Spotlight (The Holland Brothers Book 4)

Every first Saturday of the month, there’s a farmers’ market at the end of the block. It brings in a big crowd and all the nearby businesses open early, some set up outside, and people wander up and down the streets. We always get a lot of foot traffic, and it’s a good opportunity to remind the community that we’re here and welcome them inside.

I’m lingering near the front of the store adjusting displays that are already perfect. I can’t help it. I have this nervous energy, wishing I could just drag people inside and gush to them about books and make them love this place as much as I do.

Ruby is here signing new stock of her books we got in yesterday. My favorite display in the entire store is the one that’s dedicated to her books. I’m so proud of everything she’s accomplished.

Greer is with Gigi at the market and the store is still empty.

Ruby yawns next to me and then declares, “I’m done.”

“Oh, uh, there’s actually another box in the back room.”

Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun and she gives me a wry expression.

“If I get coffee, will that help?”

“Only if it comes with a scone,” she replies dryly.

“You got it.” Laughing lightly, I take off out the open front door. The air has a nip to it, but the sun is shining, and seeing so many people milling around makes warmth spread through me. It’s an even bigger crowd than normal.

Maybe news of the market is starting to reach a wider audience?

I’m smiling as I walk along the sidewalk, exchanging hellos and good mornings. It isn’t until I get closer to Plot Twist that my stomach clenches. While our store is empty, this one is bustling with people already.

“How?” I whine quietly.

My steps slow as I approach. There is a line to get inside. Again, hooooooow?!?!

Two women stand at the back of the line, grinning and careening their necks to see to the front.

“What’s going on?” I ask them.

“That hot new baseball player for the Mustangs is here.” Her face is flush with excitement.

“Hot new baseball player?” I ask, mostly to myself. I walk around the line to the front and then push my way through the door to get inside.

“Excuse me. Sorry. I’m not butting in line. I promise,” I say when I get more than a few dirty looks.

I’ve never been inside Plot Twist, and it feels a little like crossing into enemy territory, if I’m honest.

The bookstore is smaller than ours and has a more dated feel, like a library or your grandfather’s den. The lighting is dim, and the color scheme is all wood and dark colors. I glance around for Walter, the store owner. He’s a grumpy old guy who has perfected his resting asshole face.

When I don’t see him, I go back to scrutinizing the space. The shelves are packed too tightly with books, and the table displays are basically just piles of books with no clear indication as to why they were bunched together. The signage denoting each section, historical, non-fiction, sports, fiction, children, look like they were handwritten. To be fair, the penmanship is artsy and beautiful, but it still strikes me as something a bargain store would do instead of a place that won best bookstore the last two years.

It takes me a few seconds to catalog all this and then turn off the critical eye I usually reserve for my own work. I’ve worked so hard, and it’s difficult not to look around and see the ways I believe our store is better.

Still, it has that same sense of home and joy that all bookstores have. I love the smell of books—old and new. When I was a kid, I’d go to the library, open a book, and stick my nose right in the center to take a deep inhale. Ruby said it was gross, but I just love everything about books. They’re family and friends, connection to a big world out there.

Music plays from the speakers, something classical but lively. The line of people snakes through the right side of the store past recipe books and through the minuscule romance section. Without thinking, I search for my sister’s books. I’m not all that surprised when I don’t find any. We have pretty much covered that market. Our Ruby Madison books come signed and with anecdotes about the author. Things like, “she wrote chapter twenty-two right over there in that chair” or “I was with her when she got the call that this one hit the New York Times Bestseller List!” People love those little insights, and Gigi and I are so proud of Ruby that they slip from our lips easily.

Finally, I spot the front of the line. Under the handwritten SPORTS sign a man stands in front of the bookshelves. He has a Sharpie in his right hand and his left is draped around the shoulders of a little boy wearing a Mustangs jersey.

No, not a man. Flynn Holland. He’s dressed in a long-sleeved gray shirt and jeans. He has this effortlessly handsome way about him. Sporty, casual, but undeniably attractive. I gawk at him for several seconds while he takes a photo with the boy who can’t stop glancing over at Flynn with wide-eyed admiration.

After a woman, who I presume is the boy’s mother, stops taking photos, Flynn squats down to the kid’s level and says something to him I can’t make out. Whatever it is, the kid beams bigger. Then Flynn holds out a fist and the kid bumps his against it.

It’s heartwarming, but right now I don’t want my heart to be warmed. Especially by him. In someone else’s bookstore.

As the little kid jogs off, Flynn stands. His gaze roams from the line over to me. My feet move toward him of their own accord.

There’s a flicker of surprise on his face but is quickly replaced by a wide smile. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Wait, is this your bookstore?” He glances around as if he’s seeing it for the first time.

“No.”

When I don’t offer any other explanation (frankly, I’m still too shocked to come up with one), Flynn says, “My agent thought it would be good to do some community events. I wasn’t sure a bookstore was the best endorsement, but the owner is a fan. And I mean, look at that line.”

“I saw it,” I mumble under my breath, then scoff. “Unbelievable.”

“We need to move the line along,” a young woman says quietly. She’s a bookstore employee, judging by the official way she speaks. She at least has an apologetic look as she does so.

“Do you want me to sign something?” Flynn asks me.

“No.” The word comes out with a little too much force.

The line patrol shifts uncomfortably as neither Flynn nor I move.

“Give us just one more minute.” Flynn holds up the same hand that has the Sharpie to the woman. He angles his body, so his back is to the rest of the line.

“It’s so good to see you again. I was hoping I’d run into you.” He picks up a shirt off the table. “Turn around.”

“What?”

He makes a circle motion with his finger.

I turn, still too stunned to object. He places the shirt against my back, and I feel the marker as he scribbles on the material.

“Is this going to be a regular occurrence or a one-off event?” I ask. I can’t believe they brought in an athlete. Why not an author at least?

“I told him I’d stop by as often as I could to sign jerseys. I’m not sure about future events. With the season starting, I won’t have a lot of time. Where is your store? Do you have my jersey? I’d love to come see it sometime.” He finishes and I turn back to face him.

“No.”

“No, you don’t have my jersey at your store or no, I can’t see it?”

“Both.”

“Why not?” he asks, laughing softly.

“We don’t sell sports memorabilia, and you can’t help another store sell books and then come by mine.”

“Because….?”

“I’m really sorry,” the woman managing the impatient line interrupts again.

“It’s fine. I’m going,” I say.

I start to walk off, but Flynn calls after me.

“Olivia.”

I stop and glance back. He holds up the shirt in his hand and then tosses it to me. I don’t get my hands up in time and it hits me in the face. I inhale a waft of starched cotton and permanent marker. My hands grip around the fabric and I pull it down. Turning on my heel, I weave back through the line until I’m out on the sidewalk again. The line has only grown. I finally stare down at the shirt he gave me.

The front has the Mustangs logo and on the back, his last name and number eighteen. It’s the same number all his brothers wear for their mother. It was her birthday. I know this because I looked him up after our run-in at Sabrina’s engagement party. I know a lot about Flynn Holland now. Things I could have known months ago if I hadn’t demanded we not share any personal information that night we spent together.

Right next to the eight, Flynn signed it, Dick. And what I presume is his number is scribbled underneath.

“What is going on with you today?” Ruby asks as I remove every book from our front table, setting them on a cart to place back on the shelves. Every book lands with a thump. I’m careful, but too much pent-up frustration is pumping through me to be gentle.

“Nothing. I just want to freshen up the table with some new books. Romance readers are voracious. They will find their favorite books no matter where we put them. It’s the more general reader we want to capture as soon as they walk in the door. We got some new recipe books in that I think will look great and appeal to a wider audience.”

Ruby takes the book in my hands before I can slam it down on top of the others. We both hold on until I look up into her emerald eyes.

“You’re spinning. Take a breath,” she says.

All the fight leaves me.

My sister smiles sweetly as I let go of the book and she puts it back on the table instead of the cart.

“The table is great. They’re always great. You have a fantastic eye for pairing books and creating beautiful displays. You need to lighten up. Who cares if some committee of people voted Plot Twist as the best bookstore in Lake City? We have a very loyal clientele, and since you took over last year, revenue is up. You completely overhauled the entire store. Gigi was thinking about closing and now look at this place. It’s thriving.”

“They were going to close?” I ask, feeling panic at just the thought.

“That’s all you heard from my big speech?”

I let out a breath. “Thank you.”

I’ve worked hard on this place, and it means so much that she sees it. I just can’t help but want everyone else to see it too.

“You’re welcome.” She eyes the remaining books on the table. “You’re still going to swap out the table, aren’t you?”

“Organizing keeps me sane,” I say with a more relaxed smile.

Together we put the books on the cart, and she walks with me as I place them on their shelves in various spots of the store.

“Were they really going to close the bookstore?” I ask her.

She nods. “I’m not sure if they would have gone through with it, but they talked about it. Gigi wanted to travel, and Grandpa thought it was too much for her to maintain on her own after she had that bad fall. But then you stepped in.”

Ruby gives me a smile that’s all admiration and pride. I know she loves this place as much as I do, but she never wanted to work here. Even as a kid, she did more writing than reading. I’d go through three or four books in a week and when I had nothing else to read, she’d sometimes let me read her stories.

The thought of the store closing, of not being able to walk in here every day, makes my chest ache. From the time I was little I knew I wanted to work here. Sure, I thought I’d go off to college first, maybe work at a library or for a publishing house for a few years, but eventually ending up here was always in the plans.

When I got pregnant with Greer the summer after high school, I decided to stay and take classes locally instead of going away to college as planned. Gigi gave me a job and I worked at the store full time until I had Greer. Then I transitioned to part time until she started pre-school.

This store really has been a lifeline for me in so many ways. At every phase of my life, it’s been here for me, the same way my grandparents always have been. It’s such a reflection of them and their unwavering support and love. What they’ve created is so much more than a bookstore. To imagine it closing breaks my heart.

The bell on the front door jingles as we finish putting away the last of the books. Ruby’s eyes widen.

“Oh no, what will they think of the empty front table?” she asks with mock horror.

“Shut up.” I backhand her lightly and then take off to greet our customer.

“Welcome in,” I say as I come around the corner. But when I see who it is, my steps come up short.

“You.” My hands go to my hips.

One side of his mouth hitches up and he gives me that easy, sexy smile. “And you.”

“How did you find me?” My arms fall to my sides. It seems there’s no avoiding this guy.

“I asked around.” His gaze lifts and he smiles as he takes in the store. “This is cool. Exactly as you described.”

“Liv, I’m going to—” My sister’s voice cuts off as she takes in the scene in front of her. She looks from me to Flynn and back. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

An awkward silence stretches out until Flynn takes a step toward her with his hand outstretched. “I’m Flynn.”

“Ruby.”

“The sister, right?”

“That’s right.” She gives me another side-eye as she shakes his hand. “How do you two know each other?”

“He’s the baseball player that was signing at Plot Twist this morning.”

“Oh.” Ruby smiles tentatively. “You’re Flynn Holland. The new pitcher. Our grandfather⁠—”

“Loves baseball,” I finish for her, sending my sister a traitorous look. “Is it okay for you to be in here cavorting with the enemy?”

His lips twitch with a smile. “I didn’t know bookstores had rivalries.”

“Oh, yeah.” Ruby nods along. “We throw down once a year. Who can stack the most books or make the best window display.”

Flynn’s chest shakes with a silent laugh.

“You are not helping,” I tell her.

“Sorry. I thought we were being nice to our customer.”

“He isn’t a customer.”

“I might be.” He takes off, heading farther into the store like he’s browsing.

Ruby fights a laugh, and I go after him. “You can’t just come in here and… and… look at books.”

“Why not?” Flynn asks, continuing on.

“What’s the last book you read?”

“Are you book shaming me?”

“What? No, of course not. Just making a point.”noveldrama

“Books are cool. I’m thinking about taking reading up as a new hobby. Where are your sister’s books?”

“I knew I liked you,” Ruby shouts from wherever she’s eavesdropping.

“Really, really not helping,” I mutter, but I take off toward our Ruby Madison display. I pick up her newest book.

He takes it with a grin. “Vampires. I dig it.”

I pick up two more and he takes those as well.

“Anything else?”

“Your number.”

Turning on my heel, I head to the front counter. Flynn follows me, standing on the other side. I feel a little better with a few feet of distance between us.

“You already gave me yours,” I say as I ring him up and put his books in a tote. I can feel him watching my every movement and it’s unnerving.

“Yeah, but you haven’t texted.”

“You only gave it to me three hours ago.”

“So, you were planning to text?”

When I don’t reply, he says, “That’s what I thought.”

He rests one elbow on the counter. “You know I thought you’d be more excited to see me. I meant it when I said I thought about that night in New York hundreds of times. I was kicking myself for not getting your name or number.”

“A thousand.”

“What?”

“At Sabrina’s engagement party, you said you thought about that night a thousand times.”

He grins. “A million, probably.”

“Wait. You’re the guy from New York?” Ruby appears out of nowhere and gawks between us.

I want to die inside.

Flynn, on the other hand, lights up. “You talked about me?”

“Only to say terrible things.” I usher him toward the door before my sister can say anything else.

“Nice to meet you,” Ruby calls after him. “Enjoy the books!”

He throws a hand over his shoulder. “Yeah. You too.”

I walk him all the way outside. Flynn laughs, still smirking at me. “What terrible things could you possibly have said about that night?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the part where I woke up and you’d snuck out.” I wish I could take the words back because I fear they give too much away. I was so embarrassed that morning. I still am.

“I did not sneak out.” He must read the thoughts swirling in my head that are screaming they don’t believe him because he adds, “I swear.”

“Well, you weren’t there when I woke up, so either you left me there or were hiding and hoping I’d see myself out.”

“My agent showed up at my door early that morning and said the general manager of the Renegades was in the lobby waiting to talk to me. I went downstairs to meet with him. I wasn’t gone long. Thirty minutes tops. You were asleep. I thought I would be back before you woke up. When you were gone, I felt awful. I knocked on the room next door and looked for you around the hotel. I even asked the doorman if he’d seen you, but he didn’t have much to go on since all I could say about you was that you were a gorgeous blonde with the prettiest blue eyes I’d ever seen and a smart mouth.”

I open said mouth and close it when I can’t think of a single thing to say in response. He hadn’t been running away from me? Maybe it says something about my luck with men that my mind automatically went there, but honestly, I never considered any other scenario.

“Let me take you out. We can catch up over dinner or drinks. I want to hear what you’ve been doing since then.”

The answer to that is not much. Work and Greer take up all my time. And the reminder of my daughter gives me another reason to shut this down. Flynn is interested in the single, carefree woman he met in New York. Not the busy, single mom who swore off dating after one too many disappointing dates. He likes the person he thinks I am. Not the one that I actually am.

“I can’t.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t push. He does linger a moment longer as if hoping I’ll change my mind.

When I don’t, he finally nods. “It was good to see you again. Thanks for the books.”

My stomach dips with an uneasy sensation that might be disappointment. It’s for the best, but I still don’t like it.

“You’re welcome.” I force a smile. “Try not to use them as coasters.”