Chapter Three
WINTER
I arrived at the shop early. The contractors would be installing the shelves and the service counter today, and I was excited for the store to start taking shape. My first delivery of books would be arriving later this week and I needed the store operational by December first.
I had a week.
I parked my car, trying super hard to not remember the carnage I’d caused last night, ending that poor cat’s life. It was an accident, a horrible, awful, no-good accident, but still . . .
I felt bad.
But being busy would help me forget about that and help me forget about the man at the vet who’d quoted one of my favorite books.
Okay, so I had a hundred favorite books, but it was up there. It was on the list.
And he’d quoted it to me, unprompted, just off the top of his head.
His six-foot, brown-haired, handsome head.
With his alarmed wide blue eyes, awkward stance, and slight grimace, he was still handsome.
And I was the king of awkward and social ineptitude.
I was used to getting weird looks from guys and making them feel uncomfortable.
Not in a creepy way. Just in a what’s-wrong-with-you kind of way.
Just another day for me, I’m afraid.
A knock at the door scared the daylights out of me and I let out a very manly squeal, thankful Aunt Ro wasn’t here yet. She’d have thought that was hilarious. As it was, the guy peering at me through the front door laughed.
Great.
Seeing his coat had the company logo on the front, I opened the door. “Morning,” I said.
“Didn’t mean to startle ya,” he said, far too cheerfully. “Are you Winter Atkins?”
“I am. Come in.” I gave him room to walk in. It wasn’t freezing out, but it was cold enough. “Please tell me you have all my shelves and my service counter,” I said.
“We sure do,” he replied, just as a rather large white van backed up to the front of the store.
I wanted to clasp my hands together and say yay! like a manga schoolgirl character, but remembering my high-pitched squeal just a minute ago, I clapped my hands together and said a very masculine, “Good stuff,” instead.
His two staff began bringing gear in as I went over the floor layout plans, confirming everything was correct, then seeing they were more than capable—and seeing my very fabulous service counter in the middle of the store, waiting to be put in its final resting place—and after watching the first of the shelves being installed, I got out of their way and went in search of coffee.
It was too early for the café across the road so I walked up to the diner.
It was a testament to the classic retro American diners from the 1960s, though I was sure this was all original.
It was warm and busy, the staff friendly, and it smelled amazing.
No doubt the baked goods in the cabinet and the man I could see in the kitchen pulling out trays of muffins were to thank for the delicious aromas.
The waitress, an older lady with hair a copper color that I could only describe as courageous, greeted me with a motherly smile. “What can I getcha, love?”
I liked her immediately. “The largest coffee you’re legally allowed to give me, and two of the lemon blueberry scones, please.”
I thought Ro might like one when she came down later. Or, if she was late, I could totally eat both and not tell her . . .
Just a few short minutes later, I was walking back to the store. It was off Main Street, just before the turn to the bridge, central to everything. I just couldn’t get over how picturesque this town was.
Like a freaking postcard.
The main street was lined with old-fashioned awnings, planter boxes, gorgeous window dressings, with the mountains as a backdrop. It was stunning. And the people all smiled and waved.
My cynical city-self would almost think this was a dystopian nightmare if I didn’t love it so much.
I was going to be happy here. I just knew it.
I had a skip in my step as I headed back to the shop, mentally running through everything I still needed to do.
I had the new computer and point-of-sale system at home already, waiting for the service counter to be installed.
Then I could set up the cataloging software, the accounting software, and tweak the website some more.
I could hear the drilling and banging as I got closer, smiling at how close it all was to coming together, and I noticed the man from across the way putting some tables out in the sunshine.
“Morning,” he said when he saw me.
He was in his forties, at a guess, with grayish hair and a warm, wide smile.
“Oh, hi,” I replied.
We kinda met in the middle of the road, and he nodded toward my store and the worker inside it. “It’s all happening here today,” he said.
“Yes,” I said, maybe a little too excited. “Shelving and my brand-new sales counter.”
“A bookstore, right?” he asked. “Pretty sure that’s what I heard.”
“Yes! The Fox and Fables Bookstore. I’m very excited.”
He held out his hand. “Name’s Gunter Zuniga.”
I had to shove the scones under my arm so I could shake his hand. “Winter Atkins. Most people call me Win.”
“Nice to meet you.” He was handsome and had striking blue eyes. “I see you’ve found the diner okay?”
“Oh yes,” I said, holding the bag of scones as proof. “I’ve already convinced myself the lemon and blueberry scones are calorie-free.”
He chuckled. “I run the drop-in center here and the café.” He gestured to the closed store on the end, opposite mine.
“Well, it’s more of a training center for teens.
Café’s only open four days a week. Helps kids get some experience in the food service and retail industry.
There aren’t many jobs in small towns, so it helps them get a foot in the door when they venture out into the real world. ”
“I love that. What a great initiative.”
“Yeah, the kids love it. It also gives them a place to hang out.”
“The spot by the river here is just lovely,” I said. “This town is so pretty.”
“Ah, you’ve fallen under the Hartbridge spell,” he said with a grin. “Have you just moved here?”
I nodded. “From Boise. My aunt and I live out on Cottonwood Road. She found an old farmhouse that’s more work than whimsy, but as long as she’s happy.”
He grinned. “I bought a fixer-upper myself. If you need any advice or help . . .”
I snorted at how cute that was. “Oh dear god, no. I won’t be doing any of the fixing. Believe me, nobody wants that. My aunt Ro does the fixing. I’m more of a hire-a-professional kind of guy.”
He chuckled warmly. “Fair enough.”
Noticing the pride flags in his center window, I figured now was as good a time as any .
. . “I appreciate the pride flags,” I said.
“I will admit, when we were looking for locations, it made me feel welcome. So thank you for that. I know it means a lot for teens to see it as well. I worked at a big book retailer for years, and having that visibility is so important.”
His face lit up. “It really is. It’s part of the reason I opened this center,” he explained. “I never had that growing up, and I have to wonder what difference it would have made if I had.”
So he was queer . . .
Good to know.
A man carrying a box came down the sidewalk. He had sandy-grayish hair, wore navy trousers, a gray woolen sweater, and a dimple pierced his cheek when he saw us.
“Ah,” Gunter said. “I could have come up and got those.”
“It’s no problem,” he said, handing the box over to Gunter.
Gunter looked between us and made introductions. “This is Rob O’Reilly. He’s the town doctor, just around the corner.”
I held out my hand. “Winter Atkins. The bookshop is mine. Well, it will be. Once it opens.”
Doctor Rob grinned at me. “Gotta say, I was very happy to hear we were getting a bookstore.”
“Thank you. I’m excited to be here.”
“Just moved here?” he hedged.
Before I could answer, Gunter replied for me. “He has just moved to town, just in time for Christmas. And he was just commenting on the pride flags and how that made him feel welcome . . .”
They smiled at each other as if there was an inside joke I wasn’t privy to.
“Is that a problem?” I asked, not entirely sure where I stood on the line between acceptance and mockery.
Gunter grabbed my arm. “Oh no-no, no problem. No problem at all. Believe me. You’re in good company here. I’m gay.”
Rob nodded. “And I’m gaaaaay. Like gay gay.”
“Oh, am I being sequestered into some queer sex cult? Because you should both know, that while I am also gay gay, I’m also very asexual and not really interested in debauchery.
I’m not being judgmental or anything. It’s just not my thing.
So if there’s, like, meetings or something, as far as involvement, I can take down the minutes or make flyers, but I’ll leave the immersive experiences up to you. ”
They both stared at me for a second, then both burst out laughing. “Tell me,” Rob said, “have you met Hamish at the hardware store, by chance? Pretty sure you’d get along.”
“Dark hair? Beard?” I asked and they both nodded. “Yes, briefly; he helped me pick out a paint color. I did get queer vibes, not gonna lie. Is he ace or does he make the flyers? Not sure what you mean when you said we’d get along.”
Gunter laughed at that. “No, you’re just alike, that’s all.”
Oh.
“Uh, Mr. Atkins,” one of the workers called out from the doorway to my shop. “You have a noise.”
A noise?
“What do you mean I have a noise?” I asked, my voice a mix of squeak and shrill. “What does that even mean?”
I went to the door, not brave enough to step inside, and stuck my head in. “A scary noise?”
One man was kneeling down by the wall, his ear perked, listening. He nodded. “Did you hear that?”
Not over the sound of my thumping heart and wild imagination, no.
We were all quiet again, and then I did hear something. Very faint, very small.
Another worker came in from the back door. “There’s a gap in the subfloor, but I can’t even get an arm through.”