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  Crave

  Cherished Choices Book 3

  Tessa Vidal

  Copyright © 2019 by Tessa Vidal

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  1. Amber

  2. Simona

  3. Amber

  4. Simona

  5. Amber

  6. Amber

  7. Simona

  8. Amber

  9. Simona

  10. Amber

  11. Amber- 12 Years Ago

  12. Simona

  13. Simona- 21 Years Ago

  14. Amber

  15. Simona

  16. Amber

  17. Simona

  18. Amber

  19. Simona

  20. Amber

  21. Simona

  Epilogue- Christy

  Thank You For Reading!

  About the Author

  Amber

  “I am closing the bookstore at the end of the month.”

  My heart sank. Crying wouldn’t be helpful, only make things worse. I wiped a few escapees with the back of my hand, then glanced up and saw Kathryn’s beautiful, lined face trembling, tears sliding down her cheeks. My best friend and co-worker Christy sat with her mouth open. Silence settled over us until I finally broke it.

  “Why? I thought sales were up, especially over last year…” My voice sank to a whisper. Sales had nothing to do with it. I gazed at the photo of Kathryn’s deceased husband Bartholomew. It hung on the wall behind the cash register, a light layer of dust covering it.

  “I can’t do it anymore. Bartholomew’s Books was his business. For the last two years I’ve backed away, letting you two run it for me.” She sipped her coffee from the chipped china tea cup she always drank from. Kathryn lifted her head, staring at the bookshelves behind us.

  “My sister wants me to live with her in Alabama. I’ll miss Raleigh, but my life ended here when Bartholomew passed. I’d appreciate it if you two would help me close the shop over the next few weeks. I will give you three months severance, so you will have time to find new jobs.” She stared into my eyes for the first time since she had dropped her bombshell. I’d always liked my employer, loved her even, and I knew this couldn’t be easy. I also knew taking care of her dead husband’s bookstore must have been hell.

  “I, I can’t express how much this job has meant. I’ve been coming here since I was a kid. Bartholomew’s is like my second home.” Christy put her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking as sobs quietly escaped. I placed my palm on her back, wanting to take her pain away. I was feeling it too, but I resisted giving in to tears. I wiped my eyes again and gazed at Kathryn. She stood and walked around the table and sat on the other side of Christy.

  “Oh dear child, I would do anything to make your pain go away, but I have to move on with my life.” Her manicured fingers stroked the thick blonde hair Christy was so proud of.

  I stood up too quickly and almost fell down, my knees trembling. My eyes scanned the floor to ceiling bookshelves. I loved the ancient shelves from the moment I first saw them twelve years ago. They’d been my friends, these crowded shelves filled with adventures and heartbreak. I held my hand out, allowing my fingers to caress the book spines as I walked to the rear of the shop.

  I knew something was going on when Kathryn showed up at closing time. She rarely came to the shop anymore. Her eyes had shadows her meticulous makeup didn’t cover. She had gazed at the picture of Bartholomew, then asked us to stay for a few minutes after closing. Her eyes never left his portrait as she spoke. We’d shrugged our shoulders and agreed. We were nerdy types who didn’t have much of a social life. Where were we going to anyway? Home to the novel I’d been writing for the last four years was the extent of my social whirl. Christy would go home to make dinner for her kids.

  My identity was encased in these books, selling them, loving them as if they were each a unique person in and of themselves. Even books I didn’t care for were treated with respect.

  I guessed I could try working for one of the big stores. I’d always prided myself on working for and supporting independent bookstores. I didn’t think I’d like clocking in and out of a McBook chain every day. I’d managed Bartholomew’s Books since the old man had passed. I knew nothing other than this. In the background I heard Christy’s voice. She pleaded with Kathryn, begging her for a reprieve. I opened the door to the back room, got my coffee and walked back to the seating area up front.

  “We can manage it for you, send sales reports. You’ll have a steady income and we can keep this place alive.” Christy cried. I felt my eyes burning in solidarity.

  “Honey, I know this hurts, it hurts me too, but I have to move on with my life.” Kathryn replied. While the two women consoled each other, I looked around the room, seeing it with the dejected eyes of a mourner.

  The building itself was over a hundred years old and lay on the outskirts of Cameron Village. It was a trendy, outdoor shopping spot. The area was filled with bars, expensive clothing stores, hipsters, and wealthy women from nearby Morrisville. It used to be a residence, but as the area became popular, many of the homes were converted to small bookstores, coffee shops, and hair salons.

  Its wood floors were creaky, scratched and dull from years of use. Rich blues dominated the decor, my favorite being the dusty velvet curtains at the front of the shop. No matter how much we cleaned, dust was our constant companion.

  My favorite part of the shop used to be the dining room. It had a stunning crystal chandelier that cast warm light on the ancient bookshelves. The rare and expensive books were housed here, and I had taken over their care when Bartholomew originally became ill. I was proud of how I grew the sales of these expensive first editions. In fact, most our profit came from this one small room.

  Christy sat up straight, wiped her eyes once more, and apologized.

  “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have allowed my feelings to overcome me. I know it’s hard for you Kathryn. It was selfish. I’ll do whatever I can to make this transition as smooth as possible.” She smiled the best she could, placing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Thank you Christy. Amber, how are you with this? You’ve barely uttered a word.” Kathryn took another sip of her coffee and waited for my response. Her eye twitched, something I’d never seen from her before.

  I tried opening my mouth, but it refused to cooperate. I turned to my left and gazed at my reflection in the antique mirror on the wall.

  I didn’t like what I saw. My hazel eyes were red, cheeks too. Somehow my shirt had become untucked, making me look more disheveled than usual. I’d hidden here, not worrying about my appearance. Now I’d have to go on job interviews, buy a dress or a suit.

  I saw Kathryn’s reflection in the mirror, her face turned toward me waiting for a response. It looked drawn, remorseful. I knew this had to be one of the hardest decisions she’d ever made. I wasn’t helping matters with my silence.

  “I know this must have been a difficult decision for you to make. I’d be lying if I said I was happy about it. But, I’ll do everything I can to make the next few weeks count. You only live once Kathryn. I understand why you’ve decided to move on.” My voice was only a hair above a whisper, a knot in my throat making it hard to talk.

  “Thank you Amber. I’ve placed an ad in the paper. A going out of business sale will commence on Monday of next week. I need your help getting everything organized. One thing I’d like you to do is contact our special customers. You know, the ones who’ve carried this business over the years. Let them have first pick at the reduce
d priced inventory. This is especially important for the rare and collectible books.” Her voice went from melancholy to excited by the end of her statement. Christy and I looked at each other, our eyebrows raised.

  Damn, she meant this. Our comfortable old life was being sold off.

  Kathryn left after going over the details of the closure. Christy followed a few minutes later, unable to stop tearing up. I sent her home early with a hug.

  After getting the deposit ready, I sat in my favorite wing chair and took stock of my situation. This was my first and only job. I knew I’d find something else, and the severance check was more than generous. But nothing would ever replace the love I had for this place, and the memories made here.

  Raleigh was a beautiful city, the architecture and cosmopolitan flair different from the small town life I lived in Georgia. When I first arrived, it was overwhelming. The culture was so different. Everywhere I went my eyes were wide, constantly learning new things. It was intimidating. Kathryn and Bartholomew made me feel welcome the first moment I stepped into the shop. I’d always be indebted to them for taking a chance on a young stranger.

  When I asked for an application, they said they weren’t hiring. It had been the two of them for so long, but they took my phone number. Three days later they rang. The two of them were older and didn’t want to spend as many hours at work. Had I found a job already? They had a good feeling about me, wanted to trust their instincts. My instincts said this would pay my rent; it turned into so much more.

  Kathryn and Bartholomew watched me grow up. They got more than a little credit for molding me into the person I was today. They came to represent the parents I’d left behind, minus the drama. They gave me something my real parents never did; respect.

  I needed to expand my horizons. Kathryn was moving on, and as much as I hated change, maybe it was for the best. I missed Bartholomew, and now I would miss her too. They taught me more about being a human being than anyone else I’d ever known. With one gone and the other pushing me out of the nest, I felt lost.

  I peered into the full-length mirror hanging in the rare books room. My face was still damp. I wiped it off with the sleeve of the simple peasant blouse I’d bought from the thrift store. That and jeans made up the bulk of my wardrobe. Maybe I should spruce myself up a bit if I had to look for another job. My auburn wavy hair was its usual out-of-control mess, plus I could stand to lose a few pounds. Too many nights on the couch with a book and a bag of chips was becoming noticeable.

  Maybe I should get contact lenses? Jesus Christ, what was wrong with me? How could I think of a freaking makeover when my entire world was changing?

  Embrace change, or fight it, it doesn’t matter. It’s happening whether or not you like it.

  I grabbed my book bag from behind the counter, walked toward the mirror again but stopped midway.

  “Why now? Why does everything have to change? I want my comfortable life back. No more surprises.” I spoke aloud, my words stumbling out of my mouth.

  “What the hell am I going to do now?”

  Simona

  The smell of coffee usually woke me before my alarm went off. When the alarm startled me out of a dream, I almost fell out of bed. Sniffing the air, I missed the scent of my favorite Blue Mountain coffee and buttery croissants. I tilted my head, straining to hear the sounds of my personal assistant cooking breakfast. Instead, I heard dead silence. I picked up my phone from the nightstand and checked for messages. Nothing, and no calls either.

  This could not be good.

  I pushed the heavy comforter off, swinging my feet to the hardwood floor. I stumbled into the walk-in closet and pulled on a pair of blue sweatpants and a t-shirt. Feeling my way through the darkness I stubbed my toe on the doorframe.

  “Shit.” I hissed, resisting the urge to jump up and down like a three year old.

  The unusual silence was disconcerting. Usually, I could hear Claire’s sing-song voice chattering to herself about her boyfriend or her dogs. I grabbed a brass candlestick off a side table and walked silently toward the stairs.

  The kitchen was dark. I tiptoed through the house, finding nothing wrong. I put the candlestick down and padded into the kitchen.

  I flipped on the lights. No sign of Claire. After digging around the pantry for a minute I found the French press and the canister of beans. Not wanting to cook, I rummaged in the fridge for leftovers. Though I was starving, the feeling of dread was growing. My stomach was in knots. This was so unlike Claire not to show up without at least calling.

  Something was definitely wrong.

  I placed the coffee on a tray along with last night’s pasta salad and walked through the dark house to my office. It was gloomy, lit only by street lights shining through the windows. Hoping Claire was okay, I was setting the tray down in the middle of my desk when I noticed an envelope. I turned on the desk lamp. It was her large curlicue writing, and it was addressed to me.

  My hands shook as I ripped it open. It was her resignation, effective immediately. I was a bad boss, cruel to say no to her time off request so she could party at the beach. Claire wasn’t going to stand for it, and her language was colorful.

  Fuck you Simona.

  I threw the paper in the trash. The fact that I was opening a new restaurant during the time she had requested off did not factor into her thinking. Of all the irresponsible, shitty things she could do, this was it. Without an assistant I was lost, unable to focus on bigger responsibilities while scrambling to get everyday tasks done.

  I leaned back in my chair and sipped my coffee. Petty fantasies of revenge played in my head.

  “Hope you don’t want a reference.” I muttered, then kicked over the trash can. Fuck me.

  Oh well, I guess I’m better off in the long run. Did I want a petty, immature person working for me? No, but this really did throw a wrench into my plans for the next few weeks. It was a milestone; twenty restaurants opened in the last twenty years. Everything needed to run smoothly when I opened the twentieth location.

  “You’ve come a long way from the streets of New York.” I whispered into the silence, leaning back and propping my feet on the desk.

  Accomplishing my goals seemed effortless to others, but none of it was easy. Hard work and little sleep were the secrets to my “overnight” success.

  I pushed aside the empty coffee cup and powered up my laptop. Checking emails was my least favorite thing to do, so I always did it first. According to the architectural firm, their crew was ahead of schedule with the construction of the new restaurant. How about that? A nice surprise for a change. I opened my calendar and scheduled a visit to Asheville next week.

  While deleting promotional emails one caught my eye: Bartholomew’s Bookstore. I opened it and was met with the next bit of bad news of the day. They were closing. I glanced up from my laptop and scanned the wooden shelves surrounding me. They were filled with rare first editions and were my pride and joy. Bartholomew’s had supplied the majority of them, many worth a small fortune. I’d only been in the store once, usually sending my assistant to pick up purchases I’d made over the phone. The manager, Amber, was always spot on with the picks she made. According to her message she was offering me excellent discounts due to my being such a good customer. I smiled, typed out a quick reply letting her know I’d be in later this morning.

  My day was already ruined, so I might as well do something nice for myself. I rarely took a day off, and I needed a break. Meetings were cancelled, and I sent a message to my employees- do not disturb unless it’s an emergency.

  I closed the laptop, wondering what I could do to start my day off. I picked up the tray and walked to the kitchen. After putting the dishes in the dishwasher I let myself out the back door. It was a brisk morning. Steam rose from the heated lap pool. I shucked my clothes off and dived into the welcoming water. A tall privacy fence kept the neighbors out of view. The heated pool was one of my only indulgences. I swam a few laps then turned over and floated, gazing up at
the morning sky. A sliver of the moon was still visible as the sun rose. The contrast of the warm water and cool air was bracing, and despite Claire’s attack of immaturity, I wasn’t going to allow this turn of events to set me back.

  Two decades ago I had nothing but dreams and ambition. Now I had everything I’d ever wanted. Well, almost everything. The one thing no one tells you about success is that it’s often lonely. Working long hours, being the boss, doesn’t allow for friendships. I mean, yes, I have friends, but they were often work related. Plus, you must be realistic. People always wanted something, especially if you had money or power. Keeping people at a distance became second nature. Not only to protect your wallet, but to defend your heart.

  I had time to kill before going to the bookstore. I decided to grab another cup of coffee and do a little people watching first.

  Cameron Village was bustling, and even though it was only eight in the morning, finding a parking space near the coffee shop was difficult. I had two restaurants here, and while I could easily have parked behind either one, I ran the risk of an employee spotting me.

  People thought I was outgoing, a social butterfly. It didn’t come naturally, but my job depended on it. I had to appear that way for my business. The reality was I preferred my own company. The hardest part of my day was being around others. Now I had the first day off I’d had in a couple of months and all I wanted was to be left alone.

  Despite the morning chill, the patio of the coffee shop was full. Hipsters and housewives filled the space, segregating themselves almost in a straight line down the middle. Hopefully, a table would be easy to come by inside where it was warm.