Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 44474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
I continued on to Santa’s Corner, where the biggest Christmas tree in the west—or so the wooden plaque affixed to a stake in a bed of red geraniums claimed—stood sentry with a statue of Santa himself at the bottom of the slope leading to Holiday Lane, a.k.a., Main Street. At least I assumed it was the main road in town.
I spied a post office, a market, five tourist boutiques that sold holiday treats, a toy store called Elves R Us, Donner’s Diner, Rudolph’s Fudge Shop, Vicki the Vixen’s Coffee Café and Soup Cantina, and last but definitely not least, Moody’s Marvelous Bah Humbug Bookshop.
The street was awash with autumn leaves, but damn, they really wanted it to be Christmas here.
Every shop had a wreath; every other lamppost was adorned with garland. Granted, some went off brand with a nod to Halloween, which was a few weeks away, but the mistletoe and candy cane holiday vibes were strong. It was kitschy and a little kooky but thoroughly charming.
I parked in front of the bookshop and caught my reflection in the passenger’s side window as I paused to slip my cell into my pocket. My blue plaid flannel, basic white tee, worn Levi’s, and scuffed-up boots were my everyday uniform—the hat, too. I might have left my Stetson behind if I hadn’t finger-combed my dark hair till it stood on end, though. No point in scaring the natives.
According to my mother, that was a legit concern. I was a big guy with broad shoulders, thick biceps, and over the past six months or so, the consensus amongst those closest to me was that I looked mean as fuck and ready to choke a live rattlesnake.
“Smile, honey,” my mom had reminded me at the Denver airport. “I know you’re still hurting and I know it hasn’t been easy, but you’re better off now. And you’ll meet someone new.”
“I’m not hurting, and I’m not interested in meeting anyone at all, Ma. Thanks anyway.”
“Understandable,” she’d conceded. “Just do me a favor and practice smiling. You know, curve your lips on one side. That’s it. Now try the other side. Oooh, not quite. Keep tryin’, sugar.”
I nodded to a passerby, wrestling my mouth into something that felt like an approximation of a friendly expression as I pulled open the door to Vicki the Vixen’s Coffee Café and Soup Cantina.
On second thought, I’d try again later. The place was packed.
The shop was divided by a row of low bookshelves—coffee on the right, soup on the left, and bistro tables throughout the space. The soup section had a long-ass line that curved at the window. The blackboard above the marble counter gave a list of specials. Today’s soup du jour was Vicki’s famous chicken noodle. What do ya know?
An older gentleman with a handlebar mustache greeted me with an up nod. “Howdy.”
“Does it taste as good as it smells?”
“Better than, and worth the wait,” he replied, leaning in and cupping his hand to his mouth conspiratorially. “This is the lunchtime rush. In ten to fifteen minutes, you’ll get your soup and a window seat. Might want to head into the bookstore for a bit in the meantime. Tell ’em Bud sent ya.”
“Thanks for the tip. I’ll check it out.”
“Good idea. Moody has a nice selection and he’s a great guy…till Christmastime, that is. Then all bets are off.” Bud cackled uproariously as he pointed at the sliding glass door dividing Vicki the Vixen’s shop from Moody’s.
I wasn’t sure what to make of the warning, but I didn’t think much of it as I dodged a mom with a stroller and a couple decked in workout gear, and slid the door between the shops open.
Have you ever walked into a room and had an unexplainable sense of déjà vu?
I knew for a fact I’d never set foot into Moody’s Marvelous Bah Humbug Bookshop, but something here felt familiar. I chalked it up to the homey vibe of comfy leather chairs interspersed among the rows of curated books. I had a similar setup in my condo in Colorado, complete with a fireplace, but that wasn’t it.
This went beyond scent and ambience to something I couldn’t put a name to. I just knew that for the first time in days—no, a whole year—my shoulders slipped a few notches from my ears and I felt…relaxed.
“Hello!” a cheery voice called out from behind a stack of books. “Make yourself at home. If you have any questions, holler and I’ll be with you in a jiff.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, a real smile playing at the corner of my mouth as I wandered down an aisle dedicated to a potpourri of subjects, ranging from self-help to gardening to travel to sexual health.
My gaze naturally drifted to the sexier titles like, The G Spot, Finding Your O, and How to Please Your Lover. I reached for the last one but quickly pivoted to the gardening section and grabbed a random book with flowers on it when two older women shuffled toward me, their heads bent in conversation.