INK

  It’s everything but business as usual.

  INK

  A Love Story on 7th and Main

  Emmie Elliot hadn’t expected to come back to Metlin, California. She definitely didn’t expect to stay. She returned to her childhood home with a mission: sell the building that housed her grandmother’s bookstore and move on with her life.

  But life doesn’t always go according to plan.

  To reopen her grandmother’s bookshop, Emmie will need a hook. She’ll need a strategy. She’ll need an… Ox?

  Miles Oxford doesn’t have much interest in quiet bookstore owners. He’s a tattoo artist without a space to work, and the last thing he wants is to get involved with anyone after his last disaster of a relationship. Work and pleasure don’t mix for Ox, but since he doesn’t have any interest in the cute girl with the bold business proposal, he should be safe from any awkward complications, right?

  She sells ink. He tattoos it. Unusual? Yes. But a bookshop/tattoo studio might be the ticket for both Emmie and Ox to find success on their own terms. As long as they keep their attention focused on business.

  Just on business.

  Praise for Elizabeth Hunter

  Elizabeth Hunter’s books are delicious and addicting, like the best kind of chocolate. She hooked me from the first page, and her stories just keep getting better and better. Paranormal romance fans won’t want to miss this exciting author!

  —Thea Harrison, NYT best-selling author of the Elder Races series

  Familiar and pulse-driving motifs readers have come to expect from Hunter, supplemented by a mystery-driven plot.

  —Kendrai Meeks, author of the Red Hood Chronicles

  “Elemental Mysteries turned into one of the best paranormal series I’ve read this year. It’s sharp, elegant, clever, evenly paced without dragging its feet, and at the same time emotionally intense.”

  —Nocturnal Book Reviews

  “Hunter has created a magnificent world of amazing characters entangled in a web of deceit, danger, loss, power, politics, and love that will have your heart racing time and time again.”

  —Cross My Heart Book Reviews

  INK

  A Love Story on 7th and Main

  Elizabeth Hunter

  INK: A Love Story on 7th and Main

  Copyright © 2017

  by Elizabeth Hunter

  ISBN: 978-1-941674-16-1

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover: Damonza

  Editing: Anne Victory

  Proofreading: Linda at Victory Editing

  Formatting: Elizabeth Hunter

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  INK

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Sign up for a free short story

  Preview: The Genius and the Muse

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Elizabeth Hunter

  For bookworms and artists,

  farmers and ranchers,

  mechanics and chefs,

  and everyone who dreams.

  Chapter One

  Emmie Elliot lasted three breaths in the old bookshop, her measured exhalations stirring dust motes that danced in the afternoon light streaming in from the large display windows that looked over Main Street. She backed out the front door and turned her back on Metlin Books, staring at the lazy midday traffic driving south on 7th Avenue. Then she bent over, braced her hands on her knees, and let her auburn hair fall, shielding her face from the afternoon sun.

  Daisy walked out of the corner shop and came to stand beside her. “What’s going on? You’re even paler than usual.”

  “I can’t do it.”

  “Can’t do what?”

  Emmie straightened. “I can’t sell the shop.”

  Daisy’s eyes went wide. “I thought you and your gran—”

  “Yeah.” Emmie took a deep breath, clearing the dust from her lungs. “I know.”

  What are you doing, Emmie?

  She had no idea.

  She’d spent her whole life trying to get away from this town. The bookstore was her grandmother’s. Sure, she’d grown up in it, and sure, she worked in a bookstore in San Francisco, but that was just temporary. She was just doing that until something happened. Something bigger. More important. More… something.

  Emmie was twenty-seven and still waiting for something big to happen. She had a job she tolerated, an apartment she loved. No husband, no boyfriend, a mother she barely spoke to. She didn’t even have a cat.

  Her assets in the world consisted of a newish car, a very small inheritance from her grandma Betsy, a circle of carefully chosen friends, and a three-unit retail building on the corner of Main Street and 7th Avenue, right in the heart of Metlin, a sleepy town in the middle of Central California.

  She and her grandmother had talked about it a year ago, when they knew the cancer wasn’t going into remission. Emmie was supposed to sell the building and use the proceeds as a nest egg for…

  They’d never really talked about that part.

  “What’s going on, Em? What are you thinking?” Daisy frowned and twisted a lock of dark wavy hair back in the bun on top of her head. It was afternoon, but she was still wearing her apron from baking that morning. With her tan skin, dark eyes, and retro apron, Daisy looked like an updated Latina June Cleaver if you didn’t notice the tattoos at her wrists.

  Her friend Tayla had offered to accompany her from San Francisco, but Emmie had refused. Emmie was taking a full two weeks off work from Bay City Books, but Tayla worked at a big accounting firm and couldn’t afford to take the time off. She’d never been to Metlin and had no desire to visit. Tayla was a city girl to her bones.

  It’s fine, Emmie had told her. It’s not like I have any reason to stay. My mom cleaned out my grandma’s apartment. I’ll visit Daisy and Spider, sign papers to put the place on the market, and leave.

  Emmie straightened her blouse and played with the buttons on the sleeve of her cardigan. She was
n’t dressed for Metlin; she was dressed for an upscale bookshop in Union Square. If anyone from her childhood were to pass by, they would have a hard time putting Emmie’s sleek hair and tidy, professional appearance together with the rumpled girl who’d spent most of her life hiding behind a book.

  She didn’t belong in Metlin anymore. She never had. She’d always wanted a bigger life. A more important life around people who liked music and art and travel, not farmers and mechanics and ranchers.

  Daisy said, “I know you must have sentimental attachment to the building, but I’m not sure you realize—”

  “How bad it was?” Emmie picked at a thread on one of her buttons, twisting it between her thumb and forefinger. “I know how bad it was. Grandma was completely up-front with me.”

  Emmie had no illusions about the state of Metlin Books. The shop was barely hanging on. The only thing her grandma’d had going for her was that she owned the building, the apartment above it, and rented to two successful neighbors, a family hardware business and Café Maya, Daisy’s restaurant.

  She walked over and sat on the cast-iron bench in front of the bookstore windows, kicking at the doggie water dish chained to the bench. The dish that had remained dry since her grandmother had passed six months before. “Bookstores are not a good bet.”

  “Not generally, no.”

  “She told me not to be noble.” Emmie eyed the water dish again. Then she took the water bottle out of her purse and dumped the contents in the bowl. “We had a plan. Sell the shop with provisions for you and Ethan—”

  “Leave me and Ethan out of it,” Daisy said. “I loved your grandma, but I think I can speak for Ethan—”

  “Speak for me how?” Ethan Vasquez, owner of Main Street Hardware, set down the A-frame sign advertising daily deals and walked toward Daisy and Emmie. “Em, you all right?”

  Daisy kept talking. “We both loved Betsy, but this is your life and inheritance, so don’t worry about us.”

  “What’s going on?” Ethan and Daisy hovered over her.

  Daisy straightened. “Emmie’s not sure about selling the shop.”

  “Great!”

  “No,” Daisy said. “Not great. This was not the plan.”

  And all of Emmie’s friends knew how much Emmie liked a plan. She was famous for them. Emmie would plan a night out three days in advance and email a detailed schedule to everyone “so they were on the same page.” She didn’t do spontaneous. The idea of returning to Metlin permanently was giving her heart palpitations.

  You’re waiting, a little voice in her head whispered. What are you waiting for?

  Ethan crossed his arms over his barrel chest and let out a long breath. “You know I can’t be unbiased on this one.”

  “So stay out of it.”

  “I am staying out of it.” He scratched his beard thoughtfully. “That’s why I’m reminding her I can’t be unbiased.”

  Emmie looked up and took a deep breath. “Don’t be unbiased. I want your opinion.”

  “A new owner is likely to kick me and Dad out,” he said. “Just when I’m turning things around. You know that. Our shop is huge, and space on Main Street is at a premium these days. A new owner would likely split our store in half and make double what we’re paying now. So of course I want you to stay.” He crouched down. “Metlin’s different, Emmie. It’s not the same town you left.”

  “That I can agree with,” Daisy said.

  “And I know the store needs work,” Ethan continued, “but me and my dad would help you out. Anything you need. We’re free labor after all the favors Betsy did for us over the years. You know that, right?”

  Ethan’s big brown eyes pleaded with her. Emmie looked past him to the new paint on his store, the fresh awning, the racks of vegetable starts for backyard gardens. Main Street Hardware had been flailing until Ethan came back from college four years ago and revamped his family business.

  Now, instead of depending on the dwindling business of the retirement crowd, Main Street Hardware appealed to young do-it-yourselfers in their late twenties like Ethan and his buddies who were buying the old Craftsman cottages south of downtown and fixing them up. Ethan led workshops on container gardening, and his dad taught plasterwork and hardwood-floor-refinishing courses.

  Beyond the hardware store, Café Maya bustled with midday customers. It was a narrow café and bakery started by Daisy’s grandmother Maya, who’d come from Oaxaca and started the restaurant with determination and a treasure trove of recipes. Daisy’s mother had modernized the menu, and Daisy had added a bakery. Café Maya was a Metlin institution and business had remained solid.

  Beyond Emmie’s building, stretching west, sat the rest of downtown. Sitting at the base of the Sierra Nevada mountains, Metlin had never been big enough to attract attention from any of the big chains. It had only ever had one bookstore, Metlin Books. And for as long as anyone could remember, it had been run by the Elliot family. Emmie’s great-grandfather had bought the building and started a book and toy store. Eventually the toys left and her grandmother had focused on the books. Emmie’s mom, despite her bookish roots, had never been a reader and lived an itinerant life as a working musician. She was happy, but Metlin wasn’t her home.

  But for Emmie—growing up in the fishbowl of Metlin—the bookshop had been her home, her refuge, and the gateway to a much larger world.

  “I have an apartment in San Francisco,” she said quietly. “Friends. A life. A job.”

  Ethan asked, “Aren’t you working in a bookstore up there?”

  “Yeah.”

  He frowned. “But you own a bookstore here. Why on earth would you live in San Francisco, pay God knows what in rent, and get paid to work at someone else’s business when you could own your own business here doing exactly the same thing?”

  Daisy said, “Back off.”

  “She knows I’m right.” He stood and pointed at Emmie. “You know I’m right.”

  Emmie’s stayed silent. She didn’t deal with confrontation well, but Ethan wasn’t entirely wrong. How many times had she tried to change something at the bookstore she worked at in the city, only to be told “that wasn’t the way things were done” at Bay City Books?

  Still, she hesitated. “I manage a store. I don’t know if I could run a business. My grandma wasn’t like your dad. She didn’t give me a lot of responsibility in the shop. I know nothing about bookkeeping or—”

  “You’d figure it out,” he said. “You’re one of the smartest people I know. You helped me with my place when I was drowning.”

  She shrugged. “You would have come up with those ideas on your own with enough time.”

  “I doubt it. You have a great brain for marketing. You know what people like now. How to put everything online. How to find the right customers.”

  Daisy shook her head. “Books are a tough business, Ethan. I know exactly how much Betsy was making with this place, and rent from your place and my café was the only thing paying her bills. Competing with online retailers—”

  “Can’t be any tougher than competing with the megamart hardware stores,” Ethan said. “Emmie knows—”

  “Emmie knows”—Emmie stood and cut them both off—“she needs to spend some time thinking about this.”

  Daisy’s mouth fought off a smile. “Emmie also knows she needs to stop talking in third person, right? Because it’s obnoxious.”

  “Whatever you do,” Ethan said, “don’t talk to Asshole Adrian until you’ve made up your mind.”

  Emmie frowned. “Adrian? Adrian from high school?”

  “Yeah, Adrian Saroyan. He’s in real estate now. And he’s an asshole.”

  Daisy tried to shove Ethan away. “Ignore him. You know he never liked Adrian.”

  “Nobody likes Adrian.” Ethan let Daisy shove him. “You were the only one who liked him, Em.”

  “Me and the female half of my high school class.” Emmie watched Daisy—a foot shorter than Ethan—shove the big man back to his shop.

 
; Ethan repositioned his sign. “He’s a dipshit and an asshole.”

  Daisy said, “He stole your girlfriend; that’s the only reason you hate him.”

  “That’s not the only reason,” Ethan muttered. “Just one of them.”

  Emmie left them bickering and walked back into the bookshop. She stood in the mosaic-tiled entryway and examined it with critical eyes.

  Pros: She owned it, free and clear. It had a recognizable name and a good location. It was a beautiful space with huge built-in shelves and custom woodwork her giant bookstore in San Francisco tried to imitate but never really could. Metlin Books had history. Charm. And a two-bedroom apartment over the shop. If she lived here, she would have no commute and no rent.

  Cons: Profits under her grandmother had been pretty much zero. The only real income was from renting the rest of the building, and that just paid the bills. The bookshop was a ton of work with a very small profit margin. She’d be solely responsible for it. There would be no vacation days accrued. No retirement plan. No one else paying the bills. No one to call in sick to.

  But it’s mine.

  Yes, it was. Emmie walked around the shop, rifling through the stacks of used books her grandmother had collected. Most of the new inventory was so old she could never sell it at cover price. She’d be starting over.