in another league. Yet, the pressure remains for me to ensure my store provides something this store cannot.
“Hey, isn’t that the hottie from the café last week?”
Turning my head to follow Mila’s direction, I feel a jolt of excited surprise to see Wyatt striding toward us. My mind flashes back to the two interactions we had last week at the store and then in the parking lot of the Dogwood Bluffs trail. Both times he was dressed quite casually, unlike today. His dark shirt is buttoned up to the top, tucked into some deep wine-coloured slacks. The sleeves are down, covering the tattoos I know he has on his wrist. Even his hair has been tamed and his face freshly shaven. Interesting. I wonder why he is dressed so formally for a bookstore opening. For that matter, why is he here at all? My curiosity is piqued.
