The Wrong Mr. Right (The Queen's Cove Series #2)
Stephanie Archer
1
Hannah
Only in my worst nightmares would I make eye contact with Wyatt Rhodes while a customer read orc erotica to me.
“Here,” Don, our town photographer and news blogger, said in my bookstore one morning. He adjusted his reading glasses and ran his finger down the page of the book. “This is the part where I knew something was up. Yeuk gave an almighty roar and the surrounding forest shuddered. His gargantuan shaft sprayed semen all over Lady Nicoletta, so much semen. Buckets of—”
“Okay.” I held a hand up. “I get it, Don. Please stop.”
“I saw the cover and I thought it was like Lord of the Rings.” He swallowed and stared out the front window of the shop, lost in thought and shaking his head a little. “It’s not,” he whispered. “It’s really not.” He flipped the page. Movement over his shoulder caught my eye.
Wyatt Rhodes stood shirtless in my bookstore, leaning on a bookshelf and watching us with amused curiosity. My stomach dropped through the floor.
Wyatt Rhodes was in my bookstore.
My gaze snagged on his abs. There were so many of them, stacked on top of each other like books on the shelf beside him. Abs for days.
Wyatt Rhodes owned a surf shop in town but spent most of his time on the water, training to go pro. He was over six feet, and the sun had lightened his dark blond hair. He always needed a haircut. He wore swim shorts and sneakers. He’d never been in Pemberley Books before and his gaze swept around the small space, taking in the worn carpet, the bookshelves in need of repair, and the stacks of books on the floor. Outside, the mural my mother had commissioned twenty years ago was faded and crumbling.
Embarrassment twinged in my stomach, and my face warmed.
Why was he here? He didn’t even know my name.
I tucked my hands further into the sleeve of my oversized sweater.
“Listen to this part.” Don cleared his throat. “Lady Nicoletta shoved the great orc down on the bed with all her might. ‘Give me your seed, orc,’” he read in a higher-pitched voice, and Wyatt’s eyebrows shot up.
I was going to die, right here in the bookstore.
Don lowered his voice to read the orc’s part. “Tiny human, my enormous pleasure wand is far too large for your tiny lady cavern. You will be destroyed by my enormous penis—”
“Thank you, Don.” I snatched the book from him, opened the cash register, and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill the store couldn’t afford to lose.
Don’s eyes widened when I slapped the money on the counter. “I don’t want a refund.”
A noise that sounded a lot like a snort came from Wyatt, but he covered his mouth with his hand. My gaze stayed glued to Don.
Don gestured at the shelves in the corner. “I just want you to move it from the fantasy section. It should be in erotica.”
We didn’t have an erotica section because we were a small-town bookstore, but I nodded vehemently. Anything to end this interaction. “I will, right away. Thank you.”
Don gave me a sidelong look before taking his book back, tucking it safely under his arm and leaving the store.
Ignoring Wyatt still leaning on the bookshelf, looking like a Greek god, I shuffled over to the shelf where the orc books sat and gathered them into my arms. There were six books in the series, and Liya, the other employee here, must have purchased them thinking they were fantasy. I carried them back to the desk and deposited them. I’d find a spot for them in the sprawling romance section later.
Wyatt still stood there. What did he want? I couldn’t ignore him forever.
The universe must have heard my wish because the bell on the front door tinkled and Thérèse swept into the store in all her elegance, charisma, and style.
“My darling Hannah,” she sang, gliding over.
Thérèse Beauchamp was the most elegant woman I’d ever met. She was French, so she said my name like ‘annah. She was Black and wore her natural hair in a short, stylish cut, and often painted her mouth in blood red lipstick that looked lovely against her deep skin tone. Thérèse always dressed as if she were about to step into a photoshoot. She was a social media influencer, so brands paid her to travel around the world, be gorgeous, and live a beautiful life.
Today, she wore faded, wide-leg blue jeans which fell above her ankles, a white silk button-up knotted at the waist, and black sandals. She clutched a black velvet bag under one arm and carried a paper shopping bag in the other. Her signature lipstick glowed with life in my shabby little store.
See? Simple, elegant, timeless. Sometimes, I didn’t know why she was even friends with me. We were so far apart in social status.
Thérèse breezed into the shop, right past Wyatt, and straight toward me. “Bonjour, Wyatt.”
He nodded to her. “Thérèse.” He didn’t move from his spot, still waiting for me.
I could escape out the back. Liya had left early but maybe if I went home, he’d get the message and leave.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like Wyatt. Everyone liked Wyatt. He was impossible not to like.
It was that I had had a crush on Wyatt for as long as I could remember, and I had no freaking clue how to talk to him. I could barely look him in the eye. The only men I could talk to were the fictional ones from the books I sold.