Page 3 of The Nook for Brooks (Mulligan’s Mill #6)

I flipped Clementine’s switch off and covered her, because even classics collect dust. I washed my teacup and set it on the rack to dry. I always let my dishes air-dry. Tea towels left fluff and fabric behind. Air-drying left everything pristine.

I closed the window, pulling hard against the side that jammed, and locked the latch, because storms like to try their chances in late summer… and I like to win.

I straightened the quilt on my bed, which was tucked against one wall, made sure the coasters on the coffee table in front of the sofa were stacked precisely, then pulled open the curtain that separated my living space from the bathroom and gave an annoyed glance at the plug in the tub. But that was a story for another day.

When I was satisfied that everything was in order, I opened the door to the spiral staircase and made my way down to the bookshop.

The shop itself was a literary labyrinth of page-turning wonders, a perfectly constructed jigsaw of tall shelves packed with thousands of books, the kind of place I had always dreamed of owning.

The fact that I had made this wish come true often filled me with so much pride and satisfaction that at times I felt I’d already achieved everything I wanted in life.

Then at other times… that damn imaginary prince would pop into my head.

But I was always able to keep him at bay by keeping myself busy.

Books needed dusting, shelves needed tidying, and whenever a new delivery came in, slight readjustments were often necessary. Of course, I knew where every section began and ended… to the centimeter.

In front was the shelf dedicated to new releases, with their immaculate jackets and the sharp scent of ink fresh from the printer.

To the right, the romances glowed with hope and a promise of the love story everyone deserves.

To the left, the mysteries lined the shelves like closed doors waiting for someone with the right key to open them.

True crime was nestled beside the mystery novels with a sign that read Don’t Try This at Home , while the poetry books sat at the back with a small sign that read You Are Allowed to Read Two Poems and Leave With Your Dignity Intact .

The ladder leaning against the far shelf stood tall and still, now that Gage had finally fixed it from rolling on its own, and a display of blank stationary paper and fountain pens sat neatly on the counter alongside a bowl of bookmarks.

Everything was as it should be.

I wrote the day’s chalkboard notice in my perfect handwriting.

STAFF PICK: The Billionaire’s Boyfriend

Two people quite literally collide in a meet-cute scenario.

Awkwardness ensues, followed by moments of hilarity, a case of imposter syndrome, and a truly swoon-worthy moment involving a whacky chase across Central Park.

Contains a leading man so likeable he couldn’t possibly exist in reality, an Irishwoman with too much blood in her alcohol - stream, and one sincere apology that arrives just in the nick of time. Enjoy!

I carried the A-frame chalkboard to the front door of the shop. The bell above the door chimed and hot air rippled inside. I set the A-frame display under the front awning to keep the chalk from blistering in the sun, then stepped back inside.

In the quiet between customers, I did the little rituals that nobody but me would notice.

I straightened the face-out copies by a degree that only I care about.

I moved a romance novel from knee level to eye level because some books deserve better.

I loaded a fresh roll of receipt paper into the cash register and slotted a new ink cartridge in place because everyone likes a neat, easy-to-read docket.

I started stacking a new shelf dedicated to cozy whodunnits set in small English towns along the Cornwall coastline featuring an elderly church-going widow with a love of Devonshire tea and a knack for solving grisly murders. You’d be surprised how many books I had to cram on that shelf.

But all the while, the story I’d written that morning kept echoing in the corners of my mind.

That’s when the bell above the door rang.

I adjusted my bow tie out of habit, but from where I was behind the new cozy mystery shelf I couldn’t yet see who had opened the door.

When I did step around the end of the shelf to see, the light behind the customer made it hard to make out who it was.

At first, I assumed it was Gage, coming to pick up some more customer deliveries.

But then I noticed a pair of scuffed boots that I was certain didn’t belong to him.

Then I saw the shorts, wrapped around a pair of thick muscled thighs. And the linen shirt, loose and open so his chest could breathe. And then I caught a glint of the compass hanging on a silver chain around his neck.

I caught my breath as he moved closer, stepping away from the light outside, his handsome face coming into view.

He had inquisitive brown eyes, a chiseled jaw, and dark hair that seemed determined to defy gravity.

“H-h-hi,” I stammered with all the cool I could muster.

He simply smiled and said, “G’day.”