Page 5 of Bonfire and Bliss Bookstore

I huff, trying to think up a response to Babs that won’t make me sound pathetic. This has been the only con of my recent breakup: how obsessed the Liberty Ladies are with setting me up—with the mailman (he’s sixty and smells like foot powder), with Babs’s son (he’s married), with Jerry from the fire department (he tells everyone he sees dead people—and talks to them).

It’s been so relentless I’ve considered pretending I have an online boyfriend, though I don’t feel like being warned about catfishing.

While everyone else is concerned about my romantic prospects, I’m happy on my own. Besides, I have plenty of book boyfriends. I’d rather spend a night with a piece of maple pecan pie, a pumpkin spice tea, and a steamy book than stumble through an awkward get-to-know-you conversation while eating a salad.

I head inside my bookstore, smiling at the beautiful shelves bursting with all my favorite books. There’s only one rule I have when it comes to Bonfire and Bliss: the story must have romance and a happily ever after.

As I pass my Local Authors shelf, my fingers brush across the only books that break that rule: Jake Montgomery’s.

My lips lift into a smile the moment I think of him. I pull up our chat to see if he’s sent anything new. Since we reconnected in May, we’ve been exchanging random texts.

Monty: I would never tell you to take dating advice from Babs and Rayna, I promise.

Nope, nothing since that last message. I’m not sure why I hoped for more. Monty is a man of few words. Or at least he has been since we graduated high school and lost touch. It’s been nice to have this little bit of friendship back. Even if it’s just memes and a few stray texts every few days.

I spot the time on my cell phone and curse. Dammit. I’m going to be late if I don’t get a move on. I rush upstairs to my apartment, snag the books I’d set aside for today’s visit with Monty’s vovo, Ana, throw them in a tote, and change quickly, making it back down to the sidewalk in less than fifteen minutes.

The Montgomerys’ property is located around the harbor opposite downtown. Thankfully the air isn’t as sticky this late in the day and with fall around the corner, so it will make for a nice walk.

Hope Harbor is a small New England town, and while most people travel to Vermont or the Berkshires to see the wonders of fall, the areas on the coast—like Hope Harbor—are a secret among locals.

There is nothing prettier than when a maple tree turns orange and red against the sparkling blue of the ocean. Or when the harbor, dotted with sailboats, transforms from a glittering turquoise to a midnight blue under the autumn sun.

Every season in Hope Harbor is celebrated but nothing compares to this time of year.

As I stroll down Maple Lane, our version of Main Street, I take in all the little shops, housed inside deep redbrick buildings, weathered from centuries of standing tall. My neighbors are local shop owners who obsess over their crafts—homemade trinkets and pottery or artisanal foods that you can find at stores like Wicked Wine and Cheese, where Tally, Rosie, and I love to spend an evening sipping on a bottle of wine. Or two.

Next to Wicked Wine and Cheese sits a tiny boutique that sells one-of-a-kind birthday cards and presents. And just beyond that, at the end of the street, is the butcher and greengrocer, where locally grown fruit and vegetables spill out of gorgeous displays.

These businesses are the threads the community of this town is woven from. Hope Harbor is like an extended family; everyone supports one another and celebrates the many talents of our residents.

The hair salon Babs owns with fellow Liberty Lady Mindy is located on the bottom floor of one of the brick houses. It boasts a raspberry-pink awning, turquoise door, and stoop decorated with tulips and hydrangeas, both in various shades of violet, that I know she picked up from Walker or my mom at the farm.

I keep my head down as I pass, not wanting Babs to spot me. I’m on a mission to deliver Ana’s books.

I’m so focused on avoiding the town’s aspiring matchmaker that I fail to see the person walking toward me until I practically run him down.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite bookworm,” Eli Davis announces, grabbing me by the shoulders to stop me from bowling into him.

I roll my eyes and pull back. Eli is the biggest flirt I know, and there’s an easy smile on his gorgeous face. It’s devastating how Mother Nature made this man so handsome. And funny. And good at almost everything he puts his mind to. Every girl had a crush on him in high school, though he’d tell you playing hockey was his one true love.

Until last year, when he suffered a career-ending injury and left New York, where he was playing in the NHL, to return to Hope Harbor. I can’t imagine that’s how he wanted his career to end, though you’d never know. Eli came home with a grin that hasn’t left his face since.

“Heading in for a haircut?” I ask him now, my eyes straying to the golden locks that curl perfectly above his strong brow. He’s got a wave that hockey players call a flow, a fact I picked up from all the hockey romance books I’ve devoured. I know a lot about hockey now. I know a lot about other sports, too. And stalking. And aliens.

Unlike probably every other woman who’s met Eli, I’ve only ever seen him as a friend. And while all the other girls at school were fawning over him, I only had eyes for one boy. Though I most certainly am not thinking about him right now. After everything that happened with Dick, I’m not interested in men. Or dating at all. And even if I was, that specific man doesn’t live here, and would certainly never be interested in dating me if he did.

“Nah, just getting in my steps.” Eli runs his hand through his amazing hair before flashing me another grin. “You looking forward to Babs’s surprise later?”

Eli is a kindred spirit when it comes to loving the town chat, so I’m not surprised that he’s aware of this latest development.

I grimace. “I wish everyone would stop worrying about my dating life so much.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Just tell them you’re dating someone. Isn’t that what happens in all those books you read?” He waggles his brows suggestively. “I could even play pretend if you want.”

“Please.” I scoff. “No one would believe it. You are the perpetual bachelor. But thanks for the offer.”

I give Eli a quick wave, ignoring his pity-boyfriend offer, before continuing my journey to Ana’s house. Is this what my life has come to? Everyone worrying about poor Penny and her terrible taste in men?