The Grump I Despise (When In Waverly 3)

“You tapped me on the shoulder and then proceeded to stare at me. I could ask you the same question,” he says. Oh, I really do hate him. Who does he think he is to talk to me in such a way?

“I just want to let you know that while you may tolerate me, I, however, will not be tolerating you. You can be grumpy, scowl, and stomp around all you like, but just know, I will be there to make your life miserable right back,” I say. He rears his head back a little. That’s right, buddy. I’ve been through the wringer since we graduated high school, and I won’t just roll over and take your nonsense anymore.

I flip my hair over my shoulder and walk out of the cafeteria. I expect to hear his footsteps behind me, but it remains quiet until I get outside. I release the tension from my shoulders and climb into my car. As I’m starting the engine, I see the door I exited a moment ago fly open, and Colby stomps out. I watch him walk to his truck with a strange expression on his face. It’s not exactly angry, but it’s certainly not pleasant. It looks more confused than anything. Well, that’s something, I guess. I smile to myself, excited that I was able to get under his skin a little.

The books on my classroom shelves need some major sprucing up. Everything Mrs. Lane left behind for me is at least twenty years old. Of course, I love books from all decades and periods of history, and we’ll continue reading them for class, but seventeen-year-olds want to read books they can relate to. The world has changed quite a bit in the last two decades, and so have books.

I head over to the new little bookstore in town that Layla told me about to try to find some newer releases to add to my shelves. The storefront is painted a soft shade of blue that automatically puts you in a peaceful mood. The Reading Room is printed above the door in bold, gold lettering. I haven’t even been inside yet, and I already love it.

A bell tinkles above my head as I walk through the front door, and a friendly hello greets me from behind the counter. I look over to see a blonde woman with the slightest hint of a rounded belly. She looks vaguely familiar, but everyone does in a town this small. I’m sure I’ve seen her around on visits home before.

“Is there anything I can help you find?” she asks with a wide smile on her face. I glance around the room and notice its eclectic appeal. There’s a section of old, antique books with gold and silver embossed lettering, a section for indie authors, and then a section of best-selling traditionally published books. I’ve never seen a bookstore like this before, and I don’t know where to begin looking.

I look back at her and say, “Um, yes, actually.” I explain what I’m looking for, and then she comes from behind the counter to help me find books that will be appropriate for a classroom. I figure a good mix of genres would be good, as long as the content is appropriate for their age. I don’t want to accidentally buy the wrong thing and then get angry emails from parents.

“Oh, have you read any of these?” she asks as she holds up several books by my favorite regency romance author. “Or what about these?” She has a stack of YA fantasy novels now. “Oh, and you’ll definitely need these,” she says as she adds about five rom-coms to the stacks that are forming around us on the floor. “The boys in your class will like these.” Eight thrillers are piled next to the other stacks. “These are fantastic,” she says, holding up a historical-fiction series set during the Napoleonic War.

We scan the shelves together as she asks me questions about teaching, and I ask her ones about working at a bookstore. I find out that she actually owns the place, and I find that the space definitely fits her personality. She seems right at home here, sitting on the floor, surrounded by her piles of books.

She begins to grab more books, but I stop her. “I will be completely broke if we add any more books to the tab,” I say. She looks around at all the books we’ve piled around us and starts to laugh at the overabundance we’ve picked out. I can’t help it. It’s hard to say no to them.

“I do offer a teacher discount, just so you know,” she says. Hearing that makes me so happy that my brain stops functioning for a moment, and before I know it, I have the stranger wrapped in a tight hug. Fortunately for me, she just rolls with it and hugs me right back. We did just bond over our love of books, so we’re practically best friends now, even if I haven’t bothered to ask her name yet.

“Whoa, do I have competition now?” a deep voice asks from the front of the store. The woman laughs and pulls away from me. I look over to see who’s speaking and see a long-lost friend: Seth Miller.

“Oh my gosh! Seth!” I squeal and rush over to greet him with a punch to the shoulder. “How are you these days? It’s been, what, ten years?”

“No, I saw you once when you came home for Christmas, like, five-ish years ago, I think,” he says, scratching the scruff on his chin. “But I see you’ve met my wife, Hannah.” He points over to the gorgeous woman I just accosted. She gives an awkward wave.

“Well, sort of. I’m Norah,” I tell her.

“It’s nice to meet you. Did you grow up here? I don’t think I’ve met you before,” she says.

“Oh yeah, I graduated with Seth here,” I say, pointing a thumb at him. She smiles and nods her head. “Gosh, he was so silly back then.”

“Oh, I know. I remember this one time he was over at our house, and he—”

“What year did you graduate high school? I really don’t remember you, but you must be around our age if he was hanging out at your house,” I say, cutting off whatever it was she was about to say.

“Oh, well, he wasn’t at my house to see me back then. He was hanging out with my brother. Gosh, he and Jameson practically lived at our house.” Seth starts getting really fidgety, pulling on the collar of his shirt and looking around the room. I study the woman’s face. Crystal-blue eyes, blonde hair, full lips. She’s shorter, but goodness, she looks almost exactly like… No, it couldn’t be. Could it? I look at Seth, and he’s scratching the back of his head, waiting for me to acknowledge what I’ve just realized.

“Umm, who is your brother?” I ask, twisting my hands behind my back to hide my nerves. Please say it’s not true. Please, please, please.

“I’m sure you know him if you know Seth. Colby Stuart?”

“Yep, I know him.” I try to keep the deep-rooted frustration and disappointment from my voice, but I’ve never in my life claimed to be an actress. Seth turns away from us and coughs to cover up a very obvious laugh.

Dang it. I thought I was making a friend here, but how could I be friends with the sister of my archnemesis? I would never be able to listen to her talk about stories from her childhood—that all undoubtedly include him—and not want to hurl my guts up.

But I really like her, and I need a friend. I refuse to let him deprive me of a friend. If we just set a boundary to avoid any and all Colby-talk, everything should be fine. Although, Hannah could be a great inside source of information. I wonder if she would be willing to tell me some of his deepest, darkest secrets. I’m sure a man with a scowly face like his has a ton stashed away for safekeeping. Oh, the damage I could do with a few of his secrets.

I don’t understand how Hannah and Colby came from the same parents. She seems so nice and personable, and he’s…not. They’re polar opposites. Night and day. Sweet and spicy. An angel and the devil incarnate.

“Do you want to maybe get coffee with me on Saturday?” I ask, and my tummy suddenly feels queasy, thinking she might not be interested in being my friend or her schedule might be too full. I look down and notice her rounded belly. Oh no. Can you drink coffee when you’re pregnant? I remember my sister Chelsea complaining about caffeine withdrawals when she was pregnant with my nephew.

She relieves all of my overly anxious worrying when she says, “I’d love to! Is ten o’clock good for you?”

“Perfect!”

“Colby will be delighted to hear that the two of you are hanging out,” Seth says with a chuckle. He always did find Colby’s and my “relationship” humorous.