world” smile.
When the Pointers entered, Maggie spun around as if she were expecting someone to come into the store behind her, but then visibly sighed. She was usually quiet, except when she and Angel were alone. Then Maggie opened up and glowed with a personality impossible not to love. Angel knew the signs of a beaten woman. Maggie lived with her husband outside of town. Angel had never seen the man. Some town folk thought Maggie made him up. Angel believed Maggie had a husband and that he was a hermit like Maggie told everyone. She also thought he must be a rough, possessive man by Maggie’s actions. She never spoke of him but always dutifully hurried back out of town as soon as she got what she came in to get.
“So which book are you getting today?” Angel asked Maggie when she turned back around.
“The next book in the series. Also, do you have any books on expanding your home?”
“Expanding your home?” Angel looked pointedly down at Maggie’s belly.
“Oh no! No.” Maggie laughed, getting Angel’s drift. “I’m not pregnant.” She said the last sentence with a wistful sigh. “We’re thinking about expanding, and with such a sporadic Internet connection where we live I thought books might help us get a grasp on what we’re taking on.”
“You can get all your answers in books,” Angel said, and cringed. “I sound like my dad. You never want to be like them but then have to laugh when you sound just like them.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” Maggie laughed. “I look in the mirror and say hello to my mother every day,” she added, and followed Angel to the part of the bookstore where self-help books were shelved.
Angel didn’t hate her father. She’d grown up knowing she would take on the family business after all. Bob’s Bobbins and Books had become Angelina’s Bookstore six years ago when she’d turned twenty-five. By that time, she had worked in the store for ten years and had considered it her own for at least as long. Her mother and father had owned the store together, having been Zounds natives, which made Angel second generation. When Angel took over, the seamstress part of the store, where her mother had sat in her corner and mended, altered, or created whatever needed to be done, had been closed down. Angel could barely thread a needle. As her mother used to complain, Angel spent too much of her time buried in books to know one end of the needle from the other.
“Isn’t this room gorgeous?” Maggie asked. She had the brightest, prettiest eyes, which were the only part of Maggie that belied Angel’s suspicion that Maggie was abused. Her eyes and face always glowed of happiness.
Angel looked at the glossy page in the book Maggie held up. “Yes, it is.” She envied Maggie. Angel’s friend had been coming into the bookstore almost daily since she and her husband had moved here, and although Maggie was chatty, this was the most she’d spoken about her home life, and it wasn’t much. Angel lived over the store, and there would never be any remodeling. Especially with Emilio Cortez owning the building Angelina’s Bookstore was in. His rent was so exorbitant it was all she could do to get it paid each month, let alone think about remodeling.
The bell over the door tinkled again, and Angel peered around the bookshelves. “Over here!” she called out.
When Zoey walked around the corner into their aisle, Angel shoved thoughts of Cortez out of her head. As evil as the asshole was, his daughter, Zoey, was the epitome of perfection. She neared both women in a cloud of wonderful-smelling perfume, and her incredibly straight—not a wave anywhere—black hair was pulled away from her face in a blue headband. Angel’s hair was also pulled back in a headband, but her plain short brown hair was an uncontrollable mass of waves and curls that not even her pristine mother had ever been able to control.
“Hi, Angel,” Zoey said in her soft voice. She shot a wary look at
When the Pointers entered, Maggie spun around as if she were expecting someone to come into the store behind her, but then visibly sighed. She was usually quiet, except when she and Angel were alone. Then Maggie opened up and glowed with a personality impossible not to love. Angel knew the signs of a beaten woman. Maggie lived with her husband outside of town. Angel had never seen the man. Some town folk thought Maggie made him up. Angel believed Maggie had a husband and that he was a hermit like Maggie told everyone. She also thought he must be a rough, possessive man by Maggie’s actions. She never spoke of him but always dutifully hurried back out of town as soon as she got what she came in to get.
“So which book are you getting today?” Angel asked Maggie when she turned back around.
“The next book in the series. Also, do you have any books on expanding your home?”
“Expanding your home?” Angel looked pointedly down at Maggie’s belly.
“Oh no! No.” Maggie laughed, getting Angel’s drift. “I’m not pregnant.” She said the last sentence with a wistful sigh. “We’re thinking about expanding, and with such a sporadic Internet connection where we live I thought books might help us get a grasp on what we’re taking on.”
“You can get all your answers in books,” Angel said, and cringed. “I sound like my dad. You never want to be like them but then have to laugh when you sound just like them.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” Maggie laughed. “I look in the mirror and say hello to my mother every day,” she added, and followed Angel to the part of the bookstore where self-help books were shelved.
Angel didn’t hate her father. She’d grown up knowing she would take on the family business after all. Bob’s Bobbins and Books had become Angelina’s Bookstore six years ago when she’d turned twenty-five. By that time, she had worked in the store for ten years and had considered it her own for at least as long. Her mother and father had owned the store together, having been Zounds natives, which made Angel second generation. When Angel took over, the seamstress part of the store, where her mother had sat in her corner and mended, altered, or created whatever needed to be done, had been closed down. Angel could barely thread a needle. As her mother used to complain, Angel spent too much of her time buried in books to know one end of the needle from the other.
“Isn’t this room gorgeous?” Maggie asked. She had the brightest, prettiest eyes, which were the only part of Maggie that belied Angel’s suspicion that Maggie was abused. Her eyes and face always glowed of happiness.
Angel looked at the glossy page in the book Maggie held up. “Yes, it is.” She envied Maggie. Angel’s friend had been coming into the bookstore almost daily since she and her husband had moved here, and although Maggie was chatty, this was the most she’d spoken about her home life, and it wasn’t much. Angel lived over the store, and there would never be any remodeling. Especially with Emilio Cortez owning the building Angelina’s Bookstore was in. His rent was so exorbitant it was all she could do to get it paid each month, let alone think about remodeling.
The bell over the door tinkled again, and Angel peered around the bookshelves. “Over here!” she called out.
When Zoey walked around the corner into their aisle, Angel shoved thoughts of Cortez out of her head. As evil as the asshole was, his daughter, Zoey, was the epitome of perfection. She neared both women in a cloud of wonderful-smelling perfume, and her incredibly straight—not a wave anywhere—black hair was pulled away from her face in a blue headband. Angel’s hair was also pulled back in a headband, but her plain short brown hair was an uncontrollable mass of waves and curls that not even her pristine mother had ever been able to control.
“Hi, Angel,” Zoey said in her soft voice. She shot a wary look at
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