Page 13 of Ice Queen

We’ve met the day's sales goal, and everyone who came in seemed excited to have a bookstore like this in their city. I was so busy talking about my favorite books that I didn’t have time to stop and overthink things. I could simply be me, the me before everything happened.

My email dings, thinking it may be an online order I can pack up before I leave, I quickly open it. But instead, I find an email titled, “Vendors needed for Sports Romance Night.” It’s an invitation to sports romance night at the Hawks Nest, whatever that is.

The second I click on it, I scoff. Freaking Maria.

Hi Kaitlyn,

My name is Caroline, and I’m one of the event coordinators for the Tampa Bay Hawks. We’re having a Sports Romance Night this upcoming Friday. I know that’s four days from now, but a vendor pulled out of the event, and we’re looking to fill the slot. They didn’t want their fee back, so it'd be free for you to set up your table.

Maria spoke with some of our players, and they brought your info to me. You’d have a six-foot table and access to an electrical outlet if you need. You’d be responsible for all sales and remitting the appropriate taxes.

Please let me know if this is something you’d be interested in. It’s a great community builder.

I look forward to meeting you,

Caroline Peters

Senior Event Coordinator for the Tampa Bay Hawks

Can I do this? Don’t shrink, build a life you can be proud of. I repeat the very words I’ve spoken over myself for the last year.

My fingers fly across the keyboard, shaking as they agree to a public-facing event. I’ve done so many of these that I could schmooze people with my eyes closed, but the problem is, I’ve only done them as someone's fiancée, never as me. And that terrifies me.

Do it scared, Kaitlyn.

Hi Caroline,

This sounds amazing. I’ll have to thank Maria next time I see her. I’d love more info and the opportunity to walk through the arena's common areas and see where I’d be stationed. Please let me know if there’s an opportunity for that before Friday.

Thank you,

Kaitlyn Tyler.

I jam my finger against the mouse, hitting the send button a little harder than necessary. An exclamation point to the end of a day that’s gone better than I could have imagined. But how long will that last? How long will it take for the people here to see what my ex did? That I’m nothing special, and certainly not capable of “handling business” on my own.

I’ll show him, I hope.

I woke up earlier than usual today. I told myself it was the birds that were fighting right outside my window, and definitely not because I was nervous about the email I sent back to Caroline the other day, but I can’t completely write that off. Doing in-person events was on my list of “want-to-dos,” but I didn’t think they’d happen this soon. In this season of my life, though, I’m choosing to do scary things. I’m choosing to bet on myself.

I sit in one of the bean bag chairs with my coffee and my new favorite book. It’s a baseball romance, and if I’m being honest, I’ve never been to a baseball game, but apparently, their butts are to die for. I consider myself to be an ass woman, so I figured I’d entertain it. Turns out, I’m a big fan of pin stripes, grumpy coaches, and flirty first basemen.

I let out a giggle, my feet kicking when the team owner’s daughter locks the coach’s office door. “Tell me to leave, coach.” I shriek, grabbing my coffee and quickly flipping the page to see what happens. I take a sip, eyes tracing over the page as the coach spreads his legs, letting her place herself between them.

“Who would have thought you’d look even prettier down there than you do on a normal day.”

I feel the corner of my mouth pull into a smirk. I’m a sucker for a dirty talker. This guy could read me a grocery list, and I’d ask him to keep going. I get lost in the pages of their story, not coming up for air until the slurping sound that comes from my coffee cup pulls me from my hyperfixation.

I shake the cup, ice rattling against the plastic, confirming what my straw already told me. It’s empty. Boo. I put my bookmark in my book and place it on my desk as I check the time. Eight forty-five. I have fifteen minutes until the store opens.

Grabbing my duster, I make one final round around the store. I straighten up a display I put together before I went home last night, a little hockey romance section as a distraction from the anxiety I felt over the email about Sports Romance Night. I felt it start to fade the longer I focused on the hockey puck, miniature hockey sticks, and navy and silver roses that now lay across the table. No one has come in asking for hockey romance, but I felt like it was a good idea.

Being able to do something because I feel like it still feels like it should be wrong some days. But others, like today, it feels liberating. I trail the duster across another shelf, one dedicated solely to debut indie authors. Another decision I made on my own. I’ve never seen it in any other bookstore, though I’m sure it’s a thing somewhere. When I was doing my research before opening, I read that debut authors get the worst shelf space and the least amount of time on it. Something about that felt oddly personal at the time.

A smile grows on my face as I take in the colorful spines. I run a finger across them, my nail making the softest clicking noise as it jumps from spine to spine. This is everything I’ve ever wanted. Something that’s mine, something I’m proud of. Something no one else can claim ownership of. The AC kicks on with a harsh gust, blowing a piece of my hair into my face before it evens out. My finger stops on a book, one I’d recognize anywhere.

It was the first book I ever bought for myself. It’s an Alexandria James novel, one about finding yourself after loss. I read it after my parents died. It was a way to grieve safely. A small way I could take some semblance of control of my life. I remember that day so vividly. It was the first snow of the year, and I had a list of errands I was supposed to run.

In the middle of doing them, I saw my very first indie bookstore. Intrigued, I stepped inside. I got lost in the books, the vibes, the peace that it brought me. It was a little slice of paradise, freedom in the midst of lists and obligations. A place where I could heal, explore, live a thousand lives in the safety of the pages.