That’s okay. Time to focus. Sell books, win the money, and fix Barbra.
I crack my knuckles. And, as a bonus, show Jake Kaplan where he can shove it.
* * *
The rest of the morning and the early afternoon rush by in a blur. I jump from customer to customer, chatting, charming, and generally hand-selling my arse off, not letting anyone even think of leaving the store without a book. My stack of QR codes dwindles so low that I have to pick up a second batch from Myra, who looks quite impressed. This competition will be a breeze. No one wants the bonus as badly as I do, and even if they did, definitely no one can sell books as well as Shoshanna Greenberg.
Just now, I have my next victim in sight.
And by “victim,” I mean “lucky person about to receive excellent service.”
I don’t jump on customers the second they walk into the store. That’s too aggressive, especially since our clientele lean toward the introverted. A simple Welcome, let me know if you need anything is okay but nothing more assertive than that. Book lovers adore a nice, silent browse, and I’m not out here to ruin that for anyone.
But this guy has been staring at the same adult fiction shelf for a full three minutes, and he looks perplexed. Like his brow is literally furrowed. It’s officially time for friendly interference.
“Hi!” I smile as I approach. “Can I help you?”
My smile brightens when I notice the guy is my age and more than a little cute. He’s tall and has thick blond hair. Blond normally isn’t my thing, but he kind of looks like the golden-haired bladesmith in Time Stands Still, so it’s working for me.
“Ah, sure, thanks!” the guy answers. He gives me a once-over, and I twirl my hair without an ounce of shame.
“Are you looking for anything specific?” I ask, while noticing Jake hovering nearby, probably pretending to straighten shelves while stealing bookselling tactics from the master. Good. Let him experience my brilliance.
“Yes, I’m looking for this book…” The guy trails off and runs a hand through his hair. His beautiful, shiny blond hair. Is he as caring and strong as the bladesmith Bryant? Can he carry an injured female warrior, decked in her armor, on his back for a full day and night?
Okay, focus, Shoshanna. This is about a sale, not about flirting. I tilt my head to the side and play with the chain of my necklace. Maybe a little flirting.
“Mm-hmm,” I say. “What’s the title?”
He shakes his head. “Can’t remember. Sorry.”
“That’s all right! Who’s the author?”
“Afraid I don’t know that, either.”
My smile falters, just for a second. “Okay, no problem at all!”
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Jake holding back laughter. My neck heats, but I soldier on. This isn’t the first time this has happened, and it won’t be the last. “What’s your name?” I ask.
“Ryan,” he answers with an easy grin.
Ryan. Oh my god. So close to Bryant. “Ryan, do you remember what the book is about? Or perhaps what the cover looks like?”
There’s an elongated pause and an intense facial expression, like he’s calculating the propulsion needed to launch a shuttle into space. Finally, he looks back at me with yet another easy grin. “Blue?”
“Right.” I clear my throat. “Blue.”
“Maybe blue.”
My jaw tightens. “Okay. Maybe blue. And is it fiction or nonfiction?”
He stares at me blankly.
It’s amazing how quickly attraction to someone can evaporate.
At that exact moment, Jake steps forward and stands in front of me, essentially hiding my entire five-foot frame from Ryan’s view. “Hey.” Jake throws out his hand for a shake. “I’m Jake. Nice to meet you, man.”
I shove Jake’s elbow to make room for me by his side. “His name is Ryan,” I mutter as they shake hands.
Jake ignores me. “So is this book a real story or one someone made up?”
“A real story!” Ryan answers, eyes lighting up with the enthusiasm of a Labrador retriever setting sight on a tennis ball. “About President Jimmy Carter.”
“Fantastic!” Jake claps Ryan on the back. “So we’ll head over to the biography section. If you’ll follow me…” Jake freezes. “Um…”
I turn to him and bat my eyelashes. “Something wrong there, Jake?”
When his eyes lock with mine, I feel a spark in my stomach, but I keep my shoulders squared. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Where’s the biography section?”
I press a hand to my chest. “Oh, do you need my help?”
“Shoshanna.”
Why does he have to say my name like that? Almost in a growl. I swallow hard and try to collect myself, but then Jake is looking past me. “Hey, Daniel!” he calls out. “Help me for second, yeah?”
“Sure thing!” Daniel strides toward us. “Heya, Shosh.”
“Daniel,” I reply curtly. And then before I can stop it, all three guys walk off to the biography section without me. My sale walks off without me. I let out a tense breath. Damn you, Jake Kaplan. It’s not like he has a chance of winning this competition, but stealing a sale might hurt my odds against someone else, might threaten my chance of fixing Barbra.
“Tough luck,” a voice says.
I startle and then spin around to find Sophie-Anne leaning against an endcap of science-fiction novels. “Have you been here the whole time?” I ask.
She loops forward and clasps a hand on my shoulder. “What is time?” Then she drifts away, long black skirt billowing out behind her.
“Right,” I mutter, turning around. “Well, at least she isn’t my competition.”
“Are you talking to yourself?”
I glance behind me. Sophie-Anne is back. I give a stiff smile and walk away.
* * *
The food court is way over capacity, every table and chair taken, lines so long they’re definitely breaking fire codes, people jammed into every corner and crevice as Christmas music competes with their raucous voices. My skin itches. Ugh, people. Don’t get me wrong—I like some people, but massive crowds of strangers? No thanks.
“Let’s get smoothies,” Cheyenne says, taking both my hand and control of the situation. “Looks like the shortest line. Probably because it’s thirty-three degrees outside.”
“Um.” I hold us back for a second. “I’ve got to save up money to fix Barbra, but I can wait in line with you?” I’m planning on a lunch of tea and biscotti in the break room, plus one of the granola bars I always have stuffed at the bottom of my tote bag.
“Oh, no worries,” Cheyenne says. “I’ll buy you one.”
“No, that’s okay. You don’t have to.”
She gives me a look. “It’s seriously no problem, Shosh.”
I relent with a small smile, and we get in line and place our orders. Cheyenne hands over her card like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Thanks,” I say, twisting my fingers together. It’s strange, having a friend with more money than you. I wish I wasn’t aware of it—I wonder if she’s aware of it. I guess I’m more focused on money than usual with the stress of saving up for Barbra. I don’t want her repair to be the source of more fighting at home.