Page 45 of Accidental Blind Date

“Did we close early?” I ask.

Libby’s eyes stay on the money, and she waits to answer me until after she’s finished a stack of fives. Then she slams the drawer shut and looks at me.

“I closed early, yes. For the monthly Sugar and Spice Book Club. If you read the flyer on the door, you’d know that.”

I’m not sure why, after what happened between us the night before, Libby is being so salty. I would think she’d be appreciative. But it solidifies one suspicion I have been mulling over for the last almost 24 hours–

She saw my phone.

Libby has no idea who Delilah is, and honestly? I don’t plan on telling her. I like to keep my life neatly compartmentalized. And the Delilah part of my life has a padlock on it. End of story.

Either way, I can see why that might have her upset.

“A romance club, huh? Sounds fun…”

I don’t mean to sound sarcastic but unfortunately, that’s kind of just the way it comes out. It’s not that I don’t like to read. But aside from high school required reading– I think it was Romeo and Juliet, which is, in my opinion, NOT a romance at all– I have never read anything in the lovey dovey category. I also don't plan to.

“Have you ever read a character, aside from Christian Grey, that made you want to update your vibrator collection more?!” a woman blurts out before shoving a sugar cookie in her mouth.

Case in point.

Libby takes in a labored breath and lets it out exhaustively. “Why are you here, Dax?”

You mean aside from the fact I am buying your store and have a grand opening date fast approaching?

Obviously, I don’t say that. She’s already pissed enough it seems. Which, to be quite frank, sort of pisses me off too.

“So boss, these shelves are bolted to the wall,” Frank, the contractor says, slapping his palm against a sage green shelf.

“Not just anchored?” I ask, stopping in front of him.

“Nope. Screwed in. And the screws–” he goes on, pulling several of the books from the middle of the shelf and shoving them in another spot. “Are stripped.”

“Damn,” I say as I narrow my eyes to look inside the book shaped hole. “So, we are going to have to–”

“Cut through.” He finishes the sentence I don’t want to say.

“Excuse me,” Libby’s voice comes from behind us and it’s a matter of seconds before she is standing next to us, a less than friendly grin on her face.

“Hi, yes. Two things. One, we are trying to have a book club, if you didn’t notice. And all the talk about destroying my shop is a little bad for business, and also? Kind of killing the mood. And two,” Libby turns so she is looking directly at me. “You’re not turning my dad’s bookshelves that he made BY HAND into firewood. Okay? Okay!”

With that, she claps her hands and goes back to the table of women who are all cackling on about whether they’d rathersmash Jamie Dornan or Sebastian Stan.

I look at Frank who raises a single, furry eyebrow as if to sayare you really going to let her talk to you like that?

I choose to ignore both Libby’s words and Frank’s judgement.

“Let’s see if we can save the shelves. There must be a way.”

I pat him on the shoulder and make my way through the store, over to Charlie who is measuring the side wall with a tape measure.

“How’s it looking, Charlie? Tell me good things.”

“This wall is weightbearing,” he says with the tone you’d use to tell someone that their grandma died.

“I’m aware.”

“So, we can’t knock it out.”