Sis grinned, opened the door. “You’ll see.”

Dakota hovered in the doorway. The smell of leather and books met her nose and the quiet that always accompanied a bookstore or a library kept her from raising her voice. Her first love of books came from reading. She’d spent hours in bookstores like this one long before she wrote her first novel.

Dakota looked up when she heard Sis squealing like a teenager being asked out to prom. She hovered at the register and two sets of eyes swung Dakota’s way. The woman at the cash register hustled around the counter and beelined to her side. “It is you. Sis promised to drag you in here one day. I’m such a fan.”

“Thanks.” Even though Dakota wasn’t ready to face the public, she felt a genuine smile on her face. “Is this your bookstore?”

“It is. Been in business for three years. I’m not afraid to tell you, your books sell well here. Seems there are a lot of people who knew you when.”

Dakota had a hard time imagining that. Polite society referred to her as the woman who wrote smut. Then again, they had the most hidden Playboy magazines, which she’d always found when she did the babysitting circuit.

Sis kept her Cheshire Cat grin.

“I did grow up here.”

“Would you mind signing the books I have in stock? It won’t take but a few minutes.”

“Oh, well, I’m with my friends—”

“We don’t mind . . . do we?” Carol Ann asked the others.

“Of course not,” Sis chimed in.

Louise painted on a smile. “Don’t be silly.”

Within seconds, Lillianna, the owner of the store, found a table, tucked it and Dakota beside a row of romance novels, and started bringing over armloads of books.

“You absolutely must sign one of each for me. My personal collection. I can’t wait for the next Surrender book to come out. That Mathew is one hot man.”

While Lillianna sat beside Dakota asking about her characters, about her books, Sis and Carol Ann were on their cell phones. Before Dakota could say the South will rise again a group of people were walking into the bookstore and heading straight toward her.

After Dakota signed her fifth book, she waved Sis over to the table. “You planned this.”

Sis smiled at the woman in line and said, “Last-minute change in plans. I knew this would cheer you up.”

In the twenty minutes they’d been in the bookstore, Dakota hadn’t thought of Walt, or her pregnancy. Here she was simply Dakota Laurens, Romance Author, with a few books sold under her belt.

Lillianna brought out a box, inside was a stockpile of Dakota’s titles.

OK, maybe more like a few million copies.

Sis started to walk away and Dakota tugged her into the chair Lillianna had vacated to man the cash register.

“Not sure where you’re headed, Sis. I need an assistant and I dub you.”

Sis rubbed her hands together and wiggled her ass in the chair. “Tell me what to do.”

Dakota greeted the next lady in line with a smile and showed Sis where to open each book up to and scoot them over to make sure they kept the line moving. When someone asked to take a picture, Dakota brushed on more makeup and lipstick and painted on a smile.

A few familiar faces dotted the line, making Dakota smile a little larger and add a snarky line to the signature page.

“It’s not for me, of course.” A woman in her late sixties informed her.

“Naturally. Who shall I make it out to?”

The woman stared, blinked, and stared some more.

“No worries, I’ll just sign it and skip the name.”

“Bless your heart.”

Oh, the South. Who couldn’t fall a little in love with the slow living and facade of polite tolerance of blatant lies?

“Dakota!”

“Missy?”

Missy had been a close friend up until their junior year. Dakota couldn’t remember what catfight made them pull apart, but they had one. Missy held the hand of a toddler in pink and an infant in blue bundled in a car seat. “Look at you.”

“When I heard you were here, I had to run. No time for a sitter.”

“It’s OK.”

Dakota looked at the pigtailed toddler, her curly brown hair and big blue eyes were the spitting image of her mother. How often had their own mothers placed them in similar dresses? Dakota smiled. “And what’s your name?”

“Dana.”

Dakota offered a wink and glanced at the car seat and the tiny bundle within. She swallowed, felt her smile slide. “And what’s your brother’s name?”

“His name is Nicholas. He cries a lot.”

“Is that right?” Nicholas had a tuft of light brown hair on his head, his eyes the same color of blue as his sister’s.

Dakota found herself reaching for the baby and stopped herself. “Your children are beautiful.”

“Thank you, darlin’. They are my pride. Do you have pictures of yours?”

Dakota dropped a hand in her lap. “I’m . . . I don’t . . .”

Sis kicked in. “Dakota doesn’t have children, Missy.”

“Oh.” Missy’s sympathy was palpable. “I’m so sorry. I’m sure the right man will come around.” Then, as if she knew she was bringing up a harsh subject, she launched into a diversion. “Just look at you. I’ve followed your books ever since Carol Ann brought yours to our book club.”

They caught up for a short time until Sis helped Missy along so the next woman in line could have her book signed.