The Bookworm's Guide to Flirting (The Bookworm's Guide 3)

“Hi,” I said, standing up. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Oh. I’m not interrupting?” she asked, looking back at Kinsley and Holley.

“Absolutely not. I’m Saylor, and this is Holley and Kinsley. We own the store.” I motioned to each of them in turn. “Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”

She looked to each of us in turn with a warm smile—warmer than it was a moment ago, but not terribly so. “Yes. I was just visiting with my father at the senior center and was recommended your store by a nurse. He’s looking for some books.”

“You’re in the right place.” I smiled. “What’s his preferred genre?”

“He enjoys thrillers, mostly. The center is lacking them.” She plucked her gloves off finger by finger. “I’d like to make his stay more enjoyable than it is.”

I gestured for her to follow me. “Your father—it’s not Leonard, is it?”

“How did you know?”

“My grandmother is a resident there. Actually, all our grandparents are. Leonard and I talked last week about his love for books.”

“Goodness, in that case, I’d think they’d have a better selection of books than they do! Small town or not, they have nothing to do there!”

Oh.

Oh okay.

Someone was too big for her designer boots.

That damn senior home was a nightmare in a bottle and drove me insane, and that was before you included the residents, but they had plenty to do.

The ducks and underground poker ring notwithstanding.

Look, the youngest residents were three times my age.

Who was I, really, to tell them what to do?

Exactly.

I guided her toward the thrillers. “Actually, we visit them on a regular basis with books. They read them, return them to us, and we sell them discounted as used books.” I scoured the shelves for what I was looking for. “There hasn’t been a large request for thrillers until we spoke this week, so it’s not been something we provide. I was pulling together the next selection to drop off, but I think you’ll find these ones more than suitable until we can get to them.” I handed her a stack of books. “Please feel free to browse through them at your leisure. Your father told me his favorite authors, but I think the book on top is something he’d also enjoy given his taste.”

She took the books from me, looking somewhat bewildered.

“We’re just wrapping up our meeting, so one of us will be waiting at the register for you.” With a smile that I hoped was warmer than I felt, I excused myself and headed back in the direction of the front of the store.

Holley’s laptop was safely stowed, and all our meeting notes were gathered up and clipped with a big pink hairclip.

Why were they clipped with a hairclip?

“She’s Leonard’s daughter,” I whispered.

“We heard,” Kinsley whispered back. “Is he as…” She used her finger to imitate a moustache.

I shook my head. “No. But I’m customer serviced out. All yours.” I held up my fingers and backed the hell up to the stock room before I had to deal with her again.

I was not going to talk to her anymore. I couldn’t take having that freakin’ senior center disparaged.

Yes, I talked crap about it. Yes, I ribbed on the elderly there. Yes, I was a straight up dick sometimes, but I appreciated everyone there. I appreciated the nurses and staff and the people and even the goddamn ducks.

My nostrils flared.

On that note, I was going to buy some goddamn duck treats. Just to show Quackie Chan how much I appreciated them.

And I was sure as hell going to regret that decision tomorrow.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – DYLAN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: DON’T TAKE THE ADVICE OF PEOPLE WHO PUT DUCKS IN BOW TIES.

“What happened to your cheek?”

“Agatha, can you get to your yoga mat, please?” I looked at the elderly woman.

It’d been a few days since my altercation with an air hockey puck. My bruise had subsided for the most part, but apparently not enough for the senior residents of White Peak to ignore it.

“Looks like you got in a fight with someone. Did you get in a fight?” Mabel asked, snapping the band of her Lycra workout leggings against her stomach. “I don’t like these pants. I feel like a sausage.”

“You look like a sausage!” Rosie hollered from the other side of the room.

I rubbed my temples. Why had I signed a contract for this nonsense? “Ladies, please.”

“You’d know!” Mabel yelled. “You see a sausage every time you look in the mirror!”

Vicki sighed and sat down on a nearby chair. “I really need to discuss my living arrangements with my grandson. It’s like living at an elderly kindergarten here.”

I fought back a laugh. She wasn’t wrong—I never knew what I was going to get when I showed up here, but I was sure to experience at least one argument.

I was going to start a betting pool.