Page 4 of The Omega's Fake Mate

“You’re welcome.”

A moment later, the two of them left my store, the little girl bouncing beside her mother. I probably shouldn’t have rewarded her for bad behavior, but when I looked at her mother, I felt that she was punished enough. Anyway, it was time for lunch now.

Stepping away from the register, I flipped theOpensign on the door so it would readClosedto the next customer. But just as I was about to do so, a familiar red-head entered the store.

“Hello, sir,” Conner said, polite as ever. I didn't break out into a smile, but the corners of my lips turned upwards a bit. Conner was one of the kids whodidn’thurt my books. In fact, the eleven-year-old was my best customer. His allowance wasn't big, but he spent every last cent of it on books. I should know; I sold them to him.

“I was about to close the store for lunch, but you can have a quick look around if you want.” Mostly, Conner knew exactly what kind of book he wanted.

“Oh, that's too bad.” The young boy's forehead creased.

“Something wrong?”

“Not exactly, but I was hoping to hide out here for an hour or two.”

Hide from what?I flipped theOpensign and studied the boy. “Trouble at home?”

“Nottrouble, but it's hard to read there. My baby sister is being cranky.”

“I'm sorry about that, but—”

“What's that?” Before I could tell him that I really needed to go get lunch, Conner interrupted me by pointing to something farther back in the store.

“That's just—”

“Isn't that the old phone box that used to be outside the store?”

That was exactly what it was. All my life, the red phone box had stood by the street. The years had taken a toll on the paint job, as well as the letters.Pho box, it said now, where it used to sayPhone box. On the right side, someone had left a mediocre graffiti depicting male genitalia, while on the left side, someone wroteOmegas call me for a good timealong with a phone number in black marker.

It was not the kind of thing you expected to see in a bookstore.

“They were going to tear it down,” I explained.

Conner regarded me with a curious expression, head tilted. “So you took it?”

“So I took it,” I agreed as if it was the most natural thing in the world to offer refuge to an old phone box. I owned a bookstore. I was allowed to be alittleeccentric, wasn’t I?

“What are you going to do with it?”

Good question. “I don't know yet.” I glanced at my watch. “And it's really time for lunch now.”

Conner sighed in a way that I'd learned was characteristic of him. Not like he was suffering great pains, or like he was disappointed, but like the ways of the world had somehow managed to affront him again.

“I could watch the store for you while you grab lunch,” he suggested.

“I'm afraid you're too young for that.”

“I could go buy us sandwiches to eat here.”

“Around the books?”

Lips curling, Conner pointed at the desk behind the register. “You keep a dog around the books.”

“That's different. Betty belongs to the store,” I said, following Conner's gaze to take in the sight of my dog, lazing on my chair. Betty had been my grandmother's dog, a wire-haired yellow Labrador. I’d inherited her along with the store.

“Can I bring my dog?” Conner asked.

“Absolutely not.” The boy's dog was much younger than Betty and too excitable.