Writing On The Wall (Between the Covers Book 1) Read online

  Writing on the Wall

  by Rae Oakley

  Between the Covers

  Book One

  Copyright © 2018 by Rae Oakley

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For more information, contact [email protected].

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used for fictional purposes. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Frankie's Playlist

  Fleetwood Mac - The Chain

  The Smiths - There Is A Light That Never Goes Out

  Hall & Oates - You Make My Dreams

  Tom Petty - Free Fallin’

  David Bowie - Heroes

  Sam Cooke - You Send Me

  Queen - Don’t Stop Me Now

  Led Zeppelin - D’Yer Maker

  Fleetwood Mac - Songbird

  Eagles - Hotel California

  Table of Contents

  Frankie's Playlist

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter One

  Scarlett

  I was comforted a little by the sound of my heels clicking on the hardwood floor of Between the Covers as I paced back and forth, going over the particulars of Friday's event again.

  My sister and business partner, Frankie, was switching out records on the vinyl player behind the counter. Fleetwood Mac's Rumours began blaring through the speakers, those familiar few guitar pickings instantly lifting my mood.

  I walked through the front of the store with its hip-height shelves, straightening Best Sellers and New Releases and Staff Favorites. This week my pick was the new Johanna Kissler memoir, Brave Souls.

  Seeing it on the shelf made my stomach flip over in equal parts excitement and terror. We were hosting an event for Johanna Kissler, a New York Times Bestselling Author, in just a few days and planning was still a little up in the air.

  To say I wanted nothing more than for the shop to succeed wasn’t quite right. I wanted the shop to not only succeed, but to be amazing. I wanted Between the Covers to be a landmark. An establishment, like the Strand. Or Powell’s. I wanted authors to get excited about reading here.

  And that all started with Johanna Kissler. That’s why it had to be perfect.

  I looked around the shop with pride.

  A brightly colored loft above was filled with children's books and a reading nook where mothers brought toddlers for morning readings on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

  The lower shelves in the front of the shop were interspersed with five smaller dining tables, perfect for enjoying a coffee and a new book.

  Further back on the main level, behind the lower front shelves, were floor-to-ceiling units stocked with new and used books covering more subjects than I could ever fathom reading.

  I inhaled and smiled: equal parts musty paper and the sweet richness of coffee.

  Along one side of the shop ran the cash register and coffee counter, where Frankie was currently drumming along with her best Mick Fleetwood impression.

  "Relax, Scarlett, it's only Monday," Frankie said with a wink. I paused in mid-step, shaking my head. Frankie had a creepy way of always knowing what was on my mind.

  Frankie's dog, Austen, came trotting out of the History section with Nico, the morning barista, right behind her, shooing the beefy pup along. "You little beggar," Nico said, pointing to the dog.

  I watched Austen grunt and woof at the attention, and I tried my hardest to suppress a grin as Nico rolled her eyes at Frankie laughing.

  "She's a spoiled little brat. She was trying to break open the fridge," Nico teased Frankie.

  "This angel?" Frankie’s voice raised an octave. The dog's large mouth split into her signature giant smile. "Look at that face and tell me she even has to start begging," Frankie said, waving her hand toward Austen.

  Even with the friendly banter, Fleetwood Mac's chanting and Austen's insistent woofing of innocence, I felt strangely calm. At home, even.

  Frankie and Nico were my closest friends, and the cashier who came in lat

  /1I didn't feel completely comfortable talking about too much in front of her yet. Professional boundaries, after all.

  My stomach growled, reminding me that being awake for five hours and not eating was a bad idea. With a wave to the other women, I grabbed my jacket and slipped out the front door, the bells affixed to the top jingling behind me.

  I took a deep breath, the crisp winter air invigorating me again, and leaned back against the brick doorway. It was my absolute favorite weather. The air was chilly but fresh. A perfect January morning in Denver.

  Our little bookshop was nestled in a great spot, near Union Station in LoDo, and though the traffic and parking was terrible, we still rarely had a moment without at least three customers browsing the aisles or sitting down with a coffee.

  The bookshop wouldn't open for another thirty minutes, but I was already growing anxious about the final plans for Friday's author reading. I took a deep breath, and tried not to panic about how Johanna Kissler was sure to be a huge draw.

  I was thrilled that Kissler had selected such a small indie shop for her reading, but having such a big name in our little store also made me stressed beyond belief.

  The list of things to get done was ever-growing.

  Rent chairs? Check.

  PA system working? Checked three times just that weekend.

  Tickets already sold out? Within hours.

  Hors-d'oeuvres ordered? Yes.

  The specific cupcakes Johanna had requested? Ordered, even though the shop I had to buy them from was across town instead of the bakery next door.

  My stomach rumbled at the thought of cupcakes. I almost always forgot to eat breakfast at home in my haste to get to the shop. I straightened my pencil skirt, pausing to look at my reflection in the bookshop’s window. I pushed a stray hair back into my pin-tight bun, correcting my posture before opening the bakery door.

  The overwhelming aroma of warm, buttery bread and sweets made me feel like I hadn’t eaten in years.

  "Morning, Scarlett," Cooper said, his familiar, wrinkled face pulled into a smile.

  I smiled and said good morning to the older man, who had been my shop neighbor for three years. I ordered the same thing each morning, a spinach and egg white sandwich on a whole grain roll.

  You could say I liked routines, and coming over to Cooper's Bakeshop was definitely one of my favorite parts of each morning. Cooper was as much of a constant in my life as my employees.

  Looking in the cases at all of the pastries and treats and smelling the delicious bread that lined the back wall in baskets was as almost comforting to me as the paper scent of the bookshop.

  I looked down at my wallet, grabbing my card out, and
glanced back up to ask Cooper about his morning, but momentarily forgot how to speak.

  Another man had appeared beside Cooper, someone I didn't recognize. He was in an apron, so apparently, he belonged there, but I’d have remembered that face. He had bright blue eyes and cheekbones carved from marble — solid, with a strong jaw. His light brown, reddish hair fell in loose curls around his ears, and his biceps flexed against the fabric of his shirt when he reached his hand out. My heart did a little skip and my stomach joined in with a flutter.

  Cool it, body, I scolded myself, knowing that there were way more important things to be thinking about this week. Besides, this guy was way too stunning to be a regular person. Undoubtedly, he was a model or actor with those looks, and thus, way out of my league.

  "You must be Scarlett," the man said with an easy smile.

  I stared at him for a second too long before reaching to shake his hand tentatively.

  "My nephew," Cooper said. "I told him to watch out for the librarian-type who means business. Told him you enjoy cutting people off at the knees. Scarlett Marin, this is Gabriel Nowak."

  Gabriel chuckled, shaking his head. "Wow, a last name introduction, even. Please, you can call me Gabe."

  "Nice to meet you, Babe," I said automatically, before realizing my mistake. "Gabe. Gabe. Not Babe." I cleared my throat, my cheeks flushing with heat.

  Gabe smiled as he ducked down to get something from under the counter. I was relieved that he was being a gentleman and not drawing attention to that silly slip-up. Babe? Jeez, Scarlett. Pull yourself together.

  He stood, brushing at the front of his apron.

  My eyes followed his hand, and I found myself staring where his fingers had just been. Oh, to be those fingers. Or even the apron, I considered.

  He cleared his throat, and I started with a jerk. Oh god, what had he asked me? "Hmm, what? Yes. The usual." I handed Cooper my card, trying my hardest not to make eye contact with Gabe.

  "Monday, huh?" Cooper grinned, typing in my order on the tablet in front of him and running the card. I swear I thought I saw a small, knowing twinkle in his eye.

  "Something like that," I said, only halfway paying attention before remembering myself. "Sorry, I must be really out of it today. We have this huge author coming on Friday, and there's a lot to do. Johanna Kissler, have you heard of her?" I was rambling, unable to stop words from coming out of my mouth as I stuffed the card back in my wallet.

  "Oh, yeah, she writes those dramatic, ‘find yourself' memoirs I see on the endcaps at Target, right?" Gabe said with a teasing grin, his dimples popping.

  I quirked a brow. "Or you may recognize her from the large display in our window," I said, signing my name. And there I was, back again, the Ice Queen. I mentally high-fived myself.

  "Did I say Target? I just meant your shop. Does Target even sell books? What's Target?" He said, raising his shoulders in an animated shrug.

  "Solid recovery," I said, smiling despite myself.

  The bakery was busy that morning, as I noticed it was most mornings, and Gabe was taking orders and grabbing pastries and loaves of bread out of the case in front of him. Despite the newness of him, I was struck by how he looked as though he fit in so naturally. He seemed to know where things were and how the bakery ran without having to ask questions.

  I was most definitely not struck by the way his thick hair curled around his ears. Or how broad his shoulders were, and how I could see the muscles in them move under his shirt as he reached for a bagel for the customer in line behind me. Or how his ass curved in those jeans…

  A young cook from the back walked up with my sandwich wrapped in white butcher paper, startling me from my daydream. I walked out with a small wave to Gabe and Cooper.

  I could have sworn someone called out, "Bye, babe," to me, but when I glanced over my shoulder, Gabe was leaning down, arranging croissants in the display case.

  I walked back to Between the Covers feeling a little lighter. My cheeks still felt warm, and I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. When I walked in the front door, Frankie and Nico were dancing behind the counter and singing into invisible microphones.

  Frankie noticed me, and dance-walked over, doing a dramatic dip in my path. I giggled, joining in by singing the next line of the song, which made Frankie raise an eyebrow as she righted herself. Frankie looked down at the sandwich in my hand and nodded her head in an understanding moment.

  "What?" I asked, looking down at the sandwich.

  "You met Gabe," Frankie said, matter-of-factly.

  Nico clapped, making an excited squeal.

  "What?" I repeated, looking back and forth between the two women. "What are you talking about?" Seriously with the mind reading, Frankie.

  "That smile, that saunter, we know it well. It's the look of ‘I Just Met Gorgeous Gabe From Next Door,'" Frankie said, leaning against the counter.

  "We both had it on Friday, didn't you notice?" Nico added. She fanned herself. "That jawline," she kissed her fingertips like an Italian chef. "In fact, I think I'm going to spend more time eating baked goods. I think I'm going on a pastry-only diet."

  "Oh, I, uh, didn't notice him," I lied, feeling self-conscious while both women stared at me with broad, knowing smiles.

  Both Nico and Frankie burst into hysterics. "Keep telling yourself that, sis," Frankie said with an obvious wink.

  I sighed, walking towards the office in the back of the shop. I had way bigger things to worry about than some good-looking guy. But that stupid, silly smile just kept returning, no matter how much I tried not to let it show.

  Chapter Two

  Gabe

  "Bye, Babe," I teased, watching Scarlett walk out the door to the bakery.

  Cooper chuckled beside me. "I've never seen any hint of frazzle on that woman before," he said.

  I didn't doubt that for one moment. But if I didn't stop thinking about her round ass in that pencil skirt and the whole Sexy Librarian look she had going on, I was about to get an extremely embarrassing erection. Wow, didn't expect that to happen to me in my thirties. Teens? Sure.

  I shook my head, clearing my thoughts.

  I couldn't be distracted. Getting distracted had gotten me into this mess.

  I had been back for about a week, and had only started in the store again on Friday. Of course, nothing had changed. Being at the bakery felt as natural to me as breathing. I would do a good job, even if this wasn't where I was staying. It was only a temporary gig.

  Uncle Cooper's Bake Shop. The one constant buoy in my mess of a life. I had grown up in this shop. It had been my first job, given me responsibility when I was in dire need of it, and had kept me coming back to Denver over and over again.

  Maybe that's where the teen hormones were coming from. Maybe there were just so many memories of my adolescence in these walls, I couldn't help but get caught up in feeling all of that again.

  A week ago, I had been a paramedic in Fort Collins, just an hour north of Denver. Before that, I had been on track to become a chef before realizing I hated working in a kitchen. Before that... well, the point is obvious. I have always reveled in being a drifter, unable to be tied down, but the last gig had actually turned into a passion. Being a paramedic had given me so much purpose, no matter where I was. Sure, the pay was awful and the work haunted me long after I had gone home, but it gave me a reason to get up each morning. I was saving lives. I was comforting people in their most terrifying moments.

  Until... I wasn't. Until I failed.

  I desperately needed a break from that life to figure out if it was even the right path for me.

  Up close, I let my emotions guide me too much. Taking a step back would help put things in perspective.

  That's all this bakery time was. Perspective. A break. It was not permanent.

  "Son, are you going to crush that bagel or put it in the bag?" Cooper asked from over my shoulder.

  I released my grip on the poor undeserving bagel. It hadn't done anything to me, after all
.

  I had been up since 3 am with my elbows in dough, and I was exhausted. Happy and fulfilled, but exhausted. I tossed the mangled bagel aside and grabbed a new one to toss into the slicer and toaster.

  I bent, grabbing a small tub of cream cheese out of our cooling drawer to toss into the bag with the bagel, when I heard giggles behind me.

  I turned to find Frankie and Nico from the bookshop next door with looks that said I had definitely just busted them for giggling like teen girls.

  At least I wasn't the only one feeling immature this morning.

  Cooper had already given me the rundown of the bookshop, as if the gossip subject was his favorite. He had told me that Frankie and Scarlett were sisters who owned the shop.

  He had figured out that Scarlett was driven and focused, and Frankie was rambunctious and wild. I had heard her extremely loud music from the backroom, and while she didn't have bad taste by any means, it was still pretty presumptuous to think that I'd want to listen to The Smiths at 7 pm on a Friday night.

  "Hey Frankie. Nico," I said, smiling. "Sorry, but we don't serve troublemakers." I made a half-hearted gesture towards the door with a shrug.

  Nico turned bright red, but Frankie clearly never missed a beat. Her grin switched to complete innocence, her eyes growing in size as she practically morphed into a Precious Moments doll right before me.

  "You would refuse two hungry women in need of a scone?" Frankie said.

  Frankie was exactly the type of woman I'd have gone for before coming back to Denver. She was funny, gorgeous, and kept me on my toes.

  But after meeting Scarlett this morning, I was surprised to find that it was definitely the older Marin sister who had caught my eye. They looked nearly identical with their dark hair and full, round lips, but something about Scarlett set my insides on fire.

  Which seemed crazy, right? I had met her for five minutes, and already she had gotten under my skin. I didn't know whether to lean into that feeling or take a cold shower.