Page 11 of Beautiful Desire (Blossom Beach #3)

Georgia

I t’s about ten minutes before eight when I bring out the tray of sandwiches and place them on the long folding table Hazel set up in the front.

Every first Wednesday of the month, I host an in-person book club at my store.

It’s something I’ve done for a couple of years now, and I look forward to it every month.

There’s only about twenty of us in the book club, but it’s always a fun time getting together to discuss books, but also to just gab and hang out.

“Those look so good,” Hazel groans as she walks by. “You get those from the deli down the street?”

I shake my head. “My brother whipped ’em up for me, actually. His wife has apparently taken up bread making as a hobby, now that she’s a stay at home mom.”

“That woman is a godsend.”

A chuckle bubbles past my lips. “I don’t know if I’d say that, but the bread is good.”

My brother, Graham, and his wife, Megan, just had their first child—a daughter, named Ellie Mae—about four months ago, and I love having another sweet little niece to hold and love on.

I’m firmly in the child-free-by-choice category, but my gosh, do I absolutely adore my nieces and nephews.

Honestly, being an aunt is the perfect gig.

I get to see and snuggle with them whenever I want, do all the fun auntie things with them, and then give them back when we’re done.

The bell above the front door chimes as it opens, pulling my gaze in that direction.

“Party’s here!” Grace chirps as she strolls into the bookstore, Gemma and Charley following suit. Holding up the square white boxes in her hand, she adds, “And by party, I mean these delicious raspberry cupcakes I made this afternoon.”

“I brought my spinach artichoke dip,” Gemma offers as she sets it down beside the sandwiches on the table.

“Also, both godsends,” Hazel murmurs, making me laugh. Hazel’s favorite part of book club is the food—can’t say I blame her.

“And I’ve got the stuff to make mojitos,” Charley says with a smirk curling her lips. “Because we can’t possibly talk about that epic fucking cliffhanger without the help of a little—or a lot of—rum. Also, big fuck you to whoever picked this book. Haven’t cried that hard in forever.”

Gemma giggles and raises her hand. “That’d be me, and you're welcome. I’m sure you were due for a good cry anyway, Miss Ice Princess.”

Charley glowers at my sister and flips her off, the corner of her lip twitching, while the rest of us chuckle.

Between the four of us, Gemma and Grace are much more in touch with their emotions, while Charley and I tend to bottle everything up until the dam breaks.

Not the healthiest, I’m sure, but it’s the way we’ve always been.

It’s not long before everyone else starts trickling in and we get started.

The next hour is spent loudly and animatedly gushing—and ranting—about the romantasy book my lovely sister picked out for us last month while we eat and have a couple cocktails.

It’s not my typical go-to genre, but I enjoyed it.

Although, it didn’t bring me to as many tears as it did Charley, thankfully.

When I first started this book club, it was just me, my sisters, Charley, and one other woman from town.

I’ve loved watching it grow over the years, seeing new faces join every now and then, but I also love seeing how many of these women have been here since the first year and have consistently come month after month, in support of not only me and my bookstore, but the romance community as a whole.

Reading has always been a hobby of mine.

In fact, I have vivid memories of reading late at night in the dark as a kid.

I’d have a book light attached to my paperback when I was supposed to be sleeping, and no matter how slick I thought I was, I’d end up getting in trouble by my parents when they caught me.

I have always loved immersing myself in fictional worlds and imagining myself as those characters.

But it wasn’t until college that I started reading romance.

Reading became my reward for doing my homework and studying, but also an incentive to actually go to class on the mornings when I was too hungover to even see straight.

And eventually, it was those same epic love stories that got me through the worst heartbreak of my life.

All the characters and the beautiful made-up worlds shined like a beacon in the night through some of my darkest times.

Opening this bookstore was not only a dream come true, but also an incredibly healing and empowering journey.

Romance books, quite literally, changed my life, and I know I’m not alone in that sentiment, which is why these monthly get-togethers are so special to me.

About an hour and a half later—because even though these are only supposed to be an hour long, none of us can ever stop yapping—we wrap up and people say their goodbyes before trickling out of the store, while me, Charley, and Hazel stay back to clean everything up.

I’m just about to take the leftover food into the back, when I hear someone call my name.

Glancing up, I smile, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. “Hey, Tara. Have fun tonight?”

“So much, yes,” she replies with a friendly smile. Tara’s the newest member of the book club, with tonight being her third time coming, but like many of the women who come here, I’ve known her since elementary school. Perks of living in a small town. “I was hoping to see your brother here tonight.”

“My brother?” Confusion furrows my brow as I breathe out a small chuckle. “No, Graham never comes to these. I don’t even know if he reads.”

“Not Graham. I meant Fletcher.”

“Yeah, no. I doubt he’ll be coming to book club either.” My face twists up before I can stop it. “I didn’t realize y’all knew each other.”

“Oh, yeah, we met the other day when I was in here. He was so nice and actually asked for my number before I left. We ended up hanging out later that night and had an amazing time.” Tara giggles nervously as her cheeks darken, and I don’t have to guess what she means by “amazing time.” I already don’t like where this conversation is headed.

“He promised to take me out again, but he never called.”

Of fucking course Fletcher fucked a customer and didn’t call her again, because why wouldn’t he? Heaving a sigh, I say, “Yeah, I don’t think he’s gonna call, Tara.”

“Why?” Her brows pinch. “I mean, sure, it was over pretty quickly, and then he left kind of in a hurry, but I thought we had fun. Did he say something to you?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Shaking my head, I say, “Nope, he certainly did not say anything to me. Could’ve gone the rest of my life without knowing that my stepbrother is a minute man, though.

” I huff out a dry laugh. “Fletcher’s a selfish asshole.

That’s why I said he’s probably not gonna call.

I doubt he’s looking for anything serious, I’m sorry. ”

“Oh,” Tara squeaks. “No worries. Have a good night!” Tara’s gone before I have a chance to respond. She’s probably embarrassed, and I don’t blame her.

Who the hell starts a brand-new job and sleeps with one of the customers, then ghosts them? Who the fuck does he think he is? By the time I lock up at the store and drive home, I’m fuming. Parking in the driveway next to his douchebag sports car, I storm into the house, slamming the door behind me.

“Fletcher!” I holler. “Fletcher, get out here.” As I’m kicking out of my shoes and hanging up my purse in the entryway, I hear his footsteps approach.

“What are you yelling for?” Fletcher rounds the corner, eyes narrowed as they meet mine. “Can I fucking help you?”

“Yeah. Don’t fuck my customers.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” I say through gritted teeth as I approach him.

“I do not appreciate hearing all about your fucking sex life while minding my own goddamn business at the store tonight. You are not to sleep with the customers. Especially if you’re going to do it poorly, and then tell them you’ll call when you have no intention of doing so. ”

The way his brows pinch as he balks at me would be amusing if I wasn’t so pissed off. “I don’t fuck poorly, so get outta here with that shit.”

“Not what I heard, Mr. Minute Man.” Folding my arms over my chest, I huff out an amused breath. “But that’s neither here nor there, because I mean it, Fletcher. Do. Not. Fuck. My. Customers. Am I making myself clear?”

“Fuck off,” he growls. “The only reason I’m playing nice with you, Georgia, is to appease my father, but don’t get shit twisted.

You are not in charge of me, nor do you have any say in who I sleep with.

I think this whole arrangement has gone to your head a little, and it’s time to come on back down to earth and realize I’m a grown fucking man, and I’ll fuck whoever I want. Now, am I making myself clear?”

I’m going to fucking kill him.

My pulse races, the blood in my veins red-hot with rage, as it’s my turn to take a step closer to him, putting our bodies nearly flush.

“That’s where you’re fucking wrong, dipshit,” I grit out, my voice darkening.

“You’re living in my house, working for me , so you will listen, or so help me god, Fletcher, I’ll cut your pathetic little balls off in your sleep.

I’ll take great pleasure in doing it too, so don’t tempt me.

You’ve got a real fucking problem following direction, and because your asshole of a dad decided to fuck with my bookstore, it’s now become my problem, and I do not appreciate being dragged into this mess.

I will repeat myself one time, and one time only.

You are not to sleep with my customers, under any circumstance, or your balls will meet the sharp end of my gardening shears, and we’ll both end up in a true crime documentary. Got it?”

Fletcher’s jaw pops and his nostrils flare with each harsh exhale, so I know he’s pissed. “God, I can’t fucking stand you,” he bites out.

“Trust me, the feeling’s mutual, my guy.”

A tense moment passes when neither of us says anything, and then his expression shifts, a look I can’t place dancing in his gaze as he leans in and brings his mouth to the shell of my ear, catching me off guard as he huskily whispers, “It’s a goddamn shame, though, because fuck, Peach, hearing you get all growly like that really fucking gets me hard. ”

My heart stutters, and a gasp bubbles past my lips as I shove him away. I hate the shiver that just racked through me at his deep voice and the way his mustache tickled my ear. There’s no way I heard him right. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m just tellin’ it like it is.” He shrugs, a smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth as he says, “Goodnight,” before turning and walking away, leaving me speechless.

So, I did hear him right.

What.

The.

Fuck.