Chapter 9
The morning sun slanted through the gauzy curtains of my cottage home, coloring the vintage furnishings that I’d curated from flea markets and estate sales in a soft yellow light.
I sank into the plush cushions of the sofa reading Emma while I ate my cinnamon roll and drank a cup of vanilla coffee. Sushi scrutinized me from her plush cat bed near the fireplace. I was just settling into the story when Sushi let out a plaintive meow. She hopped up onto the couch and plopped herself right on top of the open pages of my book.
“Excuse me, Your Highness.” I quirked an eyebrow at her. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Sushi blinked at me lazily, then pointedly turned her head to look at the photo laying on the end table—a silly strip of photo booth pictures of Dax and me from the carnival last night. Our cheeks were flushed from laughter and perhaps one too many sugar-spun funnel cakes.
My face warmed at the memory. “It was just two friends hanging out, nothing more.”
Sushi’s golden eyes narrowed as if to say, ‘Oh, please.’
“Fine. Maybe it was more fun than I anticipated. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Doesn’t it though?
“Stop it, brain. We’re not doing this!” I petted Sushi’s soft fur, causing snowy-white tufts to float around me. “Dax is all biceps and bravado, and I’m...well, not. I can’t even do a pull-up and I love junk food!”
Was I being too hasty in writing off the potential of a real-life love story?
“Okay, so I’m attracted to him—now what? We’re too different…aren’t we?” I sighed. “Well, except that he makes me laugh, and his passion for reading, albeit creepy subjects, matches mine.”
“Meow.” Sushi blinked up at me, which I took as a reminder that opposites did attract.
“Who knew a night of cotton candy and ring tosses could leave me so upside down?” I slipped my copy of Emma from beneath Sushi. “I need a dose of predictability where the biggest worry is miscommunication, not the confusing reality of...whatever this is with Dax Granger.”
I couldn’t let myself get carried away by a handsome face and a disarming smile.
“Meow.” Perhaps my cat understood the complexities of human relationships better than I did.
I tried to focus on Emma, but kept lowering the book. Another rested on the table, a novel Dax had recommended as my second horror read. I just couldn’t bring myself to start it yet.
Glancing at the clock, I frowned. I’d be late for work unless I got going. Stretching, I grabbed my purse and Sushi, and then left the house.
Strolling along Main Street with Sushi resting on my shoulder, I took in the quaint storefronts and charming cafes. The air, an aroma of bluebells—the town’s namesake—wafted on the spring breeze. In a town this size, everyone not only knew each other, but also your coffee order and the name of your Wi-Fi network.
At the bookstore, I unlocked the door and stepped inside, letting my cat loose to roam while I went behind the counter and tidied the display of bestsellers.
The bell above the door chimed, announcing the arrival of Peregrine Downey, a regular patron whose eclectic tastes never failed to bring a smile to my face. Her electric shock of white hair stood on end, her eyes bright behind thick-rimmed glasses.
“Why, hello there, Paris!” Peregrine’s long fingers gesticulated wildly. “I must say, I always adore the ambiance of this establishment. It simply tickles my literary sensibilities. Now, have you chanced upon any deliciously obscure tomes that might pique my ravenous appetite for the written word?”
I grinned at her enthusiasm. “Peregrine, I believe I have just the book for you.” I moved from behind the counter, my fingers skimming the spines until I found the perfect match. “Have you read ‘Corsets, Carriages, and Courtship’ by Diane Chesterfield? It’s a historical romance I think you’ll enjoy.”
Peregrine’s eyes widened. She accepted the book, read the back jacket, and then smiled. “Why, this sounds positively delectable! You are a true literary matchmaker. Like Emma Woodhouse, but with books instead of beaus.”
I laughed, the comparison to Jane Austen’s heroine was both flattering and amusing. As an avid fan of Emma, I had a kinship with the meddlesome matchmaker. Of course, my interfering involved less romantic entanglements and more literary liaisons. If it brought joy and a love of reading to the people of Bluebell Bend, than I was happy to help.
“I pride myself on finding the perfect book for every reader. It’s my own brand of matchmaking magic.”
“Oh, I most ardently agree! Thank you for the thoughtful recommendation.”
I glanced at my cat perched atop a nearby shelf.
“What do you think, Sushi? Should I embrace my inner Emma and start arranging blind dates between lonely books and forlorn readers?”
Sushi meowed, her tail swishing in what I chose to interpret as approval.
She looked from me to the cat. “Paris? Are you conversing with me or the cat?”
“Um. Both?” I went to the register. “Your total is thirteen dollars and two cents.”
Peregrine drew back, her eyes widening in horror as if I’d just told her that her hair was on fire. “No. No, that will not do. Thirteen? Are you sure? I won’t have that number defiling my purchase. You’re trying to curse me. Well, I won’t stand for it! Either change that total or I’ll find a bookstore that doesn’t want me to get hit by a falling piano or attacked by a swarm of angry bees!”
I blinked, trying to keep a straight face. “Um, I apologize for any inconvenience. Let me see what I can do.” I fiddled with the register, pretending to make adjustments. “There we go! Twelve, ninety-nine. Crisis averted, and your luck remains intact.”
She sniffed, eyeing me suspiciously as she handed over the money. “Good. I’ll be watching you, young lady. I don’t like to believe town gossip, but they say you and your shop are irregular. So, one whiff of bad mojo and I’ll be back, sage and crystals in hand!”
Peregrine paid for her purchase and marched out the door. I looked at Sushi and shrugged.
Determined to focus on work, I started organizing the cowboy romance section, yet my brain had other plans. It insisted on replaying every moment of my non-date with Dax at the carnival in vivid, heart-fluttering detail. His tender smile, the way his hand felt in mine...and I couldn’t stop a silly grin
No, no, no! I mentally scolded myself, shaking my head as if trying to physically dislodge the thoughts.
Sushi leaped onto the counter and fixed me with an unblinking stare.
“Don’t give me that look.” I scratched behind her ears. “I’m not falling for anyone, especially not a personal trainer who probably thinks Austen is a brand of workout gear.”
“Meow.”
“Yes, thank you for the support.”
Huh. Did people in town find me strange because I spoke to my cat as if she understood me?—which she totally did. Perhaps that was just another quirk to add to the long list of things that made me stand out in Bluebell Bend.
And yet, as much as I embraced my uniqueness, there was still a part of me longing for a connection—someone who would appreciate my quirks and love me not despite them, but because of them.
The door opened. Cassius Flinn, a man in his early fifties, trudged into the store. He wore a tweed jacket, a slightly askew bowtie, and bright yellow socks peeking out from the hem of his slacks. Cassius owned the dry cleaner’s next door and he was always petitioning the town council to get me to paint my shop a more neutral color. So far, I’d successfully defended my right to keep my shop’s cheery pink exterior.
“Welcome to Prose & Positivity!” I called out, with my best bookshop owner smile.
“Ah, Paris!” he exclaimed, eyeing my outfit. “Still sporting that quirky style of yours, I see.”
I tugged down my graphic T-shirt that read, ‘Books Are My Love Language,’ and shrugged. “Guess I’m a trendsetter.”
Sushi yawned, scrutinizing Cassius with a touch of both aloofness and disdain.
The man frowned. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you. You’re not exactly what people expect from a respectable businesswoman in Bluebell Bend.”
My fists clenched. The all-too-familiar sting of being dubbed as an outsider left a bitter taste in my mouth. It wasn’t the first time someone had pointed out how I didn’t quite fit in with the rest of the town.
I plastered on a smile. “Oh, I’m not here to blend in with the wallpaper. I’m the splash of color that keeps Bluebell Bend from being a complete snoozefest. Besides, if I started conforming to expectations now, I’m pretty sure the town gossips would die of shock, and we can’t have that on our consciences, can we?”
“Ah, but there’s a difference between being unique and being, well, odd. The purple hair, the funky pink color of your bookshop, and always talking to your cat...it’s all so unconventional. You’re a businessowner, young lady!” Cassius’s tone took on a condescending edge. “You should act like one.”
Sometimes it was tiring to constantly defend my choices and lifestyle. But then I thought of the joy my bookshop brought me, the comfort I found in my cat’s companionship, and the exhilarating freedom of expressing myself authentically. Those things were worth a little small-town side-eye.
My shoulders straightened. “I’m not any different than any of you. I’m just not afraid to be myself.”
Cassius smirked, his upper lip curling in a way that made me want to reach for the nearest book and chuck it at his smug face. “You might get more business if you tried blending in a tad more.”
My body tensed and self-doubt crashed over me—fear that I was destined to be an outsider forever, never quite belonging. My thoughts shifted to Dax. He was different too, in his own way. A health nut obsessed with horror movies and books, trying to carve out his place in this small town. Perhaps we had more in common than I initially believed. We were both square pegs trying to fit into the round holes of Bluebell Bend’s expectations.
I drew strength from the realization that I wasn’t alone in my otherness. After all, hadn’t Dax listened intently while I babbled on about the symbolic significance of floral imagery in Victorian literature on the drive home from the carnival?
Swallowing hard, I pushed back the lump forming in my throat. “I’d rather be true to myself than pretend to be someone I’m not, even if it means being misunderstood.”
Cassius sighed. “Well, I suppose we all have our quirks. Some people collect stamps, others spend their days knitting sweaters for ceramic dolls. Not that I would know anything about that.”
As tempting as it was to tell Cassius to take his unsolicited opinions elsewhere and show him the door, I took the high road. And a negative Yelp review might put a serious damper on my dreams of bookish world domination.
Mustering a smile, I said, “Now, what brings you in today?”
“I need a book for my niece’s birthday. She’s turning sixteen and I haven’t the foggiest idea what girls her age like to read these days.”
I tapped my chin, my thoughts already sifting through the countless titles lining the shelves. “I think I have just the thing.” I led him to the classics section and plucked a copy of Sense and Sensibility from the shelf. “A classic tale of love and family drama. It’s like a 19th-century version of ‘The Bachelorette,’ but with more corsets and fewer hot tubs. Trust me, your niece will love it.”
Handing him the book, my spine straightened, proud of my ability to find the perfect book for every reader. I was the ultimate book matchmaker, and maybe being different wasn’t such a bad thing after all.