The Rainy Day Bookshop

Chapter One

Rosie

“Who’s ready to take a trip to the magical land of books?” Rosie Lucas asked as she set a plate of pancakes down in front

of her granddaughter.

“I am!”

Olive’s beaming face lit up every single inch of Rosie’s heart.

The three-year-old girl and her mother, Rosie’s daughter, Emma, had been back in Oregon for less than twelve hours but Rosie

already knew she never wanted them to leave again.

“Can I get a new book there?” Olive asked. She sent a sideways hopeful look to her grandmother that Rosie found impossible

to resist.

“I believe that can probably be arranged.”

Rosie still owned The Rainy Day Bookshop after all, though she hadn’t handled the day-to-day operations in years. What was

the fun of owning a bookstore if a woman couldn’t spoil her only granddaughter by letting her choose a picture book to bring

home if she wanted?

The two of them chattered about some of Olive’s favorite stories and television shows while the preschooler ate her breakfast.

It was a thoroughly enjoyable time. Olive had nearly finished devouring her plate of pancakes when her mother rushed into

the kitchen, her T-shirt still untucked and her purple-streaked auburn hair slightly messy.

“Sorry,” Emma said, sounding frazzled. “I know we talked about trying to get there before the store opens in—” she looked at her watch “—five minutes. I must have overslept. I don’t know what happened. I never sleep through my alarm.”

“I turned your phone off,” Olive informed her with a cheerful smile. “It was too loud. I didn’t want it to wake you up.”

Emma gave her daughter a frustrated look, even as she leaned down and kissed the top of her curls, the same auburn as Emma’s

own, minus the streaks of color. “That’s kind of the point of an alarm clock, honey.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Rosie assured her. “I know we said nine but nothing was written in stone. We don’t have to leave at

nine on the dot. We have all day. I only suggested nine when you said you wanted an early start.”

“Right. I do. I need to know what I’m up against. From everything you’ve said, it sounds like I’m going to have my work cut

out for me.”

Had Rosie given her daughter a task beyond her abilities? She really hoped not. She wanted to challenge Emma, not scare her

away.

Ever since she and her daughter had reconnected after years of estrangement when Olive was six months old, Rosie felt as if

she constantly walked a tightrope suspended two hundred feet in the air. A thin wire covered in baby oil, where one misstep

would ruin all their hard work toward healing the rift between them.

She didn’t want to do anything to drive her daughter away again.

“You don’t have to fix everything wrong with the bookstore in one day,” she said carefully. “I hope I didn’t give you that

impression.”

Emma poured herself some coffee. “I don’t know. You were giving off some solid desperation vibes on the phone.”

Rosie definitely needed Emma’s help but if she had sounded desperate, it was more from her burning desire to play more of a role in the lives of her daughter and granddaughter.

Despite her and Emma’s wary reconciliation after Olive’s birth, Emma still lived in Las Vegas, hundreds of miles away from their small town on the central Oregon coast.

“You really are saving the day. I hated the idea of having to close the store for several weeks while your grandmother recovers

from her accident, especially right as we’re heading into the busy tourist season. The bookstore has barely covered its operating

costs for years. I don’t have time to run it myself and I don’t really have time to train someone else to manage it. Not someone

with your level of skill, anyway.”

“You do know I have zero experience at this, right?”

“You managed a restaurant, though.”

She made a face. “Not a restaurant. A Starbucks. That’s not the same as handling the day-to-day operations of a busy bookstore.”

“First of all, The Rainy Day Bookshop is not that busy, unfortunately. Mom hasn’t exactly made drawing in crowds a priority.”

“I’m fully aware of Grandma’s philosophy. Books are meant to be enjoyed. Throwing in silly concepts like profit and loss somehow

ruins the experience.”

Rosie’s mother, Sylvia, loved running the bookstore. She adored ordering new books, talking with customers, helping a reader

find the perfect selection. All the things Rosie had loved when she ran the bookstore herself.

Sylvia did not, however, enjoy having to reconcile the budget or focus on the bottom line. As a result, the bookstore wasn’t

exactly a profitable enterprise.

Many people had asked Rosie over the years why she hadn’t sold the bookstore after Gary’s death.

She never had a good answer for them, mostly because she didn’t really know the reason.

It made no business sense whatsoever. Her focus for years had been Lucas Construction, the company she and Gary had started together that she had muscled back from the brink of near bankruptcy after his tragic death.

She really didn’t have time to focus on her dream of owning a bookstore, which had finally come true only a few months before

he died and their life fell apart.

But every time she was tempted to sell Rainy Day, something held her back. Maybe her deep love of books, or sheer stubbornness,

that determination to cling to her dream of keeping the bookstore doors open in a town that otherwise wouldn’t have access

to books except their small underfunded library.

“Your grandmother hasn’t changed,” Rosie admitted. “If anything, her time running the store has only reinforced her beliefs.

I actually heard her say to a customer once that buying was optional and they were free to spend as much time as they wanted

browsing, reading the books and admiring the dust.”

Emma laughed. “Sounds like Grandma.”

Rosie gave a rueful smile in response. She loved her mother dearly. For all her quirks, Sylvia was kind, compassionate, fierce.

She couldn’t help that a paltry thing like making money wasn’t her first priority.

Emma, on the other hand, would be brilliant at running the bookstore. Rosie was sure of it.

“You have a business degree and plenty of experience managing people. As far as I’m concerned, you’re perfect. I’m so grateful

you agreed to help.”

Rosie had no idea why Emma had finally acquiesced this time, when she had asked her to come home many times over the years since Olive’s birth.

She suspected her daughter had been ready for a change, especially as the lease on the apartment she shared with two other single moms had been ending soon.

“I won’t be perfect for anything if I can’t wake up in time for work.” Emma turned to her daughter with a chiding look. “New

rule, kid. You can’t turn off my phone alarm, okay? Even if you think I need more sleep.”

“Okay,” Olive said cheerfully, taking another bite of pancakes.

“Looks like Grandma made you breakfast.”

“Mickey pancakes. Except I already ate the ears.”

“I hope that’s okay.” Rosie tried to keep the anxious note from her voice but was afraid it filtered through anyway. Perhaps

after Emma and Olive had been here a few weeks and settled in, Rosie might relax, lose some of this fear of making a wrong

move and sending her daughter running away again.

“Why wouldn’t it be okay? I always eat the ears first. That way Mickey can’t hear me chewing the rest of him.”

“I meant the pancakes. I know you’re vegetarian.”

Emma lifted an eyebrow, the pierced metal post there reflecting sunlight. “Unless you have a special pancake recipe these

days that uses beef tallow or pork drippings, they should be fine.”

“No beef or pork. Plain old pancake mix.”

“Then we’re good. I appreciate you feeding her.”

“It was my pleasure.” Rosie hoped her daughter knew she was determined to do everything possible to make sure the two of them

were comfortable in her home.

“I tried to pick up things at the grocery store I thought you might like. I even bought a vegetarian cookbook and I’ve been

looking up recipes online for things I thought you might like.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate that,” Emma said. She looked slightly less frazzled now as she settled into a chair across from her daughter, sipping her coffee.

“Is your room comfortable? I did my best to update it. I’ve been slowly working on it since Christmas but after I talked to

you last week, I had Bryce put a few other projects on the back burner to finish up here.”

Emma’s mouth tightened momentarily. What had Rosie said?

“It’s nice,” Emma assured her. “I really appreciate having two connected bedrooms and the Jack-and-Jill bathroom in between

them. The rooms are perfect for now. If I end up staying in town longer than a few months while Grandma recovers, I’ll probably

look for my own place.”

So many ifs. Rosie could only keep her fingers and toes crossed and do all she could to keep her daughter comfortable here.

“You know there’s no need for that. You should save your rent money. I have plenty of room, especially with Mom insisting

on staying in her own place.”

Rosie was not sure who was more stubborn, her daughter or her mother. Sylvia had lived in the tiny self-contained guest cottage

in Rosie’s backyard for ten years, since she uprooted her life in Portland after Gary’s death and moved here to help them

through their grief.

Her mother did her own thing and always had. Why else would she currently be recovering from a broken ankle sustained while

roller skating at seventy-two years old?

“I’ll be ready in a minute,” Emma said.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a pancake?”

“No. Coffee usually does it for me in the mornings.”

This was yet another thing Rosie did not know about her daughter these days. This adult version of Emma was a virtual stranger.

The last time they had lived together, when Emma wasn’t yet seventeen, her daughter had loved a big breakfast. Bacon, hashbrowns,

pancakes. The whole thing. Now she was a vegetarian who apparently fueled up with coffee in the mornings.