Chapter 5
5
I don’t bother looking in the mirror when I wake up the next morning, knowing full well what’s going to greet me in the reflection. There are probably lots of people in the world who would love to wake up with their hair and makeup done each morning, but something about it doesn’t sit right with me. Possibly because it’s neither the hair nor the makeup I would choose for myself.
Speaking of choices, it’s time for my least favorite one of the day.
I stand in front of the closet, my hand on the doorknob. “I don’t suppose today you could give me something to wear that actually suits my personality.” I twist the knob, but don’t open the door just yet. “Please,” I add, for good measure.
Despite my very good manners, all I see when I open the door is pastels and floral prints.
I close it again with a sigh. “Look, I get what you’re trying to do here, but I’m going to work in a bookstore today. I don’t think a frilly dress is going to cut it.”
I open the closet once again, not expecting my pleas to have any sort of impact.
Everything inside is still pastel. Of course.
But once I start rifling through the clothes, I realize my pleas might not have gone totally unheard. Yeah, baby pink isn’t exactly my color, but I’ll take a cardigan over a dress with poofy sleeves any day of the week.
I even find a pencil skirt hidden in the depths. It’s made of denim, so not a complete victory, but I pair it with a white T-shirt and a soft lavender sweater—and I don’t totally hate the look as a whole. I figure working in a bookstore means I have permission to wear sneakers, and my feet are not missing my standard four-inch heels.
When I push through the door of the tiny—and fine, I’ll admit, adorable—bookstore a few minutes and a short walk later, I expect to be greeted by some kind of person in charge. Someone who will tell me exactly what needs doing and how to do it.
But of course, when Mimi said run the bookstore, she literally meant for me to run the bookstore. There’s no one in the building except for me and a bright orange cat, who brushes against my legs and immediately causes me to sneeze.
“Great. Just fucking great.”
Well, first things first, I manage to find the light switch, hidden behind, you guessed it, a huge stack of books. The overhead lights are dim, providing just enough illumination to be able to see, and very much adding to the whole cozy and mysterious atmosphere.
There’s an ancient-looking cash register sitting on top of the worn wooden counter, tucked away in the front corner of the store. The rest of the space is filled with bookshelves, mismatched colors and sizes of spines squeezed into every available inch. In the back of the room, I find a small, squishy-looking armchair that the cat has claimed. I’m tempted to join him—or her, can’t really tell—but if I want to make this store my life’s passion, I might need to figure out how to actually operate it.
“Come on, Cam. You graduated magna cum laude from Columbia. I’m pretty sure you can manage one tiny bookstore.”
I do a lap around the cluttered space, getting my bearings before I try to decide where to start. If I let myself get too caught up in the big picture—the one where I have no idea what I’m doing—I’ll probably just collapse in that armchair and accomplish nothing. But that is not the Campbell Andrews way. I take another lap, this one slower and more methodical, familiarizing myself with the needs-to-be-completely-redone organizational system.
I’m acquainting myself with the different sections (labeled with faded, barely legible stickers) when a bell chimes to alert me to a customer. Just what I need. Another blasted bell, and an interruption just as I’m starting to figure things out.
But I slap on that fake smile that’s almost becoming second nature now and head back to the front of the store. “Hi!” I say in a voice many a salesperson has tried on me. “Welcome!”
The woman, who looks to be in her midfifties, flashes me a bright smile. “Well, hello! You must be the new girl everyone’s talking about!”
I fight to keep my smile from morphing into a grimace. “That’s me! Word sure does travel fast around here.”
She looks me over from head to toe, giving me the full assessment, her smile never faltering. “It sure does. How are you settling in?”
“About as well as anyone who’s had their whole world turned upside down might be?” I shrug in a way she hopefully finds sheepish and charming. I take Mimi’s words of warning about the citizens of Heart Springs and assume it’s best to keep things vague. “Moving can be so tough!”
She chuckles. “Fair enough. Relocating to a new town can be so overwhelming, but we’re so happy you’re here! I just came in to pick up the new Nora Roberts. Have you put it out yet?”
“Um. Hmm. That’s a good question! I just got here and was trying to familiarize myself with the shop when you walked in.” I stride over to the counter, hoping to find some kind of organization system or a working computer with software cataloging all the books the store has in stock, but all I find is the register and some old bookmarks. I let out a puff of breath. “Well, I’m sure I can find it for you. You said the author is Norma Robins?”
The woman looks at me like I’ve suddenly sprouted an extra head. “Nora Roberts, silly!”
“Right. And what genre does she write?”
Her eyes widen. “You work in a bookstore and you don’t know who Nora Roberts is?”
“Well, to be fair, I didn’t exactly pick this job. I mean, I did, but from a very limited list of possibilities. There weren’t a ton of openings, but I’m not a big reader, honestly. I never really saw the appeal.” I know the moment the words are out that they are the exact wrong thing to say. “But I’m excited to learn! I mean, I can definitely read all these books in no time, I’m sure.” I gesture helplessly to the thousands of books lining the shelves. Even with my law school–honed speed-reading skills, it would take me months of nothing but reading to put even a dent in them.
“I think I’ll just find the book for myself, thanks.” The woman’s friendly demeanor has completely faded and by the time I manage to ring up her book on what must be the original store cash register, she looks like she wants to murder me.
The second the door closes behind her, I’m tempted to lock it and turn out the lights, but it’s only been an hour and there’s no way in hell I’m giving up already.
I roll my shoulders back, tilting my neck from side to side like Rocky gearing up for a fight. I can do this. I can absolutely, one hundred percent, totally manage to run this store. And find a way to become passionate about books.
“Books are great,” I mutter as I begin to alphabetize the mystery section, not that I’m going to recognize any of the titles or authors or, god forbid, be able to provide customers with any recommendations.
After a few minutes, I head back to the front of the shop, searching the counter for any supplies that could possibly help. I find a worn notebook and a stub of a pencil and bring both with me as I return to perusing the shelves. I start two lists: one of things to do around the shop, like make new labels and dust, and one of titles that look interesting. Maybe, if I have a few go-to books I can suggest to inquiring customers, it might buy me some time to actually read some of them.
And so the day goes.
I send off an eight-year-old girl holding a book with a smiling clown on the cover, sell a religious romance by Sierra Simone to the town preacher’s teenage daughter, and even manage to find a book about clocks for a doddering old man who told me he likes to “tinker” with old machines.
By the time the sun is setting, I’ve managed not only to keep the bookstore standing but to actually sell some books. I even checked a few items off my to-do list.
As I lock the door on my way out, making sure to shut off the lights and fill the cat’s water and food bowls before I leave, I can’t help but feel pretty damn proud of myself. I might not be the biggest fan of reading, but maybe there’s a chance this whole bookseller gig will turn out to be my passion. Maybe my success today is a sign of some sort of inherent book-recommending magic I never knew I had in me.
My steps are jaunty as I make the short walk from the store back to my little cottage of a house. I knew it wouldn’t take me long to knock these tasks off one by one, but even I can admit that I didn’t expect it to come together in one day.
I’m not even annoyed by the sight of Ben, once again in his rocking chair, once again sipping on a beer, like he hasn’t been forced to spend his whole day doing something completely out of his comfort zone.
He gives me the smuggest of smiles as I approach and maybe there is a tad bit of annoyance after all.
“What are you so happy about?” I pause in front of his gate, even though I know I shouldn’t be bothered. I should head right through my own front door and not give that cocky smile a lick of my time.
“How was your first day at work?” He asks the question in a tone that makes it clear he already knows the answer. So much for the sort of camaraderie I thought we had established yesterday.
I cross my arms over my chest. “It was fabulous, actually. I think it’s safe to say that I nailed it.”
Ben purses his lips. “Nailed it, huh?”
His look is all too knowing and a rock of foreboding sinks my stomach. “Yes,” I respond with rapidly draining confidence.
Ben leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, beer bottle dangling from his fingers. “You sold an eight-year-old It .”
“The clown book?” My brow furrows. Of all the possible missteps I’ve been running over in my mind, that wasn’t one of them.
Ben doesn’t hold back, throwing back his head and letting loose a guffaw. “The clown book? Seriously? How have you never heard of It ?”
“I don’t read much, okay?” I say defensively.
“It was written by Stephen King!” His laughter continues, wiggling under my skin.
Now that he says it, the author’s name does ring a bell. I knew it was familiar when I was ringing up the purchase, but I couldn’t quite place my finger on why.
I glare at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cowed. “Okay fine, I made one mistake. It was my first fucking day. Give me a break!”
Ben’s eyebrows shoot up. “One mistake? Sweetheart, you also sent the preacher’s daughter home with erotica and sold Old Man Tate A Clockwork Orange .”
“He was looking for a book about clocks! It’s right there in the title.” I plant my hands on my hips. “And I will not apologize for that erotica bit. Everyone deserves the chance to explore their fantasies.” Though maybe I should have skipped the one with all the religious overtones.
Ben’s body finally stops shaking with laughter and his gaze turns to pure pity. “You really had no idea, did you?”
I bristle, pulling myself up to my full height, dropping my arms from their defensive position. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You actually thought you had done a good job today.”
My cheeks heat, and I don’t know why the idea of Ben seeing me fail irritates me so much. Maybe because the idea of failing at all irritates me so much, let alone having it happen in front of my annoyance of a neighbor/former blind date/only person in this town who I thought might understand how it feels to be stuck here.
“Oh yeah, well if it’s so easy, how was your first day? Did you even work or have you been sitting here all day waiting for the opportunity to judge me?”
Ben’s smile fades. “I’m not judging you.”
I shrug off his words, like the lie paired with the judgment doesn’t sting even worse. “Whatever.” I turn to march the few feet over to my front gate.
“Wait. Do you want a beer or a glass of wine? Seems like you might need one.” His smile is back, but this one lacks the teasing glint from before.
“Sure. Why the hell not.” I trudge up his front path, collapsing into the chair next to his and accepting the proffered wine. “So how did you know about all the mistakes I made?”
Ben extends his long legs in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. “Despite your assumptions, I did work today. Took over for the town doctor, who’s on an extended vacation. People in small towns love to gossip, especially about the new kid.”
“Of course you get to keep your normal job. I find it hard to believe no one in this town has use for a lawyer, and yet I’m out here trying to run a freaking bookshop,” I grumble.
He chuckles, but it doesn’t sound totally genuine. “I wouldn’t say this is keeping my normal job. The most daunting thing I did today was pull a LEGO minifigure from a kid’s nose.”
The image brings a slight smile to my face, but I do my best to hide it. “Not something you deal with on a regular basis?”
“Not quite.”
I nudge his elbow. “Go ahead, brag. You know I’m not one to be offended by a show of ego.”
Ben shrugs. “I’m a surgeon, of course I’ve got a bit of an ego.” He hesitates for barely a second before continuing. “I specialize in cardiothoracic surgery, kids who have heart issues and need major intervention.”
I don’t even have to feign being impressed. “Seems like you’re a pretty big deal, Dr. Loving.” It’s not hard to imagine him, all competent business in the operating room, all calming bedside manner when dealing with nervous kids and their more anxious parents.
“I do the best I can.” This time Ben is the one nudging my elbow with his. “It will get easier, it was just the first day.”
I swallow a gulp of wine, relishing the warmth that spreads through my chest. “I think we both know I’m not cut out to run a bookstore, Doc.”
“I think the important thing to note is that you tried something new and you gave it your best.”
I snort. “I’m not a kindergartener. There’re no adulthood points for effort. Either you succeed or you fail. Safe to say, today I failed.” The words taste sour in my mouth, even after another swig of wine.
Ben picks at the label of his beer bottle, the same generic one from the night before. “I don’t think life works like that. It’s not all so black and white.”
“It is in my family.”
Ben doesn’t say anything for a minute, but I can feel his eyes on me, like he’s x-ray visioning into my brain and learning things no one should really know.
And that’s my cue to leave. I’ve already shared more than I would normally, and I don’t like the sort of warm feeling in my chest that comes with Ben trying to offer me comfort and companionship. I chug the rest of the wine and set down the glass on the small table in between the two chairs. “Thanks for the wine. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Have a good night.” He gives me a lingering look.
I ignore the shiver it sends down my spine. “Yeah, you too.”