Page 1 of Hottie on Her Shelf
Chapter One
Nothing drove home being another year older like waking up with a killer headache, dry mouth, and regret oozing from every pore.
Hallie Scott knew it was socially acceptable to be hungover the day after her thirtieth birthday. She alsoknew she was officially old enough to know better. To know that imbibing an entire pitcher of margaritas—even when shared with her bestie, Megan—would constrict her blood vessels. That the sugar in them—because Megan had insisted on passionfruit-flavored—would do a number on her liver. And that having to scream to be heard in the noisy bar would leave her throat scratchy.
Hallie knew all that because, as head librarian for Swan Cove, she prided herself on knowing things. But she also knew the evil drink-pusher who’d insisted on “kicking off her next decade in style” was a force not to be ignored or argued with. Aka,her hangover was actually a lot less painful than resisting Megan’s insistence on a big celebration.
The hangover would be tolerable…if she was home. Tucked up in bed under her fluffy duvet surrounded by books with a super strong mug of tea.
The other thing about being thirty, though? It made Hallie old enough to know a hangover was no excuse to shirk her daily opportunity to spread the wonders of reading. After all, she wasn’t sick. She was simply suffering the consequences of her actions.
Which meant she was at work. In the quiet, serene confines of the Swan Cove Public Library, breathing in the heady scent of ink. Situated behind the checkout desk staring at the obnoxiously bright laptop screen while looking at the day’s schedule of events.
It was the kickoff of their summer reading challenge. There were six boxes of T-shirts for it waiting to be unboxed and stacked on a table by the also obnoxiously bright poster at the entrance.
Hallie didn’t want to do any of that. She just wanted to, well, moan. Maybe whimper.
Instead, she tightened her everyday ponytail despite how it exacerbated her headache.
The front doors of the brick building whooshed open. “Happy being thirty and a day!” Megan yelled.
Yes, yelled.
Inside a library.
No, it didn’t technically open for another half hour, but the sound still made Hallie cringe.
“Library voice, please,” she admonished.
“Yeah, yeah.” Megan waved away the request as she bustled in. Megan lived her life in dramatic absolutes. She was always either bustling and rushing, or sauntering and strolling. Middle ground was unacceptable to her, whether in rate of walking or painting her walls. Hallie still closed her eyes every time she used Megan’s bathroom, painted in plate-sized fuchsia and lime polka dots. “That was my test to see how hungover you are.”
“Just like every test that’s ever come my way, I pass with flying colors. I’m here at work. Vertical.” Hallie smoothed a hand down her white blouse, tucked neatly into navy pants—although she was wearing sneakers instead of her usual pumps. Her sense of balance had been, well, compromised this morning. The thought of walking to work in heels promised to end with her falling off them and twisting one, if not both, ankles. Megan didn’t need to know that part, though. “Dressed professionally and ready to welcome lovers of books into my sanctuary of reading.”
“Methinks the librarian doth protest too much.” Megan plunked down a pink and white striped canvas tote. “Your hair’s in a messy pony. Your eyes are bloodshot. And I feel responsible.”
Good. “You are responsible.”
“Did you have fun last night?”
“That’s not the point.” Under the microscopic clarity of hindsight, the fun had not been great enough to struggle through the misery of today.
“You didn’t think I’d let you be miserable this morning, did you? I’ve brought more presents. The perfect hangover food—donuts. And a concoction that won’t taste as good but will make you feel normal, super fast.”
Megan pulled out a white cardboard box…and a travel mug of something bright green. And thick. If Hallie had to describe it, she’d say it looked like something a sewer monster sneezed out.
“How about just the donuts?” She reached for the thickly glazed apple fritter.
Megan intercepted, shoving the drink into her hand instead. “Drink your medicine first. Trust me. Out of the two of us, who’s had more hangovers?”
The joy of talking to your oldest, bestest friend was that you didn’t have to be polite. Hallie could be factual. Which was, after all, her thing. “You. By far. Probably at least by quintuple the amount.”
“Ouch. But true. This will reboot your electrolytes and deliver a bunch of other healthy zings to your system. So drink up.”
“Fine.” Trying to be a good sport—because it was sweet of Megan to show up with remedies—Hallie chugged a huge swig…
…more than half of which ended up on her shirt as she choked out a spit take.
“What is in this? It burns and tastes horrible and is slimy.”
