Page 1 of On the Shelf

Chapter 1

“WHOA.”

The raspy baritone made Niall glance up from his spreadsheets, but the new cookbook shelf blocked his view from behind the counter. Whoever was standing up front had only stepped far enough into the store to stay unseen.

The voice was confident, mellow. No accent Niall could place. The guy didn’t sound shy or like he needed help and didn’t sound like he was in any hurry.

Huh. He leaned to look, but no dice. He’d forgotten to move the ladder after yesterday’s leak.

In Niall’s experience, four kinds of people came into Driftwood Books on foggy Monday mornings—retirees killing time before their doctor’s appointments, homeschool parents seeking curriculum boosters, tourists wondering how to get down to the beach, and Celeste Spungeon trying to pitch her latest scam.

“Help you?” Niall asked, trying not to sound bleak. The spreadsheet showed exactly what he feared—another month of losses, the third in a row.

He came out from behind his counter and got an eyeful of something downright startling and fantastical for a foggy Monday—a hunky stranger. Tall, broad-shouldered, with stubble that suggested strategic grooming rather than laziness. Light brown hair curled at the edges of a faded ball cap turned backward, and he wore loose faded jeans that held his powerful legs in a way that made Niall self-conscious about his own sad khakis.

“Hi.”

“Hey there….” The stranger didn’t look his way at first, just glanced around the shop, taking in the precarious stacks of books, the aging shelves, and the water stain on the ceiling that Niall had tried to cover with a poster of Gore Vidal looking tipsy and judgmental. Then he looked up and his eyes proved a startling grayish blue.

Wow.

“Chuck.” The man slid a hand across the counter and slapped it, as though patting an animal. “Mitchum. I’m after a book on small engine repair and some low-stress fiction.”

The name stopped Niall cold. Chuck Mitchum. The same “Duck! It’s Chuck!” Mitchum who’d been the terror of Candle Bay High School, the very Chuck Mitchum who once hotwired the coach’s Honda and drove it through the gym during a pep rally. The same Chuck Mitchum who trashed Niall’s yard and his mother’s roses when he was fourteen and made her cry for a month. The Chuck Mitchum who left town a decade ago after—if the rumors were true—stealing a boat and getting caught with the sheriff’s daughter.

“Niall. Ashworth,” he replied, taking the calloused, warm hand. “Back in town?”

Chuck’s smile was crooked, revealing a small chip in his front tooth. “Moved back last week. Staying with my aunt for now.” He gestured around the shop. “This place yours?”

“For my sins.” Niall tried a smile that didn’t stick the landing. Why were the hot guys always so rotten? Why were the rotten guys so goddamn hot?

Chuck looked unfairly gorgeous in loose Levi’s and a faded T-shirt, like he rolled out of bed looking sexier than every other guy on the West Coast. Could be that was the secret—Chuck didn’t have to try. Tight meant effort. Desperation. As his friend Gavin always said, comfort was sexy. Loose meant you had more than enough to fill it all up. Chuck sure as hell did.

“Niall?” Chuck stood at the counter, waiting.

He snapped back. “Sorry. Uh. Yeah. Small engine repair would be in the back, practical skills section, third bookcase from the left. Right past the giant octopus poster. You can’t miss him.”

“Octopus. Thanks.” Chuck held up his hands in mock surrender, almost like a joke, and headed that way, leaving Niall staring after him, wondering what disaster had sent Chuck Mitchum slinking back to Candle Bay.

The bell over the door jingled. Niall glanced up from his laptop and braced himself as Celeste Spungeon swept into the store. She wore what looked like a caftan sewn from leftover cushion covers and left a cloud of menthol and kombucha in her wake.

“Niall! My A-1 favorite literary endeavor.” She glided up to the counter, hands already fluttering. “I’ve had the most delicious vision about your store. A complete game changer at the highest vibration.” She waggled her fingers at him.

Spirit fingers, his daughter called that move. Winnie had designs on cheerleading. Or robotics.

He was rooting for robotics, but the jury was out.

Niall closed his laptop with a snap. “Do tell,” he said, already steeling himself. Celeste’s ideas usually involved Niall giving Celeste money he didn’t have on services she couldn’t ever provide.

“Your register is suffocating. The chi is all wrong,” she insisted, waving her hands like she was conducting a squirrel orchestra. “You need to realign all your shelving according to the principles of ancient retail feng shui.”

“Which is different from regular feng shui?” Niall made a valiant effort to muffle his skepticism, but the battle was close.

“Oh, completely. Regular feng shui is for posers. Retail feng shui takes into account credit scores and commercial vibrational frequencies.” She leaned forward to hiss conspiratorially. “I’m certified.”

“Mmh?” Niall raised his eyebrows, knowing he’d regret it, but he needed a reason not to go offer assistance to Chuck Mitchum for the pleasure of watching him kneel in those jeans. I need a social life.

“The Institute of Synergistic Commerce Therapy and Juicing. Super exclusive. Accredited by Goop. Wellness vendors swear by it. I could help you rearrange everything.” She squinted at the rows and rows of books as if calculating the exertions required. “Well, plan it anyhow. My back isn’t what it was, but you’re a strong boy. Plus, you’re such a dear friend. My consultation fee would be appropriately modest for someone so burdened by spiritual clutter.”