THE BOOKSTORE DIARIES

Standalone Women's Fiction

This summer, the town’s juiciest secrets are revealed in New York Times bestselling author Susan Mallery’s joyful and sparkling new novel.

Jax has a slight issue with control—as in, she needs it. Always. Too bad she only has power over the Painted Lady Bookstore, the Victorian mansion turned bookshop she inherited. No one else listens to a word she says. Her ex gets engaged for questionable reasons. Her beloved sister Ryleigh wants to move away to find a husband. And the handsome contractor Jax has chosen to convince Ryleigh to stay is only interested in Jax.

Still, she’s living the bookworm dream—until an unhappy accident erases the names off the bookshop lockboxes where the town keeps their diaries. Which means the only way to find a diary’s owner is…to read it.

As secrets spill and scandals surface, life at the Painted Lady Bookstore gets a lot more colorful and chaotic. But for a woman who’s always had to take charge, Jax will see that losing control—especially with the right wrong guy—can set you free.

Chapter One

“Not a good one.”

Jax Sutherland pulled the books out of the carton and put them on her cart. “Don’t say that. You haven't even read it.”

“Not a good one.”

She glanced up at Ramon and sighed. “You’re being so judgy.”

“Time for a snack.”

“In your mind, it’s always time for a snack and no.”

The large African gray parrot huffed loudly, sounding amazingly like Jax’s mother when she was annoyed, then flew out of the stockroom and into the store. Jax turned her attention back to the book Ramon had dissed, running her fingers across the beautiful floral cover. While she could never admit it to the parrot or anyone, she'd read an advanced copy of the novel in question and well, he was right. Despite the glowing reviews and the upscale advertising campaign, it really hadn’t been a very good story.

“But it will be someone’s favorite,” she told herself as she wheeled the now-full cart into the main store. “Because there’s a person for every book.”

She steered toward the New Fiction section, careful to avoid bumping into the dozens of customers browsing, reading and talking, and the construction crew working by the east wall. The Painted Lady Bookstore was a vibrant part of the local community here in Port Palmas, California. The glorious three-story-plus-basement Victorian mansion had started life in the late 1800s as a family home. Over the past hundred and fifty years, it had been a speakeasy and a boardinghouse, then was briefly abandoned in the 1960s before being bought by her grandparents in the early 1970s and turned into a bookstore. There were three stories of retail, including the basement, with the former bedrooms, living and storage spaces hosting a genre and complemented by appropriate decor. The mystery room had faux murder weapons on display, as well as a very nice painting of Sherlock Holmes done by a local artist. The fantasy room had a four-foot crocheted dragon, complete with very detailed wings. The basement hhoused both a horror section and games room, while the smallest upstairs bedroom was painted to look like a jungle scene and belonged to Ramon. He had a perch with his potty tray and his three-sided covered cage where he retreated to spend the night.

On the third floor was a spacious two-bedroom apartment with a full kitchen and a widow's walk that offered unobstructed views of the ocean. Since the end of her marriage, Jax had lived there on the alternate weeks she wasn't with her two kids.

Ever since she'd first walked into the Painted Lady Bookstore when she was ten-years-old, she'd loved everything about the place. She adored the tall ceilings, the big windows, the way the staircase creaked and how when a storm raged outside, the old house always made her feel safe. She belonged here—she always had.

As she put out the new books, pausing to answer questions about when a favorite author would have a new release or to schedule an appointment to discuss a charity event, she reveled in the happiness that was her life. Despite the divorce last year, she was doing great. Everyone she loved was happy and healthy, which was kind of amazing.

“Hey, Jax, can we talk?”

She turned as her ex-husband approached, pleased she'd reached the place where the sight of him didn't dredge up a bucket of negative emotions. The split had been relatively amicable—if she ignored how stunned she'd been when he'd announced he wanted out of their marriage. One second they'd been an averagely happy couple, at least from her perspective. The next he'd been packing his things and moving out.

It had been a Thursday night, she remembered. The kids had gone to bed and she and Harris had been discussing the very sad funeral they'd attended that afternoon. They'd lost a friend, Kim, who had been about their age—something that had shocked them both. Only instead of sharing how badly he felt, Harris had said he was leaving her.

He'd walked out before she'd had the chance to catch her breath, leaving her to explain to their two children why their father wasn't joining them for breakfast.

But they'd gotten through it and the kids were thriving, so yay them. They'd both moved on. Harris a little more than her, what with him dating nearly every single, semi-age-appropriate female in a fifty-mile radius, while she'd yet to even consider going out with a man, but that was just a teeny-tiny detail that mattered to no one.

She glanced at the large wall clock that had once graced the wall of the San Francisco train station. It was barely after one in the afternoon.

“Shouldn't you be getting ready for a game?”

Harris was the baseball coach at Port Palmas High School. Spring was the height of his season.

He followed her gaze to the clock, then nodded. “I only have a few minutes but I wanted to speak to you. Can we go into your office?”

“Sure.”

She left the cart in what had been the original kitchen and now housed cookbooks, along with a nice selection of kitchen gadgets, aprons, spices and canister sets, and led the way to the back of the store where they squeezed into her small, cluttered, windowless space. Seconds later Ramon flew in and settled on one of the tall bookcases.

“Hey, my man,” Harris said. “How's it hanging?”

Jax held in a groan. “Stop saying that to him. You know he loves to repeat everything we say.”

“He's a guy. It's an appropriate question.”

She shut the door and they sat on opposites sides of her desk. In the second it took him to start talking, she wondered if he wanted to change weeks or was thinking about where to take the kids on vacation this year. Since Xander, their youngest, had turned five three years ago, Harris had started a tradition of taking both kids to a different ballpark over the summer. Last year they'd driven to Cleveland where they'd spent a week exploring the area and going to baseball games.

“I want to amend the parenting plan.”

What he said and what she'd been thinking were so at odds, she needed a couple of breaths to process. Her first instinct was to say absolutely not. They'd worked hard on making sure they had everything in place to give their children the best possible life. Harris, the child of divorce himself, had hated going back and forth between his mom's and his dad's places and had wanted something different for their children. It had taken Jax a few days of internet research to come up with the idea of leaving the kids in what had been the family home while she and Harris alternated weeks when they were with them. Although it had taken them a few months to settle into the new routine, now it was simply how things were. When she wasn't with her children, she lived in the bookstore.

“How?” she asked cautiously. “It's working the way it is. They're so comfortable and happy.”

He shifted in his seat. “I want Shawna to spend the night.” He looked away, then back at her. “We've been going out for nearly six months. It's getting serious. It's not reasonable that I can't see her for a week at a time.”

Jax resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Oh, you can see her, Harris. She's welcome to hang out as much as you want. She can have dinner with the kids every night. But this isn't about seeing her, is it? You want to be able to sleep with her on the weeks you're in the house. This is about you getting laid.”

“You getting laid. You getting laid.”

The singsong voice came from up above. Jax groaned while Harris chuckled. “Way to go, Ramon.”

“Don't encourage him.”

“You might want to keep him out of the kids’ section until he gets tired of saying it.”

“You getting laid,” Ramon repeated, then flapped his wings. “Go outside.”

She opened the door and he flew out, echoes of “You getting laid” trailing behind him.

Jax had no idea how she was going to distract Ramon with a new phrase but she would figure out something. In the meantime, she had a Harris-sized problem to deal with. She shut the door again and returned to her desk.

Her ex-husband had been a minor league baseball player when they'd met. He was tall and good-looking, with thick, dark, wavy hair and an easy smile. Her crush had been instant and she'd been thrilled when he'd noticed her—after all she had just been a small-town girl, going to a small-town college. But he'd been smitten and within nine months of that meeting, they'd been married.

She'd been a loving, understanding wife while he'd played in the minors for five years, waiting for his big break. She'd always encouraged him to follow his dreams while supporting him financially. When the call had come, she'd flown to Seattle to watch his debut with the Mariners. One year later, he'd blown out his shoulder, ending his major league career.

As far as she knew, he'd never been unfaithful. He'd been steady, a good father and a loving husband—right until he'd left her and filed for divorce.

For the first eight months, there'd been string of women but about six months ago, he'd started seeing Shawna—a relatively new resident who was a teacher at the elementary school across the street from Harris's high school. According to Jax's sister, Ryleigh, also an elementary school teacher, Shawna was sweet, caring and good with her students. Of course she was also gorgeous, blonde and all of twenty-six, so twelve years younger than Jax and fourteen years younger than Harris, but who was she to criticize.

“No,” she said, careful to keep her tone neutral. “Per the parenting plan, no adult overnights unless the parties are married or at least engaged.”

His expression tightened. “That's not fair. Shawna's important to me.”

“While that's lovely, it's not relevant. Come on, it's only an issue every other week. Figure something out. Have a quickie before school or something. Your sex life isn't my concern, and I'm not changing the parenting plan because of your girlfriend. What we're doing works for the kids and that's what's important.”

“I knew you'd be difficult.” He rose. “Maybe if you started dating, you'd be a little more understanding.”

“I could be madly in love, but I wouldn't change my mind. Gentry's eleven and Xander's only eight. They're too young to have to deal with you and Shawna sleeping together.”

“Whatever,” he grumbled and walked to the door. He jerked it open so hard, it banged against the wall.

“Immature much?” she said to his retreating back.

Ramon flew in. “You getting laid.”

“Actually I'm not, but thanks for asking.”

She held out her hand and he flew down to land on her, then he leaned in and pressed his beak to her cheek.

“Love you,” he said.

“Love you, too.”

“Time for a snack.”

She laughed. “Of course it is. Come on, let's go see what's in the kitchen.”

*

The day had been everything she'd dreamed of, Ryleigh Weaver thought to herself as she walked along the sand with her boyfriend, Dustin, at her side. Santa Barbara had been great—all pretty and quirky with fun little shops to explore. They'd gone hiking in the morning, had hung out in town in the afternoon and now, after a wonderful dinner, were walking on the beach at sunset. Almost nothing could make the moment more special.

Is it now?

The faint voice in her head repeated the question, but Ryleigh shook it off. She wasn't going to ruin a perfectly magical moment by wondering if, after fifteen months of dating and twelve months after declaring their love for each other—something they were in fact in Santa Barbara to celebrate—Dustin was going to propose. He would in his own time. Eventually. After much thought and consideration.

“I love you,” he said, looping his arm around her. “Today's been great.”

“It has been and I love you, too. Celebrating our one-year 'I love you' anniversary isn't conventional, but I like it.”

He stopped walking and faced her. He was about three inches taller than her five-eight, with dusty brown hair and a dimple that peeked out as he smiled at her. Yellow-and-orange light from the setting sun seemed to surround them, making her feel the moment was extra sparkly.

“You mean so much to me,” he told her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I like what we have together.”

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. This was it! He was going to do it. He was about to propose. Butterflies soared in her belly and her knees got a little weak. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

His dark gaze met hers. “Ryleigh, you really do mean the world to me.”

It. Was. Happening! She told herself to stay calm and present. The light breeze picked up a little, sending cool air across her skin. She shivered slightly as she silently urged him to keep talking.

“You know I feel the same,” she whispered.

He smiled. “I'd feel kind of foolish if you didn't. It sucks to be in love by yourself. Ryleigh—”