Page 58 of Hushed

The Book Nook is not what I expected. There’s something green on the roof, like a garden. Inside, there’s a little coffee shop that’s empty, and some new releases. Signs at the elaborate staircase at the back announce that nonfiction is on 2 and used books are on 3. I find the merchandise table near the front and start going through it, and there is in fact a stack of honeybee shirts, and I pick up the same one four times.

“Well,” a woman with a French accent says. “You must be Levi.”

She’s in jeans and a motorcycle jacket this morning, with her hair in a braid over one shoulder. I recognize her instantly from the Bean Stop.

“Hi,” I say.

“Delphine Mercier.” She puts her hand out. “I assumed you would be here.”

“I needed a shirt. For my friend.”

“Of course.” Her smile doesn’t move at all. She takes my arm. “Come. Let’s look at books. I like stories. Do you like stories?”

“Depends on the story. I’d rather stay here.” I look over my shoulder at the front door.

“You are fifteen minutes early and Anthony is never on time.” She steers me into fiction, where I can’t see the coffee area at all, which I’m fairly sure is the point.

“What do you want?” I ask.

“The question is what do you want?” She takes a paperback off the shelf and turns it over, scanning the back. “And what does he want. Those are not the same question, and it would save everyone a great deal of trouble if people would stop pretending they are.”

“If you’re here to warn me off, don’t bother. He made it clear.”

She looks up. “Oh, don’t be a fool. He is in love with you.”

The floor moves about a half inch.

“Say that again.”

“I will not. Once is enough, and I have already said more than I intended to.” She puts the book back and takes down another one.

“Did he tell you that?”

“Why do you think I’m here?”

“Because you’re his friend?”

She shrugs. “I’m a strategic friend. This place nearly finished me and I intend to be repaid. I want allies.” She turns the second book over and reads the back of that one too.

Someone comes down the aisle with a stack of hardbacks. He’s a big man, well over six feet, dark curly hair, hands with scabbed knuckles. He glares at Delphine, sets his stack on the floor, takes the book out of her hands, and puts it back where it belongs.

“Ghost!” she says, delighted. “My goodness, you’re everywhere.”

“Professor Mercier.” He straightens and pops his neck. “That problem ever come back?”

“No. It’s all in the past.”

He nods once and turns to me, and Delphine says, “Ghost is normally the bouncer at Cage.”

“Bartender now,” he says. “Georgia says I’d make more money if I smiled at people. Danny needed somebody to fill some shifts.”

“Do you ever smile?” I ask

He rolls his sleeve to expose an extremely toned bicep. “Do I need to?”

“Not really.” He oozes sex and bad-boy confidence.

“Honestly,” Delphine says. “It’s a shame you both prefer men. I know women who would pay handsomely to be surrounded by so much testosterone. Shoo,” she tells Ghost.