Chapter 1When the bells above the door to Printer’s Devil rang, Owen didn’t have to look. Micah’s disappointed sigh told him everything he needed to know.
“He’s not coming.”
“It’s only 8:30.” Sometimes Owen missed the days before the employees were comfortable enough to talk to him.
“Exactly.” Micah draped himself over the shop counter, not unlike a flapper over a tombstone in an Edward Gorey sketch. “Why do I always fall for the wrong kind of men?”
“It’s only 8:30,” Owen said again, louder this time as if that had been the problem and not that Micah required constant attention. Sometimes he missed the days before he was comfortable enough to talk to them, too.
The wind whipped up, rattling the panes of the window overlooking the side porch with its tables full of discount books. “Sin
