But the shelves are near the floor, and what else am I supposed to do? Bend over? Guess he’s not thrilled to find me kneeling at the feet of another man. Nico leans against the bookshelves, watching me work with strong arms folded over his chest and a sour expression. “This one’s super cute, it’s about a mouse who opens a bakery-” By the time footsteps prowl around the shelves, I’m kneeling on the polka dot rug and pulling glossy kids’ books off the shelves. I’m so wrapped up in serving the maybe-dentist that I don’t notice the tinkling bell of someone entering the shop. This is my favorite part of running a bookshop: chatting with customers and finding them the perfect read, like some literary matchmaker. I snort, leading the poor guy over to the kids’ section, and already I’m more awake. Is she into horses or ballet? Ice skating or softball?” Hell yeah I do, and I’m already grinning, pushing away from the shelf. “Any chance you know what five year old girls are reading these days?”

He’s wearing a smart gray coat and a red tartan scarf, and on the spot, I decide he’s probably a dentist.

A customer stands in the center of the store, hands spread in a goofy plea. “Excuse me.” A man’s deep voice pulls me out of my daydream, and I glance over from where I’m sorting the letter Ps back into alphabetical order. The hours they spent in my bookshop were the most alive I’ve felt in months. Nico and Raul were exciting, I’ll give them that. The radio plays nothing but holiday tunes, and my jaw cracks every time I yawn. He’s a grown-ass mobster he can take care of himself.įor hours, I serve customers in a dreamy haze, taking breaks when the shop is quiet to neaten up the shelves and dust the display tables. It’s cloudy out today, with fluffy white snowflakes dancing on the breeze. Thursdays always do-they’re sleepy days, when the traffic outside is muffled like the cars are wrapped in cotton wool, and even the ticking store clock seems lethargic. Even Aunt Karen has better survival instincts than this. It’s messed up that I want to see my mobster again so badly. Nor do I think Raul was my biggest fan, but in my defense, he was way too casual about threatening to kill me. Will I ever meet them-you know, and live to tell the tale?Ĭan’t imagine the mafia settling down to Thanksgiving dinner.

Mistletoe Mobster by Cassie Mint