Page 5 of You Make Me Feel
I’m not here to think about pretty redheads who can give as good as they get. I’m here to tell my family the truth. And possibly ruin their lives.
And I can’t afford to be distracted.
two
SADIE
I wake the next morning feeling a little annoyed about yesterday’s encounter and a lot hungover from too many glasses of the most perfect champagne I’ve ever tasted. It's clearly going to take two shots of Mylene’s strongest espresso, a lot of deep breaths, and a full hour before my people-pleasing side kicks in. Which isn’t great, because I have two shops to run and it’s a springtime weekend so I can’t afford to run on less than a full tank of fuel.
My bank balance depends on it, after all.
So I climb out of bed with a groan, shower as fast as humanly possible and pull my red hair into a messy bun. As I hurriedly slick some gloss onto my lips, I hear a voice floating up the stairs from the shop down below.
The voice sounds sweet and innocent. Or at least it does until Romy says the kind of words you don’t expect to hear early on a Sunday morning.
“So today we’re talking primal kinks.”
I blink. Make that three shots. Good lord, I’m not ready for this.
She must have come in early to record a vlog. She does that sometimes. I love her, but damn, she’s a one-woman hurricane.
She breezed into the shop the first weekend we were open, told me I should hire her, and then proceeded to run my romance section – and quite frankly my entire shop – with the kind of ruthless efficiency that leaves me breathless.
Romy’s only twenty-two, but with the life she’s had so far, she acts far older than her age. She’s also one of the main reasons I can pay the bills on time every month. Romance readers come from miles around for her latest recommendations. Thanks to her, Books by the Sea is a small-town shop with a big-time social media presence.
“Okay, so picture this,” she says into the camera she’s set up on a tripod, a ring of lights surrounding it as I pad down the stairs. She has no idea I’m watching her from the doorway, not that she’d care. One of the main reasons she works here on weekends is because it has the best backdrop for her social media posts.
“You’re a kid,” she continues, sounding almost breathless. “Messing around during recess on the playground. Your friends yellchase, and you run until your chest burns. Your heart is pounding, your breath is short, you’re squealing and laughing, and having the best time. And then you glance back to see who’s behind you. And when you see them getting close, too close…” her voice dips to a whisper, “you get the most delicious thrill of being caught.”
She laughs softly. “Now, leave the childhood part out, but keep the thrill. And that, my friends, is why Primal Play is such a popular subgenre. And I promise you, it only getsbetter when he catches you.” Her voice dips, sounding sultry at the end, to let everybody know exactly what she’s intimating.
I stroll into the bookshop, taking a deep breath, and Romy hits pause.
“Well you look like hell,” she says, wrinkling her nose at my appearance. “Good party?”
I grimace at her. “I think so. But if anybody chases me before I drink a vat of caffeine, they’re probably going to regret it.”
She laughs, looking every inch the goddess that only a twenty-two year old can. God only knows what time she got up this morning. She lives on the mainland with her huge messy family, and catches the first ferry over on the days she works. Yet somehow she always looks like she’s just stepped off the catwalk.
“If you’d let me set you up with somebody, you wouldn’t be so freaked out by my sex talks,” she says, her voice teasing. She’s desperate for me to find my happily ever after. Can’t understand why I won’t let her set me up on a dating app.
“I have plenty of men around me, thank you very much.” I tell her, lifting an eye at the display of beach romances we put together last week. “They just happen to be fictional.”
Romy snorts. “I’m not sure they count.”
“They do when they pay the bills.” And when they don’t let you down. I glance at my watch. “Want a coffee?” I ask her, grabbing my phone from my pocket. One of the best things about having a bookshop on the main street overlooking the ocean is that two doors down is Brewed Awakenings, the coffee shop run by Mylene, a sixty-something powerhouse who’s lived here all her life.
“Absolutely,” she says, rolling her neck and stretching out her arms. “I was up till two editing a video about monster romance.”
I laugh, reaching for the door. “I don’t even want to know.”
When I step outside the salty air hits me, warm already, despite the early hour. Main Street is waking up, the clatter of lifting shutters mixing with the sounds of the waves lapping against the shore.
Down by the jetty, gulls perch on lampposts like they own the place. And I take a deep breath in, centering myself. God, I love this island. I love the peace it gives me. The escape.
Not to mention the fresh start.
I pass the locked door of Art by the Sea, which is where I’ll be working for most of today while Romy holds down the fort in the bookshop. They’re interconnected – and we can run between them to help each other easily – but it’s more efficient to have them both manned on busy days.
