The Second Story Bookshop

Chapter 1

Nobody thought Viola Thatcher would ever expire, if for no other reason than sheer stubbornness. She’d made it to eighty-seven,

after all, without a single daily medication or chronic health condition. She was as spry as her cat Chaucer, bustled around

her beloved bookshop like a woman half her age, and was known to ascend shelf ladders when no one was around to stop her.

But alas, no one was immortal. Not even Gram.

Shelby Thatcher dabbed her eyes with a tissue that now bore the remnants of her foundation, eyeliner, and mascara—none of

which had kept their waterproof promise. She tried to block the canned music flowing into the restroom of Fancy’s Funeral

Home and the cloying lavender scent emanating from a potpourri dish on the vanity.

She’d nearly made it through the two-hour visitation with her dignity intact. She’d smiled and nodded her way through platitudes

and comforting hugs. She’d even held up through quiet exchanges with Dad, whose bloodshot eyes belied his unwavering assurances

and stoic posture. But then Miss Dahlia struck the strident chords of “Amazing Grace” on the organ, and Gram’s favorite song

twisted a key, unlocking Shelby’s pent-up grief.

That and the arrival of Grayson Briggs, who’d strutted through the door just in time for the service. It all went downhill

from there.

Could there be a worse time or place to encounter one’s long-lost love? The daunting emotions of loss and grief seemed to compound the bittersweet—heavy on bitter—memory of heartbreak.

She blew her pinkened nose, losing more foundation and the last of her ruby-red lipstick. Vanity was a cruel teacher.

She was supposed to be in a breezy sundress when he saw her again, wearing just-fine-without-you makeup, her salon-styled

light brown hair bouncing around her shoulders in slow motion. Not wilting in a matronly black dress she’d borrowed from Liddy,

her best friend and sister-in-law, because she didn’t own anything as dark and gloomy as this wretched day deserved.

The hollow restroom door opened and Liddy entered, a wan smile warming her features. She’d pulled back her beautiful red hair

in a loose updo, leaving a few tendrils to frame her peaches-and-cream face. Her blue eyes softened on Shelby. “How you holding

up, honey?”

“About as well as my makeup, I’m afraid.”

“You’re beautiful without it. What I’d give for that olive complexion of yours.”

“Your freckles are adorable. If my brother hasn’t convinced you of that yet, he’s not doing his job.” Shelby tossed her tattered

tissue, then eyed the door. “Is he still out there?” They both knew she wasn’t referring to Caleb.

“He is. And can I just say, holy cannoli !”

“Stop it. You’ve seen pictures of him.”

“From a decade ago. Don’t get me wrong—he was hot back then, but he’s since reached holy cannoli status.”

“Don’t let Caleb catch you saying that.”

“He’s been glowering at Gray since he walked in. I left the baby with Caleb—hopefully that’ll keep him in line.”

“What’s he hanging around for anyway? There’s no graveside service.”

“Maybe he wants to catch up with folks?”

Shelby huffed. Gray’s one and only fan had just passed.

And since when had he wanted to stick around Grandville a moment longer than necessary?

He’d shot off like a rocket two seconds after graduation.

And four years ago when he’d returned to North Carolina for his own grandma’s service, he was gone before the funeral lilies could bloom.

“Maybe he wants to talk to you.”

“He skipped the receiving line. And last time he was in town he didn’t so much as glance my way.”

Liddy arched an auburn brow. “Maybe he finally realizes what a putz he was.”

Shelby could always count on Liddy to come to her defense. “Doubtful. I should get back to Dad. Folks will be coming by the

house soon.” Plus Logan was probably wondering where she’d disappeared to. She tugged at the dress, which was shorter on her

five-seven frame than on Liddy’s five-three, and resisted the urge to check her reflection one last time.

Liddy held the door, then took Shelby’s arm in solidarity as they walked down the hall and into the flower-perfumed funeral

parlor. A quick visual sweep of the room revealed most of the lingering guests had departed—including the man she’d been avoiding

for the past hour. It wasn’t too hard to convince herself that the funny fluttering in her stomach was relief.

Cars lined the street of Shelby’s childhood home, and friends and neighbors swarmed the ranch-style house. Sounds of chatter

and laughter dominated the living spaces, and the aroma of Miss Martha’s peach cobbler filled the air.

As Shelby milled about the room, snatches of conversation reached her.

“She was quite the looker in her day, you know. Paul wooed her for weeks before she’d even go out with him...”

“They only had the one son, though Viola always said she’d have at least half a dozen...”

“She sure would’ve loved this beautiful October day...”

“What’ll happen to the bookshop? I do hope Shelby keeps it open. What would Grandville be without it?”

Shelby’s eyes caught on Caleb near the entry and she made a beeline for him. Her big brother was handsome in a trendy navy

suit. He wore his wavy dark blond hair longer these days, and paired with artsy glasses and a casual scarf, he looked every

inch the creative.

Currently, though, he was doing daddy duty with his fussy infant. Oliver was the most beautiful two-month-old on the planet.

He had fine dark hair, a button nose, and wide brown eyes just like Caleb’s.

She reached for the baby. “Give me that precious thing.”

“He’s fighting his nap.”

“Aunt Shelby will get him right to sleep.” She snuggled the baby in her arms, bouncing him gently, savoring the sweetness

of new life. Just what she needed right now. Plus, she sensed her brother was struggling.

A couple from church arrived, and Caleb and Shelby accepted their condolences before they moved toward the kitchen.

“Where’s your wife?” Shelby asked her brother.

“In the kitchen with the food. Where’s Logan?”

“Something came up at work.” He’d wanted to stay but she encouraged him to go. She needed to support her family today and

run interference between Caleb and Dad. Logan’s good intentions sometimes rendered him clingy.

“Have you talked to Dad yet?” she asked.

“Of course.”

Shelby gave him a pointed look. “I mean really talked.”

“Real talks between the two of us don’t go very well, as you might remember.”

“He misses you.”

“Yeah, I could tell by his warm greeting yesterday.”

“Well, you haven’t been home in almost a year, Caleb. And you’re not exactly the best about staying in touch.”

“I’ve been busy with my work.” No more had the words left his mouth than sadness crept into his eyes. His Adam’s apple dipped.

He took a long drink from a water bottle, then his gaze locked on Shelby. “Gram wrote me last month. I never wrote back. I

meant to—I just hadn’t gotten around to it.”

Shelby’s heart softened at the rough texture of his voice. “Aw, Caleb. She knew you were busy. And she knew you loved her.

She was so proud of all your success. She hung that painting you sent for her birthday in the bookshop. It’s right behind

the register where everyone can see it.”

He blinked away tears. “I know she was proud of me. I just wish I’d appreciated her more when she was here. I’m a little envious

of all the time you had with her.”

Shelby was grateful for all that time with Gram, but it hadn’t been without its frustrations. Her grandmother hadn’t exactly

been open to new ideas. She had her own way of doing things, and they didn’t always jibe with Shelby’s. But it was Gram’s

bookshop.

Had been.

The thought caught in her throat. “Dad’s on the porch. You should go talk to him. He needs his family right now.”

“I doubt that includes me.”

Shelby rolled her eyes. “Of course it does.”

“I never realized how much of a buffer Gram was for Dad and me. She had a way of bringing us together and keeping things calm.

I sure do feel her absence.”

Seven years ago Caleb had dropped out of college and run off to New York to become an artist. The news didn’t sit well with Dad, who thought Caleb would be following in his footsteps into academia—Dad was an English professor at Grandville University.

The sudden shift in plans had caught them all off guard.

And the switch to the competitive world of art.

.. ? Let’s just say Shelby had her own doubts.

Her brother was very talented, but how many artists actually managed to eke out a living with their paintings?

To his credit, Caleb managed to make something of himself. He wasn’t selling million-dollar projects, but he was regularly

featured in galleries and selling well enough to support himself and Liddy, who now stayed home with Oliver.

His success had done nothing to soften their dad’s heart, however.

Shelby glanced down at Oliver, whose eyes had closed. His dark lashes feathered the tops of his petal-soft cheeks, curling

ever so gently. Her heart rolled over. She hadn’t seen him since she and Dad went to New York for his birth. He’d already

grown so much. By the time she saw him again, he might well be crawling. “How long can you guys stay?”

“A week or so—if Dad and I don’t kill each other first. My next showing isn’t until December, but I have a lot of work to

do before then.”

“You don’t mind if I just keep Oliver here with me for a few months, do you?”

“You might change your mind when you’ve gotten up with him twice a night for a week straight.”

She gazed at the baby’s precious face. “Oh, I don’t know. I think I could forgo lots of sleep for some sweet cuddles with

this little guy.”

“I think you’ll have your hands full enough with the bookshop.”

Shelby’s mood plummeted. Gram had made it clear over the years that Shelby would always have a place at the bookstore.

But the thought of working there, much less running the place, without Gram opened a hollow spot inside.

It would never be the same again. “You’re right about that.

There’s a lot I don’t know.” Gram had done the accounting and handled the inventory.

She was a whiz with the computer program.

Shelby had been happy handling the customers and managing the other booksellers.

“She never really got around to teaching me her end of things.” Mainly because Shelby had put it off.

“You’re smart. You’ll figure it out.”

Maybe so, but Shelby would probably just hire someone to fill her grandma’s role. They’d need an extra person now anyway,

and Shelby would rather work the floor than be stuck in the office all day.

She didn’t want to fret about the store right now though. She gazed down at her sleeping nephew and could practically feel

the oxytocin flooding her system.

“I saw Gray skulk into the visitation at the last minute.” His lips twisted on the name.

The feel-good hormone dried up like steaming pavement after an August rain. “I saw him.”

“Did he say anything to you?” His tone implied that he’d better not have.

“Nope.”

“Good. He doesn’t deserve your time or attention. You’re better off without him.”

“I’m sure he’s already halfway back to Riverbend Gap by now.” Because, yes, that was where he lived these days. Only three

hours away. She knew this because Gram had kept in contact with him. As Gray’s grandma’s lifelong friend, Gram had felt she

owed it to Dorothy to look out for him after Dorothy passed. Shelby could respect her grandmother’s loyalty, though she had

long ago asked Gram to keep news of him to herself. She’d mostly complied, though sometimes things “slipped out.”

Caleb glanced through the window to the porch where their dad was saying good-bye to someone. “Guess I’ll go talk to Dad.

Want me to take Ollie?”

Shelby edged the baby away from him. “I’m not finished collecting cuddles.”

He ran a hand though his hair, which fell artfully into place. “All right.”

“Want me to go with you? Be your buffer?”

“I probably need to stop depending on other people to fill that gap.”

“Just ask him how he’s doing. If there’s anything you can do.”

“He’ll say I could move back home where I belong, and then we’ll be well on our way to World War III.”

“Good point. Well, just go be with him. Talk about something benign—the great start to Duke’s season.” The football team was

about the only thing they had in common these days.

“Good thought. Thanks.” He headed toward the front door like a man headed toward death row.

And Shelby headed to her old room. She wanted just a few minutes to enjoy little Ollie before she had to resume her role as

grieving granddaughter. Her feet felt heavy as she made her way down the hall. Oh, Gram, you’re supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to die. What will we all do without you?