Chapter 7: Vicious Bonds: Chapter 7

I didn’t expect rain when I left my apartment, and I curse beneath my breath as I hop out of my car with a magazine over my head and rush to the entrance of Lit & Latte’s.

I yank the front door open and lower the magazine as the bell above the door gives a light jingle.

“You made it!” Faye shouts from the middle of the bookstore. She bounces around a display table, dressed in a green midi-knit sweater and combat boots. Her thick, curly black hair is pulled up into a sleek bun, tendrils hanging around her heart shaped face and the nape of her neck. She pushes one of the tendrils off her tawny cheek, grinning from ear to ear, while I stand by the door, nearly damp and fighting a scowl.

“You’re lucky I love you,” I grumble as she approaches me, wrapping her arms tight around my shoulders.

“I know. I’m the luckiest bitch in the world.” When she releases me, I slide some of my locs behind my shoulders. She walks to the café counter and plucks a few napkins out of the holder. After I dry off as best as I can, she says, “Come on. Help me set up the chairs.”

I follow Faye through the bookstore, walking past a round display table that contains the latest fictional book releases, then past the café counter with a “closed for now” sign pitched on top of it. There are cupcakes and other pastries behind the dome glass, and the espresso machine is still on, which means they’ll most likely be using the café tonight during the open mic as well.

My eyes wander to the stairs leading up to the second floor. They’ve added string lights to the stair railing, as well as hanging plants above. I bet adding both was Faye’s idea. It was her idea to add more lights and plants to the entire first floor to make it feel cozier and at home, give it a hygge vibe.

Faye moves past the seating area, where there are plush, neutral-colored floor pillows and green velvet couches. All the square, wooden tables that are normally organized in the center of the floor have been lined up and pushed against the backwall, replaced with three stacks of chairs.

Faye goes for the first stack while I continue looking around the store, pleased with the warmth of it. Weather sucks in North Carolina when it’s mid-November and raining. Fortunately, the electric fireplace hums with life by one of reading nooks, the LED flames gleefully crackling, and the heater emitting enough heat to warm me up. I take off my jacket, feeling at ease as I begin to help Faye line the chairs into rows.

“You good today?” Faye asks as she sets up her last chair.

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Just okay?” She eyes me as she picks up a clipboard.

“Could always be better,” I return with a shrug. “You know that.”

She lowers the clipboard with a sad smile. “Aw. What’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing,” I tell her, waving a hand. I could tell her about my Garrett situation, but I don’t feel like going there right now. “Listen, don’t worry about me. Let’s focus on your event tonight.”

She gives me a onceover, her eyes traveling up and down the damp length of me, then she sighs and says, “When the night is over, you’re telling me what’s really on your mind,” while pointing her pen at me.

I smile at her as she walks behind the counter of the café. She disappears behind the swinging door of the kitchen, and I turn to look at the front of the room where a red curtain hangs on the wall, a single microphone on a stand in the middle of the area. It’ll be where the guests perform.

Faye returns with a tray full of fruits and cheeses and hands it to me. “You can set these up on the back tables,” she says.

“Got it.” I take the tray and head to the square tables to set the individual plates down neatly. By the time I’m done unloading the tray, there are people entering the bookstore already, shaking the rain off, and murmuring to each other.

Faye welcomes them all in, scans their virtual tickets from their phones, and as she does, one of the employees enters, apologizing for her tardiness. Faye tells her it’s no big deal, but immediately gets her behind the bar of the café to get coffee going. Then she trots to me after getting some of the guests settled in, an anxious smile on her lips.

“I forgot the wine in the basement and more people are about to walk in,” she whispers nervously, wringing her fingers together. She only does that with her hands when she’s on edge.

“Hey, don’t worry.” I grab her hands. “That’s why I’m here. I can go get it. Where in the basement is it exactly?”

“On the shelf straight ahead when you go down the stairs. There’s a whole case in a black crate. You can’t miss it.” She wipes the skin above her brow with relief, even though there’s no sweat there.

“You’ve got it.”

“Thank you so much, Willow.”

A couple enters the store, and she smiles at me before rushing to greet them.

I make my way across the store, passing the employee lounge, which is set up with plenty of seating and tables, a refrigerator, microwave on the counter, and a box of what looks like donuts from Phil’s. I approach the oak door that leads to the basement and grip the copper doorknob, swinging it open. It’s dark as hell, so I immediately grab the switch above and yank it. The bulb in the ceiling illuminates the basement, buzzing as it clings to the light. Even with it, the idea of going down there creeps me out. Of course, I wasn’t going to tell Faye this. She’s my bestie and I can’t fail her now.

I glance over my shoulder as a woman walks out of the restroom with a relieved sigh, then I draw in a breath, exhale, and make my way down the rickety wooden steps.

I spot the black crate she mentioned before I even make it to the bottom of the staircase, and relief floods me because at least I won’t have to spend too much time searching for the wine.

I make my way across the basement, stepping between rumpled boxes and stacks of old books that smell like wet paper. There’s a small window above the shelf, and I can see the rain really coming down, pelting on the blades of grass.

Reaching the crate, I pull out one of the bottles of wine. Riesling.

“Good choice,” I murmur, studying the label. I check the alcohol percentage, but it’s as I’m checking it that I feel a cool gust of wind drift past me, shifting a strand of my hair.

Frowning, I lower the bottle and turn around, but when I do, my heart plummets.