Chapter 10
Libby
It isn’t until I am back in my own house, door locked, breathing air that smells like a salted caramel Yankee candle and not Dax’s exhales that I am able to relax. I lean against the door for a moment, shaking off the jitters, shaking off whatever the fuck just happened out there.
I am still buzzing but I am also feeling dead ass sober.
Who does he think he is anyways? Waltzing over like some knight in shining armor?
Oh, I’ll take your keys.
Oh, I’ll take you home.
You are far too intoxicated, Libby.
We got off on the wrong foot, Libby.
Blah, blah, blah.
Got off on the wrong foot? Seriously? The problem is that we got off at all!
I had half a mind to ask him if he’s always this fake.
If he always lies about who he is until he gets what he wants, whether it’s sex or real estate or whatever.
I even almost asked him about Poppy and Delilah and whoever else pops up on his phone all the time.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Being in that car with him, my car with him, had my tongue tangled and my head floating.
Which pissed me off. Not to mention the whole fishing in my bra stunt.
I should have known better than to hide my keys there.
I should have known he is just a man who takes what he wants.
“Fucking crazy,” I scold myself, shaking my head, shaking off the thoughts and walking into the living room.
Technically, it’s still the same room. I live in a studio apartment and the only thing separating each “room” is double sided, cube bookcases and bamboo dividers.
I wasn’t lying that I could afford my own place.
But it’s mostly because the landlord of the building is a seventy-six-year-old man who used to go into the bookshop when my dad was still alive, and basically adopted our whole family as his own.
Of course, I wasn’t going to admit that.
I also love my apartment, so there is nothing to defend.
I stop in the window which is covered in tweed beadwork instead of a traditional curtain. It’s just enough to make it harder to see inside without keeping the light out.
Never keep the light out, Libby Love.
My dad’s words ring in my head throughout the day, every day, almost the way well-learned scripture would.
It’s both comforting and painful hearing his voice constantly, little jokes and reminders and intuitions.
A lot of it, he said he got from my mom.
I was young when she died, young enough that I only have a few, very short memories of her.
Sometimes I think I have more. But I think it’s because people came into the shop all the time and talked about her, so I don’t know what memories are actually mine, and what memories are stories that other people told me.
But the one thing I love is that my dad was always full of love, even after loss.
People talked about that too, about how even after the death of the love of his life, my dad didn’t lose his light.
If anything, he worked harder to keep it alive.
I set the tomato plant on the sill and look down at it. It’s alive. Vibrant, green and strong. God, I only hope it’ll stay that way.
Half of hope, Libby Love, is believing in something you can’t see.
“I know, Dad. I know.”
My eyes catch movement outside as an Uber pulls up to the street.
I watch as Dax climbs in. I also see his head tilt back up in my direction momentarily.
I’m sure he can see me. I am sure we are looking right at each other, even if our faces aren’t visible.
I wonder if we are thinking the same thing.
There is no denying what happened out there on the steps. We almost kissed. Whether either of us want to admit that or not. Our lips were close, close enough that if either of us so much as shifted our weight, they would have brushed.
But we didn’t. Which is good. Because I cannot get caught up in that man, no matter how good he looked. No matter how sweet he was pretending to be. I am not looking for love and even if I were, it wouldn’t be with that man.
I move away from the window and head into the kitchen.
I grab a colorful glass from the drying rack (I only have two cabinets in my little kitchen and not enough room for all my glassware) and fill it with water.
I chug it, knowing full well all the wine I consumed needs to be diluted if I am going to wake up for work tomorrow, and then I fill the glass again, returning to the window to water Tom.
The car is gone. Which is good. Because I need to stop thinking about Daxton Hemingway.
The next morning, Way With Words is buzzing.
The whole street is buzzing with foot traffic.
Weekends mean tourists a lot of the time.
We are located in a shopping district where everything is cultured, old and charming.
We are also less than a ten-minute walk from the Cheers Replica bar so it’s not uncommon for people to wander in.
People who didn’t know we are here and end up leaving with a book they didn’t know they needed or a toy or even just a quirky sticker or bookmark.
But window shoppers aren’t the only reason the shop is extra busy today. We are crawling with construction guys. Outside, inside, even in the bathroom.
“What are they doing here?” I ask as I set down my coffee and my bag behind the cash wrap.
“Apparently they were hired,” Summer says.
“By who?” I ask though I’m not sure why. There are two people that could be responsible– my brother and my nemesis, and I am equally angry at both of them.
“What are they doing?” I ask, as one of the men measures the bookshelves against the wall, bookshelves my dad made by hand in his garage.
“Excuse me! What are you doing?” I call out before Summer or Tom can say anything (the man, not the plant.
I should probably change the name of my tomato plant now that I think about it).
No one seems to be able to hear me, so I weave through the customers and approach the two hardhat clad men. “Hello! Hi. What are you doing here?”
“We were hired to inspect the place, ma’am.”
“Hired by who exactly. Because this shop is property of the Sterling family. And I am Elizabeth Sterling, so I need to know what’s going on right now because frankly, you’re trespassing and you’re chasing away my customers.”
One of them hands me a stack of crumpled papers. “We have a contract to be here, ma’am. We were hired by…Kai? Sterling? And Daxton Hemingway.”
I nod, clicking my teeth. “Of course you were. Well, neither of them are here right now so I’m going to need–”
“Hey boss! This wall is weight bearing!” another guy in orange calls out from the other side of the room.
“Are you sure? Because the blueprint says it’s not,” the guy I am talking to calls back.
“I am going to need you to leave.” I punch out every word hard enough and loud enough to get his attention again. He blinks but I don’t. “Now.”
After a long moment, he shakes his head. “Fine. But Mr. Hemingway isn’t going to like this.”
“Mr. Hemingway can shove it,” I say with a smile.
The hardhat men grab their things and make their way to the door. But just before they reach it, Dax walks in.
“Gentlemen,” he claps his hands with a grin that immediately disappears. “Wait. Where are you going?”
“We got kicked out,” one of them says. Tom hides in the science fiction section. Summer bites her lips and proceeds to ring up a customer who is buying a stack of cookbooks. And I cross my arms over my chest, preparing for battle.
“By who?” Dax snaps. Then his eyes lock on mine. “Right. Of course. Well, she is not in charge of this contract, I am. And I say you’re staying and finishing the eval.”
“And I say, you’re leaving.” I make my way to the front, stopping right behind them, trapping them between Dax and me.
“You can’t fire people that I hire,” Dax argues.
“And you can’t hire people without my consent.”
“I bought your bookshop, Libby. I don’t need your consent.”
“From my brother. You bought it from my brother. I did not agree and like it or not, I do have a say in my own family’s business.”
“Like it or not, that’s not how power of attorney works.”
“So, are we staying or going?” the head hardhat asks.
“Staying!” “Going!”
We talk at the same time, and both our glares harden.
“I have an idea. How about we have this discussion privately,” Dax suggests.
“Gladly.”
Dax and I step out of the shop, leaving the customers with Summer and Tom and the orange shirt crew to their own devices.
“What is the matter with you?” I say as soon as the door closes.
“I was about to ask you the same thing. I am just doing my job.”
“And I am doing mine!” I nearly shout. “Or trying to. But it’s a little hard to work when my shop is being overtaken by Bob the Builder and his stooges.”
“That’s two different shows…” he points out.
“Don’t change the subject. You can’t just come in here and start knocking walls down.”
“I’m going to have to make room for Hemingway inventory,”
“Hemingway inventory,” I nod, biting my lips with a judgmental grin.
“And the coffee shop.”
My eyes slice up to him. “Coffee shop? What coffee shop? Way With Words doesn’t need a coffee shop.”
“Maybe not, but Hemingway Books does. Every one of my stores has an in-house coffee shop and this one isn’t going to be any different.”
I let out a persecuted sigh. “Doesn’t it bother you?” I ask.
“Does what bother me?”
“That every one of your stores is a carbon copy of the others? There’s no character. No quirk. No uniquity.”
“No. But there’s consistency. And statistics in sales show that consistency is the key to profit.”
“Mm. And let me guess, Mr. Hemingway. Profit is the key to happiness?”
“It’s the key to success, Libby. But you wouldn’t know that, would you?”
My engines are officially gassed up. I open my mouth and raise a finger ready to let this asshole really have it.
“How dare you? You arrogant, egotistical, narcissistic–”
“Wow those are some scary words!” Kai’s voice comes from behind Dax as he appears out of nowhere and stops next to Dax, grinning at me. “What’s going on?”
Dax sighs like I’m annoying him. Like I’m a fly in the room that won’t go away no matter how many times you shoo it. Like he’s bored. “Your sister doesn’t want the construction crew here.”
Kai looks over at me. “Why? What’s up, Lib?”
“What’s up is that no one mentioned to me anything about a remodel.”
“Well, we can’t exactly fit a Hemingway Books in the closet of a store our parents gifted us with.”
With that, I am FUMING.
“This store is a Boston landmark. It is in a historic building, so you can’t just knock down walls without a permit.”
“Actually,” Dax starts in, providing the construction crew’s paperwork that was handed to me earlier (I threw it back in the man’s face after only skimming it). “We have clearance to remodel.”
I look over the papers again a little more slowly this time, then look up at Dax and Kai.
“I should still be involved in the decision-making process.”
“Your involvement, sis, is keeping the store running while we start the renovations. We need people to not panic. So that’s your job.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “So let me get this straight. You want me to lie to my customers. To people who are friends to me, who are like family to me. People who loved our parents and are the reason the store is still alive. You want me to pretend that the shop they know, and love isn’t about to be ripped away from them all for, what did you call it? Statistical success?”
Kai nods his head back and forth. “Yeah, I think that about covers it.”
I look at Dax, stupidly. It’s stupid because I feel like I am telepathically begging him for a lifeline. Of course, he doesn’t throw me one. He just stands there, eyes hard. Lips tight.
I shake my head. “You two are unbelievable.”
“No,” Kai says. “We are realistic. It’s time to stop being a dreamer, Lib, and see this for what it is. Change is good. You’ll see.”
With that, my brother walks towards the door.
“You know,” I call out. “Dad would be shaking his head right now too.”
It stops him for all of two seconds. Two seconds where his stance goes a little rigid because I hit a nerve. But he squares his shoulders and keeps walking, not looking back.
As soon as the door closes, I can hear him shouting orders to the workers. I turn my attention to Dax who is just staring at me.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“For what, Dax? Hmm? For lying to me? For pretending to care? For ruining my life?”
He waits a moment before his tongue clicks. “I’m sorry that you don’t understand why this is the only way. I suggest you start thinking with your head, and not your heart.”
With that, he walks inside too and I am left alone on the outside. The outside of a shop that is mine. Outside of the decision making for the fate of that shop. And outside of the control of my own fate.