Chapter 9
Fredrik
Iwrestled open the bookstore door, cursing under my breath. I’d managed to offend her. I’d made assumptions about her ex without any solid evidence. For all I knew, she still loved the man, and my questions only strengthened that loyalty.
Maybe Felicity was right. I was turning into our grandfather. Not the nice one who donated his corduroys to me, but the crank who’d choked to death alone in his house.
“Fredrik!”
I jumped at my sister’s voice. She sat behind the counter, still wrapped in her coat and wool hat, snowflakes clinging to her sleeve.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded, leaning on the doorway.
“What did you bring me?” She leaned over the table to snatch the paper bag from my hand and peeked inside. “Whoopie pie!”
“Go ahead,” I said. I’d already given the other two to Noelle and eaten my chicken pastry on the way back.
“Thanks!” She took a big bite. “I’m so mad right now. Someone stole my favorite gloves, so I had to go shopping. It’s like a crime wave.”
“Or maybe someone just borrowed them.”
Felicity liked her things just so, but her staff were looser, misplacing supplies and even “accidentally” eating her lunch. Which counted as a crime wave in Hideaway Harbor.
I took off my coat and threw it over the desk.
Felicity gobbled up the pie, then eyed my window. “You need to put up lights this year. Maybe a wreath. This place looks glum.”
“Why are you here?” I asked again. “I thought you already cleaned.”
“Oh, I did,” she said brightly. “With the help of your new, super cute neighbor. Who also happens to be a famous runaway bride.”
I tried not to bite, but my intrigue flickered. Famous?
Felicity’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, goodie. You are interested. Just ask. I’ll tell you. I know you won’t spread it, and you need to watch out for her.”
She knew how to appeal to my sense of duty instead of curiosity.
“What?” I asked, gritting my teeth.
She leaned in, lowering her voice. “Last Christmas, Noelle was about to marry Spencer Alford. Biggest wedding in Maine. Huge.”
“But she… didn’t?”
Felicity thrust her phone at me. I skimmed an interview with a blond, blue-eyed “CEO of Alford Corporation.” Not just wealthy—obscenely wealthy. My pulse thudded faster with each line. This guy reeked of bad news.
His account didn’t match Noelle’s. Not one word rang true. Noelle wasn’t unstable. Unfiltered, yes. Spontaneous. Too optimistic, maybe. But he painted her as some fragile woman who’d lost touch with reality.
The man sounded entitled and delusional, but also dangerous. He was on a quest to find her, probably to prove that no woman in her right mind would walk out on him. Would he get violent? A man like that would probably use other people to do his dirty work.
“He sounds…”
“Absolutely fucking unhinged,” Felicity finished, eyes wide.
“She’s living two hours away from this nutjob,” I barked. “She’s not safe here.”
My sister folded her arms. “We’ll keep her safe. We’ll watch out for her.”
“She lives alone in the back of that ridiculous shop. No toilet, no nothing!”
Felicity sighed, like I was being difficult. “Well, obviously she can’t stay there.”
“Where’s she supposed to go? Town’s fully booked. You’ve got a kid and a dog in a two-bedroom.”
She smirked. “Good thing you live in a mansion.”
“With one habitable, heated room and an unfinished bathroom,” I shot back.
She shrugged, giving me that look everyone else had been offering lately. “And why do you only have one habitable room? Ever thought about that?”
My eyes drifted across the overstuffed shelves. “Because nobody buys books in the days of the internet?”
Her eyes flashed. “Not the internet excuse! Not in Hideaway Harbor, where the Wishing Bridge works more reliably.”
“Technically, it’s a wishing dam. People throw those coins all over the place. Up the stream, into the spring…”
“Damn you and your nitpicking!” She swung her purse over her shoulder and stormed out. Almost.
When she reached the doorway, the buzzer above the door went off.
“I hate that sound,” she muttered, then turned to give me an assessing look. “You’ve pissed her off already, haven’t you? Said something condescending or mansplain-y? And now she’s never going to talk to you again.”
The hurt in her voice shrank my chest. I was good at driving people away, but with Noelle, I’d been trying. And still, I’d upset her.
“I’ll fix it,” I said. “I didn’t know about the runaway bride thing. Must be a sore point. She was defending the guy and blaming herself. It made no sense.”
Felicity’s face softened. She leaned on the door. “I think she’s been gaslit by that psycho. Be gentle with her. She’ll figure it out.”
“I’m not a therapist. I can barely keep my own life together.”
“She vacuumed your stupid classics for half an hour this morning, Fredrik. She seems lovely and open to knowing you. The real you.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “You’re both screwed up. Who isn’t? But she still might be the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”
She banged the door shut on her way out.
I wandered into the store and dropped into an armchair.
Felicity was wrong. There was no hidden “real me” hiding under a prickly layer.
What you saw was what you got—a sad man who’d given up.
Even before Elora’s death, I’d been happiest with my nose in a book.
How could I ever match the energy of someone like Noelle?
And she was only here for the holidays. What was the point?
I drew a deep breath and noticed the chair smelled different. Berries and vanilla. Like Noelle.
Something dug into my back. I shifted and reached between the cushions, fishing out a piece of hard plastic. A credit card. I sighed, ready to toss it in the lost-and-found basket, until I read the name.
Noelle E. Clarke.
How had she managed to lose her card in here?