11. Addison
11
Addison
I t had been a long time since Addison had been out on a real date, and even though Noel hadn’t officially called it one, she decided that she would behave as if it were. Oh, she’d play the tour guide if wanted her to, but she secretly hoped that wasn’t on the agenda for the evening.
She’d texted Noel, as promised, when she’d gotten home the night after their meal with Barb. The conversation had been disappointingly brief, but the next day, Noel had sent her a message asking if he could call her after work that evening. I’ve got meetings until late, so it won’t be until around 8. Is that okay?
The phone call had started out a little awkward, but Noel was a good conversationalist, and when they’d finally said goodnight, Addison was shocked to find that they'd been on the phone for more than an hour. She’d lain awake long after, replaying their interaction, hoping that the conversation was the start of something much bigger.
He’d also asked her out to dinner. “So that you can show me your town,” he’d added when she didn’t answer right away.
It wasn’t that she’d been undecided. Her answer was a resounding ‘Yes!’ She’d just been savoring the moment. He’d taken it for hesitation on her part, she realized too late, and she'd made a concerted effort to be attentive the rest of the time on the phone. Hopefully, tonight her responses to him would convince him that she definitely wanted to spend time in his company.
Although the skies had cleared considerably over the last few days and the stars twinkled cheerfully against the velvet sky, it was still quite cold, especially at night. A pretty dress simply wasn’t an option, so Addison pulled from her closet her favorite black trousers, high-waisted and wide-legged. They paired well with her wedge-heeled ankle boots, and the combination of the two made her feel tall and elegant. She wore a dark green wrap blouse with a ruffled neckline under a cropped blazer, and she blow-dried her hair out so that it hung soft and full around her face, the ends brushing her shoulders as she walked. She spent extra time and care on her makeup, too. She wanted to look different than she did at work, for Noel to see her as something other than just a gussied-up ticket agent.
“You’ll do,” she said to her reflection in the mirror, refusing to let herself wish for a smaller backside or thinner thighs.
Addison already liked Noel Stewart more than was reasonable, considering that until a few days ago, she’d only adored him from afar. But she could just tell that he was the kind of man romance novels were written about. Kind, patient, attentive, gentlemanly… she could list his glowing attributes for days, if given the chance.
As much as she’d like to believe the best about Noel, however, she’d seen enough of the world to know that a woman living alone couldn’t be too careful. As soon as she got off the phone with Noel, she called Claire to fill her in on the details so that at least someone in the world would know where she was and who she was with on her date. "You should meet him at Juno's," Claire insisted. It wasn't really a suggestion. "So he'll know that the whole neighborhood knows he's taking you out."
"Good idea," Addison slowly acknowledged. She wasn't ecstatic about everyone knowing her business, but she understood the wisdom behind the suggestion.
"And you're going to call Juno and give her a heads up beforehand, too, right?" The Cracked Spine sat elbow-to-elbow around the corner from Juno’s Coffee Bar. Both places were only a little more than a block away from Addison’s apartment, so walking was almost always her preferred way to get there.
“You’re going to bring him in here, right?” Juno asked the moment Addison told her about her plans with Noel.
"I'm way ahead of you. We're meeting there instead of at my apartment," Addison assured her friend. The coffee shop was, after all, a favorite stomping ground among the locals, and if Noel wanted to get to know Autumn Lake, Juno’s was the perfect place to start.
Addison took one last look in the mirror, then scooped up her purse from the table. Just before pulling the door closed behind her, she paused and turned to survey her little apartment with a sense of satisfaction and pride. Over the years, her home had become a canvas on which she'd combined elements of her past, her present, and her hopes for the future. She had scoured every thrift store in a fifty-mile radius to find just the right furniture for the space. She'd found a burgundy velvet loveseat with deep, squishy cushions, a bentwood rocking chair and mismatched footstool, and a Tiffany style floor lamp with a stained-glass shade that she’d added a four-inch beaded fringe to. For a coffee table, she’d screwed together two rustic wooden crates back-to-back in which she shelved selections from her ever-growing To-Be-Read pile of books. She’d attached castors to the bottom of the contraption so it could be moved around easily, and topped it off with a large silver tray, on which were piled more books, a vase of dried, pale blue hydrangeas, and a scarlet and cobalt paperweight she’d purchased from a local glassblower during a trip to Cinque Terre in Italy. Goldenrod and sky-blue batik curtains she'd found in a street market in Ghana hung at the windows and she'd color-washed the walls of her kitchenette with a vibrant teal that reminded her of the water at Base-G Beach in Jayapura, Indonesia. The open shelves on either side of the window over the kitchen sink displayed her collection of mismatched ceramic dishes and cookware. The space echoed the bohemian spirit that lived inside of her.
The apartment had two bedrooms, but one was so small that Addison had to take apart the daybed she’d picked up at a garage sale and put it back together once she’d gotten all the pieces into the room. She’d added an old piano stool at the head of the bed that acted as a nightstand. On it was a touch-sensitive lamp and two Swedish Dala horse carvings, one in the traditional red, one in a vibrant, happy blue. It was her guest room, although it rarely got used as such. On the rare occasions when her parents came to visit, she gave them her room with the big bed, and she slept comfortably on the daybed.
Her own bedroom was a cacophony of color, too. Curtains made of patchwork strips of fabric hung at her windows, an antique wedding ring quilt covered her bed, and mismatched throw pillows were heaped in a jumble in front of her headboard. She tossed them to the floor every night, then took pleasure in arranging them back in place each morning after making her bed. Eclectic artwork—everything from driftwood and metal sculptures and macrame panels to flea market paintings and vintage mirror trays covered almost every square inch of her walls. She loved to fall asleep at night, studying the unique pieces, imagining the history behind each one.
Her room also housed a vintage mahogany bookcase that Addison was slowly and methodically filling with books that she'd fallen in love with.
She’d spent her whole life living minimally—a necessity with the Wedgewood's transient lifestyle—and the few books Addison had owned during her childhood were inevitable casualties with every move. Her mother had always reassured Addison that books were never lost or wasted if they were passed on to other readers, but saying goodbye to each one had been just as difficult as saying goodbye to any new friends she’d made.
Eternally grateful for digital books, Addison had a record of all her favorite reads over the years, and since moving to Autumn Lake, she’d been slowly reuniting with her “old friends” and filling those shelves one novel at a time. And of course, with a pal like Claire, who owned The Cracked Spine Bookshop, Addison was constantly adding “new friends” to her shelves.
With a sigh of pleasure and a satisfied smile on her face, Addison swept out into the crisp evening air, pulling her apartment door closed behind her, then double-checking to make sure it was locked. As idyllic as Autumn Lake was, the days of not having to lock one's doors was a thing of the past, something previous generations now boasted about in wistful tones.
It was still early, but Addison planned to stop by The Cracked Spine on her way to Juno’s so that she could get Claire’s stamp of approval on her appearance. Life was so different with friends, Addison thought as she made her way down the steps to the short alley behind the Quill and Ink. There was always someone familiar to talk to, to share life’s ups and downs with. People who cared about the ins and outs of her world.
Juno and Claire, especially, were a huge part of why Autumn Lake was home to her. It had taken Addison very little time to settle into her job at the airport, but the constant engaging with people in need that her job required of her left her drained by the end of her day. For the first several months, she’d come home to her little apartment, eaten her dinner, and crawled into bed with a book.
On her days off, she’d wander around Autumn Lake, check out the shops, sit on the lake shore and people-watch, but it was such a relief to be at the beck and call of no one, that she’d not made any attempt to connect with the folks she called neighbors.
It was after she’d read the last of the small collection of books she'd moved with that she’d finally ventured into The Cracked Spine, several weeks after moving to town. Claire Maitland had approached her with a warm welcome and had immediately made her feel at ease as they discussed reading preferences and favorite books.
When Claire learned that Addison wasn’t just a visitor, she’d left her shop in the trusted hands of Tina, her young assistant, linked arms with Addison and walked her around the corner to Juno’s Coffee Bar where she’d introduced her to Juniper Thomas. Juno had demanded they sit at the bar—the assertive woman reminded Addison of her mother in so many ways—then plated them both up a meatball and roasted red pepper sandwich, on the house. The coffee was remarkable, the sandwich was robust and messy and better than any meatball sandwich Addison could remember having, and the conversation that followed had laid the foundation for some new and lasting friendships.
Addison had been introduced to Liz and Candy Needham a couple days later, and when summer rolled around and the small town nearly burst at the seams with tourists and summer lakers, she’d met the indomitable Penny Anderson, too. Penny, who’d come to live at Autumn Lake for good just this last fall.
Penny had brought her mother with her, and the two of them had moved into Hazel Poleman’s guesthouse. Penny had big plans to turn the stately old home into a real bed and breakfast, and with her fiancé’s help, they were working hard at doing just that.
The Garden Gate Guesthouse would be lovely when it opened up again this summer, and Addison got a little giddy knowing that she and her friends had a part in turning the old place around. Last year, when Hazel had admitted that she could no longer manage the place on her own, Penny had enlisted the help of her girlfriends to come up with a plan to keep Hazel from having to sell her family home. They’d taken to the gardens first, the enormous lot behind the house that had once been a nature’s paradise with flower beds and moss-covered stone walls, espaliered fruit trees, herb patches, and a kitchen garden where Hazel had once grown almost everything she served to her guests. Over the years, it had become run down and out of control, and by the time they’d stepped in to help, Hazel had been just about to throw in the towel.
They’d called themselves The Garden Variety Lovers Club, just for the fun of having a name for their project, and they now met regularly out at the guesthouse, reveling in the reawakening splendor of the property.
Addison was still smiling when she stepped into her friend's bookstore. At The Cracked Spine, Claire was helping a young mother with two little girls find some books to give as birthday gifts. The girls, however, were clearly not pleased that they were going to have to give the books away and were begging for copies of their own. Addison sent her friend a little wave. Claire’s eyes grew wide, then she mouthed, “Wow!” before turning back to her customers.
Addison had some time to kill, so she headed to the enormous table at the front window where Claire typically displayed books of interest. Sometimes they were new releases, sometimes they followed a certain theme because of a holiday or special occasion, and other times, she used the space to clear out inventory by putting out overstock on massive discount. It was inevitable that Addison would find at least one book she couldn’t go home without.
The display still held what was left of the Valentine’s Day overstock, plus a whole new selection of discounted books. The chocolates she’d purchased the week before were long gone—they’d been just as delicious as Claire had claimed. Addison eyed the last two heart-shaped boxes where they sat beside a stack of colorful pens and notepads, a few love-themed mugs, and a wide-mouthed jar of lapel pins shaped like the classic Sweethearts conversation heart candies.
For just a few moments, Addison let herself imagine that she might be buying a Valentine’s Day card for Noel next year. Maybe a box of chocolates, too; one that they could share.
“Getting a little ahead of yourself, Adders,” she whispered to herself as she picked up a book with a bouquet of roses on the cover.
“Hey, girl,” Claire called out, rounding the end of the next aisle over and heading her way. She gave her a quick hug, and in a low voice, said, “I left that poor woman to the mercies of her girls. I knew if I stayed there much longer, I’d take sides with them. I mean, why on earth would you not buy your children books if they wanted them?”
Addison laughed and shook her head. “This is why your bookshop is still open and thriving while the big chain stores around the country are closing their doors.”
“Because I believe books are as vital to our health as food and water and a good night’s rest? Amen, sister.” Claire reached out and took Addison by the shoulders, turning her this way and that. “My goodness, Miss Wedgewood, but you look amazing.”
“It’s not too much?” Addison asked. Her confidence was definitely bolstered by her friend’s reaction, but she still felt vulnerable. This was a first date, after all, and she really wanted it to go well.
“Not even a little,” Claire confirmed. “You are going to knock that man’s socks off.” When she saw the book in Addison’s hand, she snatched it away. “Not that one.” Instead, she skillfully plucked one from the middle of a stack of sherbet and pastel covered novels in the middle of the table. “Have you read this?” She held it out. “It’s such a lovely book. It made me sad, then angry, then happy, and when I closed the book, I felt like I’d made a couple of new friends. I thought it was just the kind of book you’d enjoy reading.”
A couple of new friends , thought Addison. The woman seemed to have a knack for knowing just the right book for the right person at the right time. “That does sound like something I’d enjoy,” she echoed. “I’ll take it.”
“Good. Come. I’ll ring you up.” Claire started toward the front of the shop, then slowed as she passed a shelf of historical American fiction. “And what about one for your man?” she asked, perusing the titles on display.
“He’s not my man.” Addison said, wishing people would stop saying that. She was half afraid they’d jinx any possibility of it actually happening. “And I don’t know if this is really a date or not. I’m not sure I should come bearing gifts just yet.”
“A book isn’t just a gift,” Claire countered. “It’s an introduction. You are telling him who you are by handing him something that’s important to you, and you are learning a whole lot about him by his reaction to the book.”
“But I don’t know what he likes,” Addison said, not nearly as certain about the notion as her friend was.
“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” Claire said, pulling a novel from the shelf. “This one. If it resonates with him, he’s a keeper.”
“What if he’s read it?” Addison asked, still hesitant. The book Claire handed her was about an orphaned boy who’d been forced to become a man too soon in the time shortly after the Crash of 1929, and about the journey taken by him and three other young runaways on their quest for freedom from oppression. A New York Times Bestseller, the front cover claimed.
“Then you’ll have a good excuse to come back here together and introduce him to me.” Claire practically forced the book into her hands. “If he’s read it, then he can tell you about it, since you haven’t yet, right? And I guarantee that if he’s read it, he’ll want to talk about it.”
“And if he hasn’t read it, and he thinks books are for freaks?”
“Then you wouldn’t want to be caught dead with a guy like that.” The door chimes jingled prettily, and Claire glanced over at a group of teenage girls who poured into the shop, their boisterous chatter drowning out the soft music playing over the sound system. “It’s been busy tonight,” she told Addison. “Let’s go ring you up and get you on your way.”