Free Shame: A Stepbrother Romance by Emma Soule

Ashleigh’s wedding.
    Usually, I stay in the bookstore after hours and set up for the book club, which is at 7:30 pm, but this time I needed to head to a few appointments, so I even closed earlier. I’ve just had my nails done, something very foreign to me, and I’m almost positive I’ll mess them up before they’ve had the chance to completely dry. A few dollars bought me a sweet pink base with white and silvery flowers, just what I imagine a maid of honor’s nails should look like.
    There is a small cafe a block away from my book shop and I hope they’ll still have some pop cakes or fruit tarts or at least cookies that I can take to the book club meeting. I’ve trained the girls to expect refreshments and they won’t be fooled by nuts and tea. For many of them, these meetings are the highlight of their working week, an escape from the everyday grind in their accounting or editing jobs.
    When I first moved here with my mom, I didn’t know anyone. I had no friends, and though I wasn’t the most sociable person back in Chicago, I was even more of a hermit here in Boston. I started the book club without expecting much. I’ve never stopped reading, it seems ever since I first learned how to do it, and even if nothing came out of it, I could still just sit curled up with a book by the fireplace and enjoy a quiet afternoon.
    The first couple of ‘meetings’ were a lonely business and I had almost lost hope that anyone would ever show up, despite my modest advertising in a few local journals and the colorful flyer I stick in the bag with every purchased book. Then one day, a beautiful girl with luminous dark skin rushed in, clutching a copy of the latest title I had announced for discussion on the book shop’s Facebook page.
    “Did I miss it?” she panted as she unwrapped her thick knit scarf and tossed her curly hair around, so that a spray of melting snowflakes sparkled about her.
    “No, no,” I said, ushering her in and taking her coat, “You’re just in time. I haven’t even started yet.”
    My words indicated how non-existent the response to the book club invitations had been so far. I felt like a loser and it was one of the rare times I felt uncomfortable with my nerdy nature.
    She looked around and saw that it was just us. Then she walked over to the fireplace area and sat down on one of the leather sofas. She looked up at me in expectation.
    “Are we waiting for anyone else?” she asked.
    “No, I don’t think so,” I admitted and felt a rush to my cheeks that only meant I was crimson with embarrassment.
    “Great, because I can’t wait to talk about this little gem we have here.” She patted the book’s cover and I realized just how grateful I felt at that moment. The girl wasn’t judgmental. She was real and she loved books just as much as I did.
    This is how I first met Ashleigh a little less than a year ago and now I can safely say she is my closest person in the world. Over time, she started bringing her friends to the club and introduced me to them. Some strangers joined as well and in a month, the book club was finally happening, just like I had imagined it with the heated discussions, the faces warmed up by the fire, the cups of hot cocoa. And of course, the pastries.
    Soon I reach the BeWitched cafe and I stop under the awning in front of its brightly lit windows to close my umbrella and shake the rain off it. It’s a cute little place with an occult theme, where the hot drinks are served in tiny cauldrons and it seems like it’s permanently Halloween inside. The two waitresses and the bartender are dressed in witches’ costumes that are a more sexy than scary and the interior is decorated with gossamer, spiders and glass jars of various herbs.
    My wet hand is almost on the door handle, which is oddly shaped like a witch’s nose extending from a creepy wrinkled brass face, when I freeze in my spot. On the table that is closest to the door and the front window is Andrew. And he is