A Valentine Proposal

By Viv Royce

Just as free-spirited bookstore employee Cleo Davis faces closure of her beloved shop, the owner informs her it will continue as part of the successful Stephens chain. When the chain's risk assessor, the very reserved, very attractive Mark Stephens, enters the store to look over her business plan, Cleo clashes with him right away. Oil and water have nothing on them.

Mark has always followed the rules. But the minute he steps into vibrant and spunky Cleo’s store, he knows he’s in trouble. One moment he’s in her “craft corner” painting bookends with kids, the next in a bidding war with Cleo at a charity auction. He can't deny that opposites attract, and Cleo’s vivacious personality has him rethinking his life in more ways than one.

But when Cleo’s store officially becomes part of the bookstore chain, Mark will become her boss…and completely off limits.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Jan 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781682814963

Viv Royce

Viv Royce writes uplifting feel-good stories set in tight-knit communities where people fend for each other and love saves the day. If she can fit in lots of delicious food and cute pets, all the better. When she's not plotting the next scene, she can be found crafting, playing board games and trying new ice cream.

Book preview

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Find your Bliss with these great releases…

His Reason to Stay

Be My Valentine

The Firefighter’s Pretend Fiancée

Dating for Keeps

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

Copyright © 2020 by Viv Royce. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

10940 S Parker Rd

Suite 327

Parker, CO 80134

[e-mail]

Bliss is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

Edited by Erin Molta and Candace Havens

Cover design by Bree Archer

Cover photography by pixdeluxe, anilakkus, and clu/Getty Images

ISBN 978-1-68281-496-3

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition January 2020

Dear Reader,

Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.

xoxo

Liz Pelletier, Publisher

Chapter One

Is it true the bookstore is closing? The elderly lady leaned across the counter confidentially, her delicate green-veined hands stalling on the canvas bag she was unfurling to put her purchases in as soon as they were wrapped.

Cleo Davis’s smile froze on her face. Her fingers clenched the heavy metal tape dispenser in the shape of an elephant.

Closing, closing. The word sounded like a death knell in her head. Put the beloved volumes in crates to return them or donate them to the library, say goodbye to her daytime environment full of fairytale figures and faraway destinations, where she could get lost in a recent release in a long-standing series or discover a new author, all by turning the page.

I’m so sorry, the elderly lady said, reaching out to touch Cleo’s hand. The countless little wrinkles around her blue eyes deepened as she whispered loudly, What will you do when it’s no longer here?

Oh no, Cleo rushed to say, the shop isn’t closing. It’s going to continue as part of the Stephens bookstore chain. Mr. Fellows wanted that for stability.

He had told her in the same breath that he had wanted her to lead the shop, but he didn’t expect her to put her own money into it. You’re so young, he had said. You probably don’t have savings, and I don’t want you to have to take out a mortgage and tie yourself to this building and the shop for decades to come. Who knows, you might meet someone and want to move away from here.

Cleo had wanted to protest that she had no intention of leaving Wood Creek and that falling in love was really the furthest thing from her mind. But he’d already moved on to why becoming a part of the Stephens chain was the best choice for all of them. You can continue to live upstairs, paying rent to them, like you used to do to me, and you can work in the shop and…keep doing what you’re so good at. His broad mouth had curved into a smile, and he had patted her on the shoulder like he always did after a good day of sales. I have full confidence in you.

Cleo suppressed a sigh. If only she had that much confidence in the advantages of being part of the Stephens chain. She had believed back then upon the announcement—and still did, for that matter—that her dear boss had a far too rosy view of how things would go once the top dogs of the Stephens chain were in control. What if they wanted her to turn it into a cookie cutter bookstore instead of the specialized shop she ran now?

I’m so happy for you, the customer enthused, clapping her hands together and beaming at Cleo. And for the shop. The whole street! Heart Street’s atmosphere depends on shops like this one to keep that warm family feeling. It wouldn’t be the same if you weren’t here.

It won’t be the same, anyway. She forced herself to smile widely as she helped the customer pack her purchases—picture books for her grandchildren and a new cozy mystery for herself—into her bag. She accompanied her to the door and waved after her as the elderly lady walked down the street to the flower shop on the corner. The owner was changing the window, giving some daffodils in a low turquoise bowl a prominent place.

Cleo took a deep breath of the chill February air outside.

A child cried, a high-pierced wail that tore at Cleo’s eardrums. She jerked around and ran into the back of the store where the play area was: a two-turreted castle built from what looked like books that were glued together. Cleo had spent a lot of spare time building it herself, and it was one of her favorite things in the store. Its entrance was an archway just high enough for a kid to go inside, and a little boy of about four years old stood under it, crying his heart out while his chubby hands rubbed at his eyes.

Cleo fell to her knees and reached out to him. Did you hurt yourself? She scanned his features for a bump or bruise. The child was red from crying; she couldn’t see a thing.

He said something in reply to her question, but his sobbing made it impossible to understand him. He didn’t move closer to her, either, but turned half away, pointing inside the castle. What does he mean? It’s so dim in there.

Where’s your mommy? she asked.

His answer was totally unintelligible.

Did you come in here all by yourself?

Between his gasps, the only thing she could make out was…bear.

Bear? Yes, of course. He had come in while she’d been serving the elderly lady. He’d been with an older child and had been carrying a black teddy bear under his arm. A teddy that was nowhere in sight.

Did you lose your bear? she asked.

He nodded so violently a tear splattered off his cheek.

Where?

He pointed again to the back of the castle.

Cleo had no idea how anything could get lost inside the castle, but he wouldn’t make sense until she found his toy. Then she’d figure out where the other child had disappeared to and what to do with him and his teddy.

I’ll go find him. You stand here… She gently pulled him toward her and placed him beside the castle entrance. Wait for me to go get the bear, okay?

Puddles.

That’s a nice name. Now I’ll go find Puddles. She crawled into the castle as best she could. Kind of claustrophobic. Panic crunched her chest, and she kept talking out loud. Where’s your bear? Where did he go?

…

Mark Stephens stood on Heart Street in Wood Creek and looked around him with a frown. His trained eye immediately noticed everything cluttering the sidewalk: tall stands with see-through shawls and large feathered hats outside the clothes shop, racks with discounted shoes at the shoe shop, tacky yellow signs announcing a special winter sale. The toy shop already had outdoor toys at the ready: hula hoops and a basket with balls, as if to will summer to arrive prematurely. In February?

There was too much asking for attention, like they were all trying to say something to the potential customer at the same time. Missed opportunity. A shame as they’re probably working hard to make a living.

He knew exactly how he would change this street’s appearance, if he were in charge here, of the community council, the chamber of commerce, or whatever governed these store owners. He assumed there was somebody governing them, but in a small town like this, it might also be possible that everybody was doing their own thing and nobody bothered to look at the bigger picture.

The home decoration shop had two stands, each on a side of the door, full of scented candles, beaded mirrors, silver photo frames, deer antlers, and wooden tea boxes. And a cup looking a lot like his mother’s beloved Wedgwood with the pink roses. A wedding gift from her parents, the china set was her baby. Last Christmas, one of the cups had shattered, breaking a piece of his mother’s heart in the process. Can this be a replacement cup?

He snapped a close-up of it with his phone and sent it to Tamela to ask her if it was the right design. Roses, tea roses, peonies, they were all the same thing to him, so his little sister would have to save him from a floral faux pas. Perfect excuse to contact her.

A stab of pain slashed through his chest. He needed an excuse now, like he was a distant friend she’d rather not talk to. Their bond was broken.

He clenched his phone and looked for number 17. The bookshop with the illogical name, Rook. It probably had a link with town history or something. On the phone, Mr. Fellows had sounded like a friendly, knowledgeable man who was eager to see his legacy continue. But does he understand the consequences? The shops chosen to become part of the Stephens brand were expected to follow a predetermined path, a set of steps to ensure they would exude the right atmosphere and reflect the brand’s values.

Some people were eager to make those changes, as they understood their shop’s survival depended on it. Change was necessary, vital even.

Others resisted and worked against him, making it a painful process for all involved. They thought they could take the Stephens name and then continue as they wanted. No strings attached. Like James.

His jaw tightened and he walked faster, his annoyance and frustration reverberating in every step. It was unfair to judge someone new by experiences from the past, or let the very personal problem with Tamela’s ex-boyfriend rule his mood, but he was only human. And not at his best when it was eleven in the morning and he hadn’t had a decent cup of coffee.

First point of assessment: store window. He expected the usual offer of chart toppers combined with something that worked well for the venue: cookbooks for the elderly ladies, a memoir signed by a local author, or something for kids. He wasn’t prepared for the miniature forest with a waterfall and a cottage at the heart of it. He leaned down to look better at the waterfall’s rocks. Not plastic, no. Papier-mâché, handcrafted and painted. A tiny figure with a red cap walked through the forest toward the cottage. Little Red Riding Hood?

He straightened again and studied the titles on the books that were on display behind the enticing scene. Yup, fairytale books for kids. Not the well-known titles his own store carried, but volumes he had never seen before. Where has Mr. Fellows unearthed these?

Mark let his gaze run across all the books in the window display, finding thrillers to the left and women’s fiction with the recurring theme of hearts and homecoming, and even his coffee-deprived brain managed to arrive quickly at the rather shocking conclusion that not a single one of these titles was familiar to him. The covers looked great, they were on brand in every way, but the titles and, indeed, the authors were unknown. Maybe the lack of coffee is messing with my mind?

He rubbed his forehead a moment, glancing surreptitiously around him. Must be this town, the street, the whole… It all seems like a fairy tale.

Too good to be true?

Yes. Definitely that.

He pushed the door open, and a sweet tinkling sound came from somewhere over his head. Not a crisp buzzer suggesting urgency, but the enticing sound from an amusement park attraction. And there in the back… He narrowed his eyes to see better. Is that actually a turret made of books?

He walked closer, and his jaw dropped. An actual castle built of books, or elements resembling books. It seemed likely that the same person who had crafted that waterfall in the window display had been at work here as well. This would have taken a lot more time, though. Attention had been paid to all the details: titles on the spines, faded lettering that seemed to retain traces of gold dust…

The castle was the perfect size for kids. Little Tamela would have dragged him over here and forced him to go inside ahead of her. It had to be as pretty and detailed in there as it was on the outside. Two feet stuck out, in bright pink sneakers with white laces. The narrow ankles above suggested the sneaker wearer was female. She seemed to be moving backward as he could now also see legs clad in chocolate brown velvet pants. A hand appeared, the fingers making a grasping movement, and a muffled voice said, Give me the tongs from the little stool.

Sorry? Mark leaned over, not sure he had heard right.

The voice repeated, On the little stool to your left. The tongs. I can’t reach the bear any other way.

Bear? Mark blinked.

The outreached hand’s fingers snapped in impatience. She was in an awkward position, half folded into the book castle, so he moved to the stool, picked up the metal tongs, and put them in the hand.

Her fingers brushed his a moment as they closed around the tongs. Thank you.

The hand disappeared inside the book castle.

Despite his lack of caffeine, Mark