Excerpt of Nevermore Bookstore by Cynthia St. Aubin, Kerrigan Byrne

Exclusive Nevermore Bookstore Excerpt – Fresh Fiction

The set-up: For stubbornly optimistic small-town bookstore owner Cady Bloomquist, her weekly phone calls with Fox are the perfect opportunity to escape a body that frequently makes life difficult for her, and a life whose challenges are stacked against her. Despite her attempts to convince herself that their conversations are best kept strictly business, she finds herself straying ever closer to pleasure.

Fox is a mountain man survivalist who no longer has use for the civilized world. When he’s alone in the wilderness, he relies on books to keep him tethered to his humanity. In order to obtain the books, he places an order with a local bookshop every week. What began as a customer/seller relationship quickly bloomed into something more as the connection to the woman on the other end of the line became undeniable. Now, he’s developed impossible feelings for a woman he’s never even laid eyes on before. 

Here is where one of their conversations lead:

EXERPT:

“Can I ask you something?” The tone of her voice pierced his warm haze with doubt.

Running a hand over his still-drying hair, he tugged with frustration at his uncharacteristic lack of control lately. “Nothing good ever follows that question, but…yeah.”

“Are we… And tell me if I’m totally up in the night…or if I’m reading things weirdly…or if… Well, I’ll just ask it. Are we, like, flirting? Er. Were we just flirting? I felt like we were flirting, but I’m not always super great at telling. I swear, in order to get me to realize someone is interested in me, I’m pretty sure they’d have to bash me over the head and carry me back to their Neanderthal cave.” Her nervous laughter repeated when he didn’t instantly reply.

Fox surveyed his surroundings. He’d bash his own brains out before rendering a woman unconscious, but a Neanderthal cave?

That, he had covered. Kinda.

There was no way around it. “Yeah. One could say we were flirting just now,” he answered carefully.

“Okay, phew, I just didn’t want to be inappropriate with a…a…? Customer? Frrrriend?” Her audible swallow charmed him more than that little fawn and her obsession with his bell.

“Be as inappropriate as you want.” He needed to hang up. Hang up now! Think of a reason to let her go, you sack of shit!

He opened his mouth to inquire as to why she was doing her financials so obviously impaired when she cleared her throat. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Of course.”

“Why don’t you ever, like—I don’t know—send me pictures of your dick?”

Fox had been choked by many things, but swallowing his own tongue was entirely new. “Do you…want pictures of my dick?” Because they didn’t exist—he had no camera, and also, why the fuck would anyone send one without a very obvious request?

She paused. “No?”

“Was that a question?”

He could feel her squirming in her chair, so strong and obvious was her silent distress. “You’re different from most guys our age, that’s all. We’ve been talking for months, and…you’re always… Well, you’re just…you know, you’re just… Well, you’re great.”

“Great?” The word tasted like “I love you like a brother.” Which should have been fine…but also made him want to lick a skunk’s ass to get rid of the flavor.

“Fffffffantastic?”

Ouch “Do you know how many question marks would be in this conversation if someone transcribed it?” he joked, trying to give her a way out of a very perilous situation with levity.

“I can’t land on a word!” she complained, as if she couldn’t decide which chocolate to pick from a fancy box. “Something exciting and attractive and considerate and intense and mysterious. I daresay enigmatic.”

It’d been an entire eternity since Fox blushed, but a warmth creeping up his neck and into his ears told him he was the most pathetic human alive. “You’re landing on a whole mess of words there, Cady.”

Audible swallow. “Too many?”

“Not if you mean it.” He literally bit down on his lip so hard he tasted blood. Stop. Fucking. Talking. Man.

He should just walk into the sea. End it.

There was torture he could take. And then there was this. This inconceivably exquisite torment.

Somehow his hand had worked its way to the waistband of his pants.

Fox sat listening to her fight for breath as he grappled with his own lungs. All her feminine thoughts audibly vibrated through him with detectible delicacy, like cogs in the most intricate watch.

He should say something.

“I’d never send you a picture of my dick.”

He should have said anything but that.

“Well, now I’m wondering if there’s something wrong with it.”

“Trust me, woman, it gets the job done.” Was that a sexual challenge? From him?

How did they get here?

“I-I’m not— I didn’t mean— I’m not requesting—” Laughter warmed her embarrassment as she took a moment to find the words. “Well, the whole point of the question was, like… We’ve been chatting for several months. Friendly. Er…flirting, one could say. And you’ve never tried to take it further or push boundaries.”

Well. Yeah. “Is that bad?”

“Not so much,” she said after a pause. “It’s refreshing, actually. But I guess I just wondered if… Well, I thought we might… I mean, since you have your deliveries picked up by hand, you might be local-ish…”

A wave of dread threatened his teeth-clenching arousal. Here it was. The capital-T Thing. The conversation that would shatter the purity of what they had.

He couldn’t ask her to dinner. A movie was so far out of the question that the very thought of it made his ass itch.

He certainly couldn’t take her home.

He couldn’t love her. Touch her. Talk to her.

He could not want her.

He’d never wanted anything so bad in his life.

“Cady… I can’t—”

“Shh!”

“I’m sorry?” Did she just shush his gentle rejection? Had anyone dared shush him in his entire godforsaken life? His rancher mother, from whom he’d derived a tough hide, the work ethic of an ox, and a backhand Conor McGregor would envy, was the lone person in his memory.

And when she shushed, you shushed the fuck up.

Or you would answer to his father. A quiet, simple, patient man with a green thumb and fists the size of jackhammers.

A paternal trait he’d inherited. The fists, not the green thumb.

He was better at killing things than making them grow.

“I thought I heard something downstairs…” Cady took a moment to listen, and he took a moment to not lose his entire mind. “It’s fine—it’s probably just Gemma.”

“Probably?”

“Yeah, no one else comes here this time of night. She’s probably making sure I got home and into bed okay.”

Probably was his least favorite word. “Why would she do that?”

“Um…” She hesitated.

As much as Fox’s well-honed instincts told him he could trust Cady, she was a woman who kept a secret from him. One he wasn’t entitled to know…

One he ached to discover.

“You know how fierce female best friends can be. We take care of each other.”

He couldn’t think of anything sweeter. “I guess we’re both about to yell at you for not locking your doors this late.”

“What’s weird is that I swear I did,” she said in absent wonder. “Like, I remember because I am watching Mr. Henery’s cat, Kevin Costner, and he’s a wily little escape artist.”

“Kevin Costner? Or Mr. Hen—” Whipping his blanket off, Fox bolted upright, struck by a dark bolt of dread. “Last time we spoke, you said Gemma doesn’t have a key.”

“Oh yeah.” Hesitancy crept into her tone. “Um… Hey, Gem?” she called out. “Gemma, is that you? I’m on the landing.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, woman, don’t give away your position!” he barked.

Calm down. It’s probably just the fucking cat.

“Oh, please, this is Townsend Harbor—we have fewer break-ins than Fort Knox,” she replied. “The last violent thing to happen here was before I lost my—”

The abrupt cessation of her words jarred him into action. “Cady?” he said as he surged to his feet. “Cady, what’s happening? Talk to me.”

“They—they broke something,” she whispered.

Fuck.

“It’s not the cat?”

“I just remembered I shut him in Fern’s old parlor.” She sounded so small. And so fucking far away.

Nine miles, to be exact.

His blood froze, heart plummeting from a cliff into a void. The flat of his hand struck the stone. He wanted to punch, to roar, and destroy.

But he needed to save his knuckles for a deserving face.

“Get behind a locked door, Cady,” he said in a tone measured with precise elements of authority, gentleness, calm, and urgency. “Get behind a locked door and call 911.”

Nevermore Bookstore is officially live on March 28th, and we hope readers will have us much fun meeting Fox and Cady as we did writing them!