The Hot Mess and the Heartthrob(51)

“Were you flirting with my sales associate?” I ask him.

“Only if do you know calculus is a pick-up line.” He leans his elbows on the counter, the sleeves of his dark denim jacket hitching up just enough for the ink on his wrists to peek out. “Do you know calculus?”

He has presence, I’ll give him that. “Are you a student?”

“No.” He grins—not a full grin, mind you, but just enough to let you know he’s amused—and he suddenly looks weirdly familiar, though I can’t place him.

“Professor?” I probe.

“Professional geek.”

“Have you been in here before?”

“Nope.”

“Then welcome to Penny for Your Thoughts. Is there a particular book on wave mechanics you’re looking for?”

“One I haven’t read yet.” He accompanies his answer with a sly smirk.

No wonder Yasmin was flustered. “Do you have a list of books you have read?”

“No.”

“Great. If we’re special-ordering, which we’ll have to, that opens the doors to a lot more books. Let’s see what we can do. I’m Ingrid. And you are…?”

“That’s classified.”

“A handful, then. Got it.”

I pull up my supplier’s database and settle in for the challenge, peeking at Hudson and listening for the girls. We’re fourteen books deep before I find one that Mr. Mystery hasn’t read, but he takes one look at the author, snorts in derision, and suggests I go back to looking again.

Four more books that he’s already read later, my children make their presence known. “Mom! Piper ripped a book!”

“I did not! It was already ripped!”

“Bookstore voices, girls,” I call back. “You know what to do with damaged books.”

“She pushed me!”

“She won’t let me through!”

“She’s trying to hide the book she broke!”

“Mama, I’m being the good one,” Hudson says from the floor.

My customer’s lips twitch with his almost-grin again. “Do you have the new Dog Man book?”

“Most likely.”

“I’ll just take that, please.”

Is he serious?

I try to hide my reaction, but his lips twitch once more as he rocks back on his heels. “Quality literature.”

“The kid section is behind you. Can’t miss it. Look for the massive yellow duck and the For The Adorable Anklebiters sign. Excuse me. I need to go break up a fight.”

By the time I’m finished sending the girls upstairs, Yasmin’s helped Mr. Mystery find his Dog Man book and sent him on his way. She flits back to the stockroom, where I’m inspecting the torn book, with her hand over her heart. “Ingrid. Do you know who that was?”

“He wouldn’t tell me his name.” I suddenly realize Hudson’s still alone behind the cash register with an iPad in hand. Knowing Hudson, he’s probably found either porn or a political talking head show.

I set the book down and set a path for my youngest.

Yasmin follows. “That was Davis Remington.”

I’m focused enough on getting to Hudson that it takes me the full length of the store for the name to penetrate.

Davis Remington.

The one member of Bro Code who basically disappeared after the band split.

One of Levi’s neighborhood friends. I know they stay in contact, because he’s mentioned him a time or two.

I have my phone pulled out, ready to text Levi to ask if he’s been talking to his family and friends about me, when I spot Hudson standing on the checkout counter, reaching for—actually, what is he reaching for?

“Hudson.”

“It Charlotte, Mama.”

A spider.

He’s reaching for a spider dangling off its thread, hanging in the middle of my grandmother’s bookstore.

I shudder.

Holly, who’s coming down the stairs, shrieks.

Hudson goes up on his tiptoes, and there’s no question in my mind what’s about to happen.

It’ll involve him losing his balance, toppling off the counter, landing on his head, and needing stitches.

I dive for him.

Yasmin dives for the spider.

Holly shrieks again, comes running, and dives for Hudson and me.

And the four of us end up rolling on the floor together as the bells jingle merrily over the door, opening for a woman with twins in a double stroller.

She stares at all of us, stuck with her stroller wheel caught so she can’t get fully in, and I manage to get out, “Hi, welcome to Penny for Your Thoughts. We’ll be right with you.”

Her bottom lip trembles as she studies the four of us tangled on the rug, and then she bursts into tears. “Oh my god, this really is where I belong!”

Yasmin and I share a look. “Self-help,” I say.

“Board books,” she says.

“Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate?” Holly asks.

The woman sobs harder. “Sorry. I don’t normally—it’s the hormones—I haven’t left my house in six days—self-help sounds great.”

“Mama, what’s hornymoans?” Hudson asks.

“They’re what get us into trouble in the first place, baby.”