Pride and Papercuts (The Austens #5) - Staci Hart Page 0,42

I held up the spoons. “Rue the day!”

The family had been in and out while we talked, but they’d begun to gather at the smaller table in the breakfast nook, like we did when we weren’t eating. But it only worked when a few people sat on laps, which was no problem for my brothers. The three of them sat side by side with their loves in their laps like a scene out of a musical, gazing at each other with those dumb puppy looks on their faces.

It was the cutest thing I’d ever seen.

I wondered, as I often did, if I’d ever be there with them, content and in love. I imagined Jett in one of the empty chairs with Georgie in his lap and could picture it without even trying. A stir of rightness in my chest brought with it a flare of protection over Jett. Because he should get what he wanted. He deserved a love who loved him back. And I wanted that for him more than I wanted it for myself.

I’d probably end up the crazy aunt who took all my nieces and nephews to Disney World and bought them all the things their parents said they couldn’t have. I’d get some cats, even though I’d prefer dogs, really punch up the whole independent woman of a certain age bit. It wouldn’t be so bad.

I ignored the rush of fear that came with the thought of Jett moving out and moving on. But that was what we were supposed to do, and logically, I knew this—the single companionship—wouldn’t last forever. And though I’d never forgive him for leaving me alone to contend with our mother, the thought of seeing him happy was too much to resist.

And I’d do anything to help him get there.

14

Death by Chanel No. 5

LIAM

It had been a week and a half since we’d started the competition, and my team and I hadn’t turned up anything of worth.

All we had to show for long days in a conference room was a pile of terrible ideas, and on seeing Laney’s team working happily together, I had a bad feeling we were well behind them. And the initial presentation was next week. We kept coming back to Get Your Drink On because it was the closest we’d gotten to the heart of what we were trying to say, even if it was stupid and would never work.

But on that third night, as I lay in bed not sleeping, something struck me. Something so simple, I knew it would work.

Get Lit.

It covered books and booze in two little words. Get your literature. Get hammered. A campaign rolled out in my mind so hard and fast, I turned on the light, reached for my notebook, and started sketching. A stack of books with a scotch on top. An illustration of a regency duke with a bourbon in his hand. I paused, pencil in hand, wondering how much of the idea had come from Laney’s, but it was the only thing that made sense. Literary heroes with liquor in their hands, like Mark Twain. But I pushed myself back to romance and comics, given those were the shop’s big sellers.

But with this concept, the team would turn out ideas—I didn’t doubt that for a second. So I put it away and shut out the light, my mind still racing with ideas when I finally fell asleep.

So this morning, the first thing I did was brief my team, brainstorm with them for a bit, and then we split up to work on some design concepts. At the moment, I was waist deep in fonts, digging into my coffers for something that would fit the direction I had in mind.

Otherwise, there was very little to report. Georgie had begrudgingly avoided Wasted Words when Jett was there in an attempt to put some space between them. I’d barely seen Laney, too entrenched in the process with my team to take my eyes off of what was in front of me. As for Wickham, I’d told myself I’d forgotten about him. But even though he was a void in my mind, he still took up space, held a shape. Despite that, he wasn’t the reason I’d spent long nights staring at my ceiling, thinking of Laney.

As the customer relations liaison for the bookstore, Georgie thought it would be a good idea to throw a cocktail party for the Wasted Words staff and our team, and though she said it was to