27. Aurora
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Aurora
I was running out of time.
The old grandfather clock in the corner of Page Turners might as well have been ticking just for me.
Two more days. That was all I had.
Fuck .
If I sold the bookstore, I could walk away. I could go back to the life I built for myself before all of this. Before Medford. Before the Grady brothers.
My career would be intact. No messy legal fights. No threats looming over me.
But if I stayed…
I exhaled sharply, pressing my palm against the cool glass.
If I stayed, I risked everything. The bookstore. My future. My safety.
And not just mine.
My fingers hovered over my stomach, barely touching, like I was afraid to acknowledge what I already knew. It wasn’t obvious yet, not to anyone else.
But I felt it. The smallest changes, the way my body wasn’t just mine anymore.
I had a baby to think about.
The thought sent a wave of something fierce through me. Protectiveness, maybe. Fear. Both.
I closed my eyes, trying to drown out the noise in my head.
The logical choice was to sell. Cut my losses. Take the out while I still had one.
But when I looked around the bookstore, saw the shelves my uncle had spent years curating, the notes in his messy handwriting still scribbled in the margins of his ledgers, I felt something twist in my chest.
This place had been his dream. And in some strange, impossible way, it had become mine, too.
It was almost as if The Adventures of Rosie and the Bookshop Dragon was playing for real in my head.
I’d heard about the town meeting. About Mason, standing in that town hall, fire in his eyes as he told Lawson he didn’t own this town.
About Owen, steady and certain, telling people they had to fight.
About Ethan, carrying the weight of it all, refusing to let Medford go down without a battle.
They had my back.
They believed in this town.
And, God help me, I kind of did, too.
I turned away from the window, exhaling slowly. I wasn’t ready to make a decision yet, but one thing was clear—Medford wasn’t just some stop on my way to somewhere else.
Not anymore.
I had to do something. It was time for me to act, to make this choice once and for all.
I wasn’t sure what the hell I was doing.
One second, I was standing in the bookstore, drowning in doubt. The next, I was marching across town, my boots scuffing against the sidewalk as I made my way to Beatrice Callahan’s house.
Maybe it was stupid. Maybe it was pointless. But I needed answers.
And for some reason, I had a feeling she’d give them to me now.
The last time I’d talked to Beatrice, she’d made it clear she had no interest in helping a woman who was just passing through.
And back then, she’d been right. I hadn't cared about Medford, not really.
I’d seen the bookstore as an obligation, a burden.
But things were different now. I wasn’t just here to tie up loose ends. I wasn’t just here for myself anymore.
Beatrice’s house was exactly what I expected—a tidy little blue Craftsman with perfectly trimmed hedges, like she’d personally inspected every single leaf before allowing it to stay.
I hesitated only a second before knocking.
Footsteps.
Then the door opened, and there she was.
Beatrice Callahan, still as poised as ever, though this time, her expression wasn’t quite as sharp.
“Miss Bennett.” She eyed me like I was a surprise package on her doorstep. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
I swallowed my pride. “I need your help.”
Her brows lifted just slightly, like she hadn't expected that. “Do you?”
I nodded. “I know I didn’t make the best first impression.”
“That's an understatement.”
Fair enough.
I exhaled. “Look, I came into this town thinking I’d be in and out. That this store was just something to deal with. But I was wrong.”
My throat felt tight, but I pushed through it.
“My uncle left me more than just a failing business. He left me a piece of himself. A piece of this town. And I’m not ready to let Lawson take it.”
Beatrice didn’t say anything right away. She just studied me, like she was peeling back my words, searching for the truth underneath.
And then, something shifted. She stepped back, holding the door open.
“Well,” she said, “you’d better come inside.”
I let out a slow breath and walked in.
Her house was as put together as she was. Bookshelves lined the walls, everything in perfect order.
A pot of tea sat on a tray in the living room, two cups beside it.
Like she’d known I was coming. Like I would come eventually.
She gestured for me to sit, then took the armchair across from me, folding her hands in her lap. “Tell me what you need.”
“I need to know everything .”
Beatrice watched me carefully, her sharp blue eyes measuring the weight of my words.
Then, without a word, she picked up the teapot and poured two cups.
“Everything,” she repeated, a wry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “That's a lot to ask, Miss Bennett.”
I wrapped my hands around the warm ceramic of the cup she offered me.
“Aurora,” I corrected softly. “If we’re doing this, if you're going to tell me who my uncle really was, I think we can drop the formalities.”
She studied me again, then gave a small nod. “Aurora, then.”
For a moment, she just sat there, staring at her tea like she was pulling pieces of the past from the amber liquid. Then, finally, she exhaled.
“George was always stubborn,” she said, voice quieter than I’d ever heard it. “Even as a young man, he had this idea in his head that he could fix everything, that he could shoulder burdens alone. He never wanted anyone to worry, least of all me.”
There was something in the way she said it that made me pause. It wasn’t just loyalty or admiration. It was something deeper, something old and unspoken.
I stayed quiet, letting her talk.
“He used to drive me absolutely mad,” she continued, shaking her head. “I managed the bookstore, and he was constantly coming in and messing with my systems. He’d restack shelves incorrectly, leave notes for customers that had nothing to do with their orders, and—God help me—he’d give away books for free if he thought someone needed them.”
I raised an eyebrow. “For free?”
Beatrice huffed. “Don’t look so surprised. He had a soft heart. If he saw a kid hanging around the store too long, he’d find some excuse to send them home with a book. If someone was struggling, he’d ‘accidentally’ misplace an invoice for their purchases.
“I scolded him for it constantly, told him a store couldn’t run on generosity alone.” She exhaled. “But he never listened. He’d just smile at me, that ridiculous, boyish grin of his, and say, ‘What's the point of a bookstore if it doesn’t take care of people?’”
My chest tightened. I’d never thought of my uncle that way.
I’d only ever seen the man who barely spoke to me, who kept me at arm’s length my entire life.
But in this version of him—the one Beatrice knew—he wasn’t just some eccentric shop owner drowning in debt.
He was a man who loved books, who loved this town, who cared enough about people to put them above himself.
Beatrice’s fingers traced the rim of her teacup absently. “One time, there was this woman—single mother, two kids. She was barely getting by. George let her take books whenever she wanted, said it was an investment in the kids’ future. I told him he was going to run us out of business.” She let out a soft laugh. “And you know what he said?”
I shook my head.
“He said, ‘Bea, I’d rather go broke doing something good than be rich with nothing worth remembering.’”
Beatrice went quiet for a long moment, her gaze distant.
The way she breathed her own nickname— Bea —I knew then.
She hadn't just loved him as a friend. She had loved him.
I swallowed hard. “Why didn’t you two ever, you know?”
She blinked, looking at me like she was surprised I’d asked. Then she smiled, small and sad.
“Some loves aren’t meant for the world to see,” she said simply.
I understood that more than I wanted to.
Beatrice set her cup down carefully, her fingers lingering on the porcelain like she was holding onto something more than just a teacup.
“Hank Lawson wasn’t the first of his family to sink his claws into this town,” she said, her voice measured, careful. “His father, Walter Lawson, was a thorn in George’s side for decades. Always had his hands in things he shouldn’t. Always looking for ways to twist Medford into something he could own outright.”
I leaned forward. “What do you mean?”
Beatrice exhaled, shaking her head. “Your uncle never told me the full story. But he used to say that Walter Lawson wanted to ruin this town and take advantage of everyone in it. Their debts, their businesses, their homes. The bookstore.” She hesitated. “The bookstore was always in his sights. And George knew it.”
My fingers tightened around my cup. “But why? Why a little bookstore when there were bigger businesses to take over?”
She gave me a long look. “That's the question, isn’t it?”
Something cold slithered through me.
Beatrice continued, “I never could get him to tell me outright. But I know this, whatever George was protecting, it’s still here. That's why Hank Lawson is so desperate to get his hands on it now.”
I swallowed. “What do you think it is?”
She hesitated, as if she were considering whether or not to say the next words out loud. And then, finally, she said, “That safe in the back office.”
The air left my lungs. What safe?
I stared at her, my mind scrambling.
“Beatrice,” I shook my head. “There’s no safe in the office.”
Her brow furrowed. “Of course there is.”
“No, I’ve been through everything. Every drawer, every cabinet, every…” I stopped.
I thought of the storeroom. Of how cluttered it had been when I first arrived.
Of the old wooden desk, the bookshelves, the filing cabinets and that massive, dust-covered cabinet tucked into the corner.
One I’d barely paid attention to because it had been covered in books, stacks of old receipts, and other things I had shoved out of my way.
I hadn't seen a safe.
My heart pounded.
“Beatrice,” I whispered. “I think I need to find this safe.”
Her lips pressed together, her expression unreadable.
“Then, Aurora,” she said, voice soft but firm, “you’d best find out what's inside.”
I barely remembered the walk back to Page Turners. My heart was still pounding from what Beatrice had told me.
A safe.
Something my uncle had been protecting. Maybe something related to Hank Lawson.
I pushed through the front door, heading straight to the back of the shop.
I didn’t need distractions. I needed answers.
The storeroom smelled like dust and ink, the scent of old paper thick in the air. I flicked on the overhead light, casting a dim glow over the cluttered space.
My gaze swept over the bookshelves, the filing cabinets, the stacks of forgotten ledgers. And then my eyes locked on the massive, dust-covered cabinet shoved against the far wall.
My pulse kicked up.
I strode toward it, yanking away the stacks of papers and books piled on top. My fingers found the edges, and I gave it an experimental shove.
It didn’t budge.
I tried again, harder this time.
A deep groan of wood and metal filled the air as the cabinet scraped against the floor, revealing something I hadn't noticed before. A panel behind it, barely loose at the corner.
I sucked in a breath.
Beatrice was right. There was more here.
Dropping to my knees, I pried my fingers beneath the panel and pulled. It resisted at first, as if it hadn't been moved in years, but with one final tug, it came loose.
And there it was. An old iron safe, built into the wall.
My hands shook as I reached out, running my fingers over the cool metal.
It was heavy duty, the kind of thing built to withstand time.
I swallowed hard.
This was it. This was what my uncle had been hiding.
I pressed my forehead against the safe for a second, exhaling.
Okay. Think.
The key. The old key I had found in my uncle’s desk.
The key I’d seen a copy of at Grady’s Auto Shop.
I fumbled in my pocket, my fingers closing around the small, worn key.
My pulse pounded in my ears as I slid it into the keyhole.
It fit.
I turned it.
Nothing.
Frowning, I tried again, twisting it harder.
The lock resisted, unmoving.
I exhaled sharply, pressing my palm against the safe as frustration surged through me.
The key was right, I knew it was.
But the lock, it was stiff, rusted from years of neglect.
I sat back on my heels, staring at it. Think, Aurora.
There was no way in hell I was stopping now.
I just needed to figure out what my next move would be.