Page 20 of Not a Friend (Crescent Light #1)

“Totally. I’ll be right in the front row with a big sign.” We were joking, but I meant my promise. “I might even flash you, or have you sign my tits or something.”

“Oh, I would happily sign your tits.”

Twenty minutes later, we pulled in front of a cozy, two-story indie bookstore with the name NovelB’s printed on the side of the building.

Inside, the store was bisected by a spiral staircase that led to what looked like a lounge upstairs.

The second level was open, overlooking the first floor and giving a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf effect.

Overflowing displays showed off the latest releases and a mix of journals, bookmarks, bookends, and various knickknacks.

I fell in love with the charm almost immediately.

I ambled to a table just inside the door and thumbed through a stack of books while Nate pulled out his phone. He didn’t have a chance to text whoever he was meeting because a voice from the top of the staircase interrupted the otherwise quiet store.

“I know that’s not little Nathaniel Cassidy.”

Nate’s chin snapped up, and a breathtaking grin spread over his face like honey over bread. A sweet-looking older woman thumped her way down the stairs. The red lipstick she wore was almost unnoticeable as her thin lips split into a wide smile .

“Mrs. B!” Nate greeted the woman when he met her at the landing. She stood a solid foot and a half shorter than him, but that didn’t stop her from pulling him down into a big, maternal hug.

“It’s good to see you, Natey. Are you staying out of trouble?”

No.

“Of course! Why would I ever be in trouble?” He gave her a crooked, charming smile.

“Oh, you’ve always been so full of shit, Natey,” she said, lovingly patting his cheek.

I snorted, which caught their attention. Mrs. B laughed along as Nate narrowed his eyes, like us women were conspiring against him in some silent way.

“Who’s this pretty thing?” Mrs. B asked, reaching out to give me a hug I happily accepted. It was just as warm as I thought it would be. She reminded me of Christmas morning: gingerbread, fireplaces, warm cider.

“This is my friend, Oli. She was nice enough to keep me company on the drive over.”

“How nice! Oli, please call me Mrs. B.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Mrs. B gave Nate a wise, knowing look. “She sure is pretty.”

Nate studied me with teasing, narrowed eyes, then turned back to Mrs. B. “You think so?”

“Oh, yeah.” Mrs. B nodded once.

Nate gave me another once-over. “I’m inclined to agree.”

Mrs. B burst into laughter, making me jump, and smacked Nate on the arm. “Come on, I don’t have all day.”

She spun in a flourish, waving her hand over her head for us to follow. Nate winked at me as he turned .

“Now,” Mrs. B shouted over her shoulder as she bobbed and weaved between tables, displays, and shelves so full of knickknacks they were about to overflow. “I set aside one of each of the Deb Stronghold books she signed for us.”

Nate nearly knocked over a carefully balanced tower of thick fantasy novels in the process of trying to keep up with her. For such a small woman, she moved with remarkable speed.

“You’d better be grateful too, Nathaniel.” She shot Nate a threatening look. “Deb Stronghold’s newest book sold out in a day. I ordered a few extra copies just to have on hand here at the store after pre-orders were picked up, but nope! Everything flew right out the door!”

“Paige talks about her books all the time,” he hollered after her, barely missing another display table. “She must be more popular than I thought.”

“She is. Trust me.” Mrs. B reached the back wall of the shop and disappeared into a staff-only hallway. “Wait here.”

Nate ran his fingers through his hair, catching his breath. “She’s a tornado, that woman.”

He held a hand out, and I took it, feeling the squeeze of his warm, calloused fingers against mine. “She seems fun. How do you know her?”

“She was my neighbor growing up. Lived across the street and babysat from time to time. My mom and Mrs. B got pretty close after my parents split. I don’t think she has any kids of her own; she’s always been like an aunt to Paige and me. Jared and Grant, too.”

“And she has the hookup for all your bookish needs.” I picked up a glass figurine of an owl on top of a stack of books. Cute. “And your knickknack needs.”

“That, too. ”

Mrs. B emerged with a stack of five books, all with the name Deb Stronghold in metallic gold across the spines. From the looks of them, they were romance novels. In fact, I’d recognized one of them as a book Gemma begged me to read the year before.

She plopped the pile into Nate’s waiting hands. “I risked my life smuggling those, you know. Her fans are cutthroat.”

He slung an arm around her shoulders, eclipsing the small woman with his tall frame. “Mrs. B, have I told you I loved you lately? You’re my hero. Truly.”

She let out another deep belly laugh, shoving at his shoulder.

“Oli, I told you he was full of shit, right?”

Nate bought all five books for his sister and another one for himself. I skimmed the shelves a bit and bought one for myself, too—an unsigned copy of one of Deb Stronghold’s older books.

“Tell your mom I said hi, Natey,” Mrs. B said as we made our way to the front door. He made no effort to wipe away the red lipstick she left on his cheek. “And for chrissake, eat a burger! You’re getting too skinny. Oli, make sure that boy stays out of trouble!”

“No promises!” I shouted with a wave.

We dropped our books at the car and walked to a nearby cafe that was somehow even more charming than the bookstore.

Its clean yet cozy vibe, paired with the wide bank of windows facing the sidewalk and park beyond, made me want to curl up and spend the entire afternoon there.

Nate bought himself an iced Americano and a nitro tea for me before we walked back into the autumn breeze.

An intimate wine bar with an adjoining shop sat on the corner a few blocks away, stocked with rows and rows of locally made and imported wines .

“What do you think?” Nate asked as he studied the labels of every bottle on display.

I stepped forward, scanning the wall. “Red or white?”

He gave me a helpless look. “How should I know?”

I nodded my understanding. “Paige is turning twenty-one?”

He nodded.

“Does she already drink?”

“I’m sure she has, but I doubt it’s been a lot. I’m not even sure she likes wine, to be honest.”

I stepped away from the reds. The dryness and bitter aftertaste always bothered me, so I doubted she would have a taste for it. “I think white would be a safe bet,” I said, pointing to a bottle of Pinot Gris. “Something like this. Sweet, but not too sweet. Not too dry, either. Easy to drink.”

He slid the bottle out of its home, nodding intently at it as if he could read the French label. “Sold. I trust your judgment.” He reached forward and grabbed a second bottle.

“Two bottles? Man, you are a good brother.”

He winked. “This one’s for us.”