The Bookworm's Guide to Faking It (The Bookworm's Guide 2)

I had to be honest.

I didn’t give a fuck about Thanksgiving.

Mostly because she wanted me to talk Holley into coming to dinner. Not only did I think that was a complete non-starter for obvious reasons, but I also assumed she planned to spend the holiday with her own family.

Hell, I’d rather spend it with her family.

Her family was crazy, but not as bad as mine.

I stopped into the café and grabbed two coffees, then walked down the street to Bookworm’s Books. The board outside today said, ‘You’d look better with a book in your hand.’

I chuckled to myself and put the coffee tray in my other hand so I could open the door. The bell above it jingled, then there was a clunk and something hit me in the bed.

“Ow!”

Holley’s head poked out from behind a bookshelf. “Are you okay?”

“No. I think your bell just attacked me.”

“My bell?” She looked up. “Oh. For fuck’s sake, not again!” She came out from behind the bookshelf and set a pile of books on the counter. “Saylor was supposed to fix that.”

I put the coffees down as she grabbed the bell from the floor. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s old,” she replied. “It’s been wobbly for a couple of weeks, but I think the chain finally broke.”

“Here, let me have a look.” I took the bell from her. It was surprisingly heavy, and a quick search of the bell and the chain it hung from was all I needed. “The metal is bent,” I said, taking the chain between my finger and thumb. “You see? The link needs closing up.”

Holley leaned in. “Damn it. How do we do that?”

“You use some pliers to squeeze it back together.”

“I don’t have pliers.”

Sighing, I handed her back the bell. “Give me two minutes. I’ll run down to the hardware store, grab some, then come fix it for you.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can call my dad. Or Josh or Colton or Kai.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I’m here, aren’t I? It’s a simple job.”

She opened her mouth, presumably to argue, then gave up. “Oh, fine. I’d offer to go, but I have Tegan in the back room.”

“The baby?”

“No, the model,” she shot back. “Yes, the baby. Ivy and Kai are picking up the keys to their new place today, so I said I’d watch her while they do all the grown-up stuff and start moving some of their stuff over.”

“Really? You have a baby? Here?”

She gave me a withering look. “I run a bookstore, not a brothel.”

Right.

That told me.

I adjusted my scarf. “I’ll just, uh, go buy those pliers. I’ll be back in a second.”

“Okay.” She offered me a smile, one that was a little too much on the sardonic side for my liking. “Thanks.”

“It’s no problem.” I returned the smile—albeit a nicer one—and left.

It was a quick trip down the street to the store. I wasn’t sure what size I needed, so I bought a three-pack of long-nosed pliers and took them back to the bookstore.

Holley was busy arranging a table at the front of the store. All the covers were red, and there was a chalkboard on a tabletop easel that bore the words, ‘I can’t remember the title, but the cover was red.’

I laughed. “That’s smart.”

She jumped, almost knocking the easel over. “Jesus, we need that bell. I had no idea you were back.”

“You didn’t hear the door?”

“If I’d heard it, do you think I would have jumped?”

“All right, calm down.” I swung a chair around to the front door. I flipped the sign quickly to show ‘closed’ so that nobody would open it and knock me over, then took off my coat. It was hot as hell in this store, presumably because of the baby, and I was going to melt if I kept my coat and sweater on.

I put my coat over another chair and pulled off my sweater, resting it on top of the coat. “Do you have any scissors to open this?” I held up the packet of pliers. They were wrapped in awful plastic, the kind you needed a machete to get into.

“Behind the counter.” She pointed in the general direction of it.

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Let’s see,” she mused as I went in search of the scissors. “Kinsley is at the senior center with the new releases. We took a library cart in a couple of weeks ago and they loved it, so we’ve said we’ll do it every couple of weeks. It means they can shop without going out in, well, that.” She flicked her hand in the direction of outside. “And Saylor is clearing her crap out of her spare bedroom. I think you really hooked her when you mentioned Dylan was British.”

I pulled the pliers from the package with a laugh. “Yeah, something told me that might work. You will be here on Saturday, right?”