3. Aurora
CHAPTER THREE
Aurora
The lawyer’s office smelled like old books and coffee gone cold.
I sat stiffly in a leather chair across from Thomas Calloway, a man who looked exactly like every small-town attorney I’d ever seen in movies. Gray hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a suit that had probably never been in fashion.
He cleared his throat, adjusting the paperwork on his desk. “Miss Bennett, I know you were hoping for a quick sale, but I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”
Of course it wasn’t.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “What do you mean?”
Calloway sighed like he was bracing for my reaction. “For one, the property transfer isn’t finalized. Your uncle never updated certain documents, which means there’s a backlog of legal work before the store is officially yours to sell.”
My stomach tightened. “How long are we talking?”
“A few weeks, minimum.”
I exhaled slowly. “Right. And that's just one issue, I’m guessing.”
Calloway nodded. “There’s also the matter of Page Turners itself. It’s in significant disrepair, and there are outstanding debts. If you sell as is, you'll barely break even.”
I swallowed a curse. Of course, my uncle had left me a mess.
Running a hand through my hair, I shifted in my seat. “What if I just walk away? Let the town take it or something?”
Calloway gave me a patient but pointed look. “The bookstore is in your name. If you abandon it, the debts could follow you.”
Perfect. Just perfect.
I leaned back, staring at the ceiling, willing the universe to cut me a damn break.
“Miss Bennett,” Calloway said after a moment, “I understand this isn’t what you expected. But Page Turners meant a lot to your uncle. If you take the time to fix it up, you might find it’s worth more than just money.”
I didn’t need a sentimental sales pitch. I needed an exit strategy.
I pressed my lips together, resisting the urge to argue. I hadn't come here for a heartfelt speech about the value of dusty bookshelves and nostalgia. I had come here to untangle myself from this mess as quickly as possible.
But it turned out, I was stuck.
At least for now.
I exhaled sharply and sat up. “Fine. Let’s say I don’t sell right away. What's my best option?”
Calloway leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Your uncle’s debts aren’t insurmountable. With some work, the store could be profitable again. If you invest a little time?—”
I held up a hand. “Stop right there. I don’t plan on staying in Medford long term.”
He gave me a measured look. “Long enough to fix this, though?”
I rubbed my temple. I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have had to.
But what choice did I have? Let the debts follow me back to the city? Watch this place crumble because my uncle hadn't been responsible enough?
Frustration coiled tight in my chest. I didn’t like feeling trapped.
I pushed to my feet. “Send me whatever paperwork I need to look over.”
Calloway nodded. “Of course.”
I didn’t say goodbye, just turned and strode out of the office, my boots clicking sharply against the hardwood. The moment I stepped outside, the cool air hit me, but it didn’t clear my head the way I needed it to.
I dug my keys out of my bag before remembering… Right. No car.
Because, of course, I was stranded.
A gust of wind whipped through the street, sending a shiver down my spine. I tightened my coat around me, my fingers stiff from the cold and frustration. The thought of walking all the way back to the bookstore in these boots made my patience wear even thinner.
I barely had time to process my next move when a deep voice cut through the quiet.
“Need a ride?”
I turned toward the sound, already knowing who it was.
Ethan Grady leaned against his truck, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He looked like he’d been there for a while, watching.
Of course.
Because why wouldn’t my day get more complicated?
I exhaled sharply. “Have you been sent to babysit me or something?”
Ethan’s mouth twitched, something between amusement and irritation.
“No one sent me. I was at the hardware store.” He nodded toward the shop across the street, then arched a brow. “But if you’d rather walk back in those shoes, be my guest.”
I glanced down at my heeled boots. They were not made for Medford’s uneven sidewalks, let alone the walk back to Page Turners.
My pride told me to refuse, but my feet begged me to be practical.
With a resigned sigh, I strode toward the truck. “Thanks.”
He opened the passenger door, and I climbed in, the truck warmer than I expected.
Ethan slid into the driver’s seat, turning the key. The old engine rumbled to life, filling the cab with the scent of leather, coffee, and something distinctly him . Clean, a little rugged, like cedar and motor oil.
We drove in silence for a while, the quiet surprisingly comfortable. Medford passed by in a blur of small-town charm, and for a brief moment, I let myself relax.
Then Ethan glanced over. “You okay?”
I let out a dry laugh. “Not even a little.”
He nodded, as if he’d expected that. “Figured.”
I sighed, leaning my head back against the seat. “I was just at a lawyer’s office learning that my uncle left me a financial disaster. I can’t sell the store yet, I can’t just walk away, and if I don’t figure something out, I might lose my job, too.”
Ethan didn’t speak right away. He just kept driving, hands steady on the wheel.
Finally, he said, “Sounds like you’ve got some decisions to make.”
I scoffed. “Understatement of the century.”
His gaze flicked toward me again. “So, what's your plan?”
That was the problem. I didn’t have one.
I turned toward the window, watching Medford roll by. “I have no idea.”
Ethan pulled up in front of Page Turners, shifting the truck into park. I was already reaching for the door handle when he cleared his throat.
“There’s something else,” he said.
I stilled, my fingers curling around the strap of my bag.
“Go on. Ruin my day completely.”
Ethan didn’t take the bait. He just exhaled, running a hand over his jaw like he was debating how to say whatever bad news was coming next.
That alone told me it was going to be bad.
I turned toward him fully. “Just say it.”
He met my gaze. “Your Jaguar? It’s gonna be expensive.”
I blinked. “Define expensive.”
He shifted, resting an arm on the steering wheel. “The parts aren’t easy to come by, and the engine’s got more issues than just the starter. You're looking at a couple grand at least, maybe more depending on labor and what else we find.”
The exhaustion hit me all at once, like a weight pressing down on my chest.
A couple grand. On top of everything else.
On top of the bookstore’s debts, the legal mess, and the fact that my career was hanging by a thread.
I pressed my fingers to my temple, willing away the headache building behind my eyes. “So what you're saying is, I’m stranded.”
Ethan’s brows pulled together. “You’ve got options.”
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah? Enlighten me.”
He shrugged. “You could fix the Jag. You could borrow a car. You could hitch a ride when you need one. Or…” He hesitated, then gave me a measured look. “You could accept that you might be here longer than you planned and start dealing with it.”
Something sharp and defensive curled in my stomach.
“I am dealing with it,” I snapped.
Ethan didn’t flinch. “Are you?”
I gritted my teeth, gripping the strap of my bag so tightly my knuckles ached. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”
“No, you didn’t,” he agreed. “But it’s yours now.”
I turned away, staring out the windshield, frustration simmering beneath my skin. The worst part was, I knew he was right.
But I was too damn tired to deal with any of it right now.
I shoved open the door and climbed out, slamming it behind me.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said over my shoulder, already heading for the bookstore.
Ethan didn’t stop me. He just waited a beat before saying, “You know where to find me.”
I didn’t look back.
The bookstore was just as I had left it—dusty, dimly lit, and smelling faintly of old paper and something vaguely floral. Probably some ancient potpourri my uncle had never bothered to throw out.
I dropped my bag onto the front counter and took a slow look around. The place could have been charming if it weren’t one gust of wind away from total collapse.
I was trying to figure out where to even start when the bell over the door jingled.
I turned, expecting another nosy local, but the woman who stepped inside wasn’t just any local.
She was formidable. Mid-sixties, pressed slacks and a cardigan buttoned up just so, with the kind of posture that suggested she took absolutely no shit from anyone.
Her sharp blue eyes swept over me like she was assessing every single one of my life choices, and judging all of them.
“Miss Bennett,” she said, her voice crisp. “I thought I might find you here.”
I blinked. “Uh, and you are?”
Her lips pressed together like she was disappointed I didn’t already know. “Beatrice Callahan. I worked for your uncle.”
Right. Calloway had mentioned something about an employee.
“You were his assistant?” I asked.
Her eyes narrowed. “I managed the store.”
Well, okay then.
I gestured vaguely around us. “So you know what kind of mess he left behind.”
Beatrice stiffened. “Your uncle cared deeply about this store.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “That's nice, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s falling apart and drowning in debt.”
She exhaled sharply, her gaze flicking to the bookshelves like she couldn’t believe I’d talk about her store like that.
I leaned against the counter. “Look, Beatrice. I’m just trying to figure out what exactly I’m dealing with here. My uncle never really talked to me, so I don’t know much about him or this place.”
Beatrice’s expression didn’t soften.
I tried again. “Did he ever mention anything about the finances? Maybe why the debts piled up?”
Her jaw tightened. “Your uncle kept certain things private.”
Which was a very polite way of saying, I’m not telling you anything.
I crossed my arms. “Right. And you're not interested in helping me now, either?”
She leveled me with a look. “You’ve made it clear you don’t plan to stay, Miss Bennett. So forgive me if I don’t feel inclined to hand over your uncle’s secrets to someone who sees this place as nothing more than a burden.”
My stomach twisted because she wasn’t wrong. But it still stung.
Beatrice adjusted her cardigan. “I came by to collect a few personal belongings. I won’t trouble you again.”
And just like that, she turned and walked toward the back office, her heels clicking against the wooden floor.
I stared after her, an uncomfortable mix of guilt and frustration settling in my chest.
It was obvious no one in this town trusted me. And I was starting to realize I didn’t trust them, either.