Page 43 of Will Bark for Pizza (Bluebell Springs #1)

THIRTY-TWO

KIRA

“Lila?” I practically screamed her name from the back of the store when I spotted my PA holding court with the book club at the community table.

She was hard to miss in her shimmering pink sundress adorned in white flowers.

The woman wore confidence like it was her second skin. I admired her so much for it.

“Kira!” She rushed to me, running in wedge sandals like it was nothing out of the ordinary.

“What are you doing here?” I asked two seconds before she threw her arms around my neck and squeezed the remaining air from my lungs.

“I was worried. You never called me back.”

“I’m sorry. There’s been a lot?—”

“You’re buying a bookstore?” she asked, her tone both excited and accusatory as she relinquished her hold on me so she could level me with an expectant stare.

“Surprise.” I offered her a forced, cheesy smile hoping it would lessen her disappointment that I waited to tell her.

“You’re moving back home, then?”

Guilt twisted a knot inside my stomach. I meant to call her back while I was walking Husker on the trail the other day, right before I discovered those blocked voicemails. Then again this morning, but there was an incident with Husker and bacon.

“I was going to call you?—”

“I’m so excited for you!” She threw her arms around me again. Apparently, breathing was overrated today. “How soon are you moving?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it yet.”

I had a couple of months before the lease was up on my apartment, and I wasn’t eager to head home and deal with packing.

Not when there were a million things that needed to be done here at the bookstore to prepare it for a soft opening, and then for a grand re-opening a few weeks later.

Until this mess was semi-sorted out, we agreed to stay closed.

Plus, the idea—however remote—of running into Travis made going back to Omaha very unappealing.

“The sooner the better, don’t you think?”

“You sound eager to be rid of me,” I joked.

“You say that like it’s even possible.”

“Where are you staying?”

“I booked the cutest little cabin. It’s walking distance from the store—and that amazing bakery you’ve told me so much about. I might have stopped for a cupcake or three on the way over. Those things are dangerous.”

“I really did mean to call you back.”

“You don’t need to keep apologizing to me. You’ve obviously been busy here. I’m so excited for this next chapter!”

“Really?”

“Really. And when you’re ready, I can help you pack. Or I can hire packers so you can stay here and focus. One question.”

“Yeah?”

“Who is Margene, and why do we want to burn her at the stake?”

“Long story,” I said on a heavy sigh. “I’ll fill you in tonight. Grandma Connie already invited you to dinner, I’m assuming?”

“She offered me a room too, but it sounds like there’s a full house. You didn’t tell me you were staying in the same place as that yummy handyman who rescued you from the lake.”

“I didn’t?”

“Don’t worry. He’s all yours.”

“I’m not?—”

“Have you told her yet?” Lotti called from the front.

“Told me what?” I asked.

“Oh! I’m so excited!” Lila grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the front, where half a dozen book club members huddled around one particular hardcover book I didn’t recognize. “I have a special surprise for you.”

“You do?”

“That’s really why I came. This deserved an in-person reveal.”

“What does?”

Thelma handed over a hardback book with a deep purple cover that shimmered when it caught the light. The edges of the pages were a soft lavender that complemented the cover well, some intricate pattern printed on them. I didn’t recognize the book until Lila placed it in my hands.

“I swear, I didn’t tell anyone you were Diana Davenport,” Lila said.

“We outed you the second we saw that gorgeous book,” Carlos cooed.

“I meant to show you first, but then I tripped?—”

“And we basically stole it from her,” Lotti said, her tone unapologetic.

“This is mine ?” Tears sprang to the corners of my eyes, threatening to fall. But I held them back for fear they’d land on this beautiful work of art and cause water damage.

I examined the book, stunned by the detail. It was a completely different design than the paperback cover. No people. Just designs. Roses surrounded a dagger in the middle, one central to the plot of my latest book. The title was foiled in silver, and so was the blade of the dagger.

“It’s a special edition,” Lila explained. “Do you like it? Please tell me you like it.”

I glanced up, catching my friend biting her bottom lip as though I might tell her I hated it.

“Like it?” I shook my head. “Lila, I love it.”

The silence evaporated in a heartbeat, excitement erupting around the table.

“It’s a fucking work of art.”

“It’s perfect!”

“Imagine if all your books had special editions?”

“Do you have any more?”

“You should order some for the store!”

“Oh! Your mom would be so proud. ”

“It’s so damn pretty I can hardly stand it.”

Lila and I looked at one another and laughed. A couple of those tears I’d tried to keep at bay finally escaped, but they were happy tears. God, I wished Mom were here to see this.

“How did you do this?”

“Well I didn’t do this. I worked with Tatiana on the design. And she recommended a printer who specializes in special editions. So, I had one made.” Lila bit down on her bottom lip again. “If you like them, I can put in a larger order.”

“Them?”

“I thought it was only fair to do the whole series,” she said, pulling three additional books from her oversized tote bag and passing them around. “And when you finish Mateo’s book, we can have a special edition cover made for that book, too.”

My stomach dropped to the floor, reminding me I had a really terrible conversation ahead. But if anyone deserved to know the truth about the end of my writing career, it was Lila Quinn, the woman who stuck by me through my lowest lows.

“How long are you in town?”

“As long as you need me. Believe it or not, I actually have a little marketing experience specific to independent bookstores.”

“We’re keeping her,” Dylann announced.

“You do?” I asked, surprised. Did she tell me before and I wasn’t listening?

“Back in my college days,” she said, waving it off like it was no big deal.

“She also mentioned she’s really good at coordinating events,” Grandma Connie said. “Like, author events.”

Thankfully, my brothers chose that moment to storm into the room with another load of boxes.

The book club chatter turned from oohing and ahhing over special editions, to muttered curses about Margene once again.

We’d been inventorying the books on the shelves all morning and hardly made a dent.

They were, of course, completely disorganized.

The groans at the sight of additional books were justified.

“Where do you want these?” Connor asked after Luke set down a stack toward the back.

“Wherever you can find room.”

Beckett came next, carrying three boxes that strained his glorious muscles.

His biceps stretched his shirt sleeves and made his tattoos pop.

Tattoos I still very much wanted to memorize better.

The only one I got a really good look at the night he held me in my bed was the one on his forearm that looked like a unit crest. The rest were blurry in my memory.

“Sweetie, you’re staring,” Lila whispered against my ear.

I spun around, facing the table. I busied myself examining the four different special edition books. They each had their own unique objects, but the design and coloring were similar.

They were gorgeous.

They were also an incomplete set.

Beckett’s earlier words echoed. I saw you taking notes .

Maybe I could try— just try —to write Mateo’s book.

There was a time when it was the book I was most excited to write of the entire series.

It felt wrong to leave one of my favorite characters without a happily ever after .

. . even if I planned to make him work really hard for it.

Maybe the conversation with Lila could wait until I knew for sure.

“Lila, dear,” Lotti asked, her tone sounding innocent as ever, despite it raising the hairs on the back of my neck. “How long would it take you to get a large order of these beautiful books printed?”

“How large of an order are we talking?”

“How many people do you think would show up for Diana Davenport’s first in-person signing?”

I froze, the book I held nearly slipping from my hands.

I just found out yesterday that my secret author identity had never really been secret.

At least, not with the book club. But that didn’t mean I was ready to go public.

Or do an in-person event where readers would ask me by the dozens when the next book was coming.

“You look a little green, dear,” Dylann said.

“I can’t?—”

“You can ,” Grandma Connie said, her tone the perfect medicine to soothe my fears. My rising heart rate started to fall.

“We don’t mean to push,” Betty added. “But imagine how well our grand re-opening would go if we paired it with Diana Davenport’s first book signing?”

“With these exclusive special edition books readers can only get here,” Carlos added.

Lila looked at me, her expression a mixture of sympathy and excitement. “All you have to do is show up with a pen and smile, babe. We got the rest.”

“Your mom would love it,” Lotti said, her words delicate yet excited. As though she didn’t want to guilt me into saying yes but still kind of hoped her tactic worked.

I jumped at the loud thud a stack of boxes made when Beckett dropped them near the back.

“Sorry,” he said, sending me an apologetic grin.

“Beckett, come here,” Thelma insisted.

Lila gripped my wrist, squeezing until I met her gaze. Does he know? she mouthed.

I nodded.

Apparently, my nod gave Lila permission to go, well, full Lila.

“Beckett, we want your opinion on something,” Lila said sweetly, reaching for the special edition of Forever Forbidden , my personal favorite of the bunch. “What do you think of this book?”

Beckett took it from Lila, as my heart pounded loudly in my ears.

I didn’t know why his opinion mattered to me.

Just because he knew my secret author identity that I suspected was not going to stay secret much longer, the chances he’d ever pick up a Diana Davenport book on his own were slim at best. He wasn’t my target reader. It shouldn’t matter. And yet, it did.

I braced, expecting the worst.

“This is your book?” he asked, his sparkling eyes betraying genuine excitement.

“Lila had them made,” I said sheepishly, as though I were speaking to some junior high crush instead of a man I’d come to consider a friend. And I was doing it in front of an audience.

“This is amazing, Kira,” Beckett said, the approval in his tone sending ripples of warmth throughout my body. My shyness evaporated, morphing into something else entirely as the memory of sliding down that hard body only a few minutes ago came rushing back to me.

“Thanks,” I said, lucky I was able to choke out that single word.

“We want your opinion on something else,” Thelma said, sounding like she meant business.

“Yeah?”

“We think Kira should do a book signing,” Lotti offered. “To coincide with the grand re-opening.”

Beckett trained his gaze on me in a way that made the chatter of the people around me muffled and quiet. The background went a little blurry. It was as though there was only Beckett, me, and the special edition book in his hands. “How do you feel about that?”

“Me?”

“You are the author,” he said, a smile tugging at one corner of his lips.

I wanted to tell him all my fears. That I’d never done an in-person signing before. That I feared no one would show up and I would let everyone down when they realized I wasn’t as big a deal as they thought. That if anyone did show up, they’d mock the very books that made me an author.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Sometimes, the things that scare us the most are the ones most worth doing.”

Another plop of boxes startled me from the intimate moment. Several sets of eyes locked on the two of us, and the heat of a blush crept up my neck.

“Well?” Dylann asked expectantly .

“Okay,” I said quietly.

“Okay?” Lila repeated.

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

Lila squealed. Lotti clapped. Thelma spewed a string of approving curses. Grandma Connie looked as though she might cry, but in a good way. Excited chatter erupted around the table, the book club already making plans.

But it was Beckett’s simple smile that spoke the loudest.

There was nothing but genuine support in his expression.

“Beck, get your ass back here,” Luke called across the room. “We’re not doing all the grunt work without you.”

With one last lingering look, he hurried back to help my brothers with the rest of the boxes.

He’s different , an inner voice whispered.

More than going public or doing my first signing, that mere thought was the scariest of them all.