Better than Fiction - Softcover

Martin, Alexa

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0593337220 ISBN 13: 9780593337226

Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group, 2022

Inhaltsangabe

"If you think life is better than fiction, then you haven’t read Alexa Martin’s fiction."—NPR

One of...
Amazon's Best Romances of November
Buzzfeed’s New Romances to Read This Fall
Cosmopolitan's Best Books Coming Out In November
Bustle's Most Anticipated Books of November
Women's Health's Swooniest Romance Novels of 2022

Love isn’t always by the book in this charming romantic comedy about a bookseller discovering how to be the main character in her story.

As a self-proclaimed book hater and a firm believer that the movie is always better, Drew Young didn’t anticipate inheriting her grandma’s bookstore, the Book Nook. She’s in way over her head even before the shop’s resident book club, comprising seven of the naughtiest old ladies ever, begin to do what they do best—meddle.

Bestselling author Jasper Williams is a hopeless romantic. When he meets Drew at his Book Nook signing event, he becomes determined to show her the beauty of reading. He curates a book bucket list in exchange for her help exploring the local Denver scene for his current manuscript. From going river rafting to trying local restaurants, Drew begins to connect with Jasper in a way she only thought happened in fiction.
 
When messy family ties jeopardize the future of the Book Nook, Drew is caught between a bookshelf and a hard place. She’s reminded that real life isn’t always big dreams and sweeping romance. But Jasper is the plot twist she never saw coming and he’s writing a happily ever after just for them.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Alexa Martin is a writer and stay-at-home mom.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter 1

I know it's not the politically correct thing to say, but school is most definitely for fools.

Listen, I get it. I won't tell the kids, but I already fell victim to the great con. I was a good student-not full-scholarship good, but solid-went to a decent college, majored in something other than art. And where did it get me?

A high-paying job on Wall Street where I laugh at the peons around me complaining about school debt?

Not even close.

It landed me as the owner of a bookstore I most definitely didn't want to own, pretending to care while this woman drones on and on about the difference between women's fiction and romance. But, you know, good thing I aced that AP Chemistry exam.

"I'm so glad you're able to find something you love here." I pull out one of my many well-rehearsed responses. I hope it will send her on her way so I can do inventory-or pull out my hair-but then she cuts me off and hits me with something no amount of rehearsal could prepare me for.

"And I want you to know . . ." She reaches over and grabs my hand. I fight the urge to yank it back. Physical touch is def not my love language. "I'm just so sorry about Alice, she was always so kind to me."

My fingers curl into hers, my aversion to touch temporarily forgotten as I seek the comfort I have yet to find since my grandma passed away a year ago.

"Thank you." I can't get the two small words out without my voice breaking. Sympathy swims in the woman's eyes the same way I'm sure unshed tears are swimming in mine.

The woman, whose name I don't remember, gives my hand one more gentle squeeze before walking away, off to bury her problems in a book with a happily ever after that's so elusive to actual humans.

Alice Young was the best person I've ever known. The best person anyone has known. Every stranger who walked into her little bookstore walked out with more books than they probably wanted-and a new friend. The Book Nook sells books, obviously, but the real draw was getting to come and chat with Gran. She was wise beyond her seventy-two years and had a way of listening that made you feel like your biggest problem was actually just a pebble in your shoe. She made you feel as if you could accomplish anything. In the age of the e-book conglomerates and chain bookstores dominating the market, the Book Nook never struggled.

Until she left it to me.

It's not that I have self-esteem issues as much as I know my strengths and weaknesses. And my strength is definitely not sitting with a sympathetic ear and listening to other people's problems. I've never been good at it, but I'm especially terrible at it when my own problems seem so big.

Huge.

Gigantic.

Insurmountable.

Because yeah, this isn't my dream job or anything, but Gran left the bookstore to me. And sure, sales were through the roof the first couple of months after she passed away, with well-wishers coming to show their support. But now that the months have crawled by, people are going back to their lives. Unfortunately for me, that doesn't include spending money at a store where Alice no longer greets them with her cheerful smile and welcoming ear.

If I don't figure it out soon, I will lose the only tangible link I have left to my grandma.

On that thought, the bell above the front door rings and I look just in time to see Collette, Vivian, Mona, Ethel, and Beth file through the front door.

Oh shit.

I really need to check my calendar more often.

"Drew!" Mona's voice bounces off the overstuffed bookshelves. Even at seventy, she strides through the store in her trademark three-inch stilettos, which make my feet wince. Her gray hair has not a strand out of place and her pink-painted lips stand out on her pale, gently wrinkled face, which has aged gracefully over the years. "What are you doing standing over here looking all sad? Is it because you're wearing those sandals again?"

"The way you come for me every time you see me is still completely unnecessary, Mona." We live in Colorado: Birkenstocks are not only a completely reasonable footwear choice; it's practically mandatory for all Denverites to own a pair.

Also, it's still strange for me to call her, Mona instead of Mrs. Fuller, but as I transitioned into adulthood, she insisted that I call her by her first name only. It's weird, but I acquiesced. Respect your elders and all that jazz.

It is kind of nice to feel like I'm on an even field with them now. Even though they're a lot older than me, they're still the coolest people I know.

"Coming for you? I just want you to join us and sit with some old ladies for a little while."

"Well, if you insist." I play it cool, but there's actually not a chance in hell I'd ever pass on the opportunity to listen to them very self-righteously talk shit about every person they know.

I aspire to be just like them when I grow up.

Minus the book club, obvi. Maybe I'll start a podcast club or something.

She links her arm through mine. Her nearly translucent skin is a stark contrast against my golden-brown skin.

"How's Mr. Fuller?" I always ask about her husband of almost fifty years when I see her.

"Old and cranky. Happy golfing weather has returned, though not as happy as I am to get him out of the house." The snide words don't match the dreamy look that crosses her face whenever his name is mentioned.

I love seeing how happy she still is. My best friend, Elsie, married her high school sweetheart before she could even legally drink-I still tease her relentlessly for her sparkling grape juice toasts-and is blissfully happy with four kids. As for me, however, I'm very much not into the idea of marriage.

I don't even like myself half the time and you're telling me it's a good idea to latch myself on to one other person until death do we freaking part? Or more likely, until they cheat, get bored, or whatever other reason fifty percent of marriages end in divorce.

Yeah. No thank you.

It's probably a good thing I have no interest in marriage. I'm not fighting off a swarm of potential suitors. Apparently my winning personality isn't doing it for them.

Their loss.

When we reach the back corner of the bookstore where the Dirty Birds-the name they chose for their book club-meet on the second Wednesday of every month, they're cackling just like their name would suggest. Copies of whatever romance novel they decided to read this month are sitting on the coffee table and each woman is in her unofficial-official chair. None of the chairs are the same. Gran and I would take weekly trips to the flea market, and she'd treat me to a fancy coffee and pastry before we'd spend hours wandering around, hoping to find the next treasure to grace her store. It took us months before we found all seven chairs that now occupy the nook portion of the Book Nook. I sanded and painted them all a creamy shade of mint while Gran sewed cushions to top them.

Now when I look at the chairs filled with all her friends, laughing and chatting like she imagined, I struggle to remember the joy we had creating them. All I see is the empty seventh seat.

Her seat.

"Did you finally read this month's book?" Collette, the most crass of the Dirty Birds, narrows her eyes when I sit. Her hair is dyed a bright red that turns a little orange and always clashes with her red lipstick.

"You know I didn't." I've never participated in a book club and I never will. Once I watched the movie instead but was shamed so intensely for it, I avoided them for a week. The Dirty Birds are vicious.

"You do know you own a bookstore now," she reminds me, as if I've thought of anything else since the lawyers read Gran's will all those months ago. "You have to read books. You...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2022
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593337220
• ISBN 13: 9780593337226
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 336
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Penguin Random House Verlagsgruppe GmbH; kundenservice@penguinrandomhouse.de; ; Neumarkter Straße 28; München; Bayern; 81673; Deutschland