19. Lana
CHAPTER 19
LANA
A strange thing happened the day of the relaunch.
I woke from a light sleep full of dreams of bad weather — dreams where it rained so hard nobody came — and in place of the morning quiet, I could hear chatter. I could hear Brad as well, fixing us breakfast, but I ignored that and went to the window. Who would be out there at barely past seven, riling up Wiener to start the day?
“Oh, cute,” came a voice.
“Hey, bud, do you work here?”
“It says they open at nine. Let’s hurry to breakfast.”
I peered out and saw a tight knot of joggers, out-of-town types, all playing with Wiener. They’d gathered at my door, not Mrs. Schneiderman’s, and it was my sign they were squinting at. One of them cupped her hands to my freshly-cleaned window.
“Ooh, the new Grisham!”
“I heard about that.”
“Hey, boy, you want to let us in early?”
Wiener bounced, excited, and wagged his short tail. I shook my head and backed away from the window, and went to the kitchen in search of a pen. Brad looked up from his frying pan.
“Morning, gorgeous.”
“Morning, yourself. Have you seen the fridge pen?”
“I think it ran out. There’s a marker in the junk drawer.”
I fished out the marker and a pad of blank paper, and sat at the table and wrote in block letters: THE DOG DOES NOT WORK HERE! DO NOT LET HIM IN!
Brad saw what I was doing and laughed out loud. “That dog’s getting in today. You know that, right?”
“Not if folks read the sign, he’s not.” I double-underlined DO NOT. Brad leaned down and kissed the top of my head.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be on Wiener watch. If he sticks his nose in, I’ll bop it back out.”
I cocked my head, listening for the clack of his claws, but all I could hear was morning birdsong. Brad came up behind me and rubbed my tight shoulders.
“Relax,” he said. “It’ll be great, I promise.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I just did.” He stroked my hair back and I felt my stress fade. I had this. I’d worked for this. Got the word out there. People would come, and they’d buy books. I’d make them feel so welcome they’d be back every week. Every day even, for the more avid readers. I’d start a new book club. Expand my new café menu. Make my shop the place to come when it rained, to come just to sit, for a break from the day.
“You’re smiling,” said Brad.
“I’m happy, I think.”
“In a few hours, you’ll know it.” He kissed the top of my head again and refilled my juice glass. The way he took care of me made my heart go all gooey, how he thought of the little things. How he smiled when I did. Like when I was happy, his heart soared too.
We had a line waiting when we headed downstairs, just seven people and Wiener, but a line was a line. I spotted the joggers who’d swung by before, and a couple of summer folks I’d seen on the beach. Joyce from the library had come early as well, and she held Wiener back while I opened the door. She laughed when she saw the sign I was holding, and gave it an extra pat when I’d taped it up.
“Too bad he can’t read.”
“He should join Early Readers.” I pointed at the poster I’d stuck on the wall, advertising my under-fives story group.
The door chimes went off again as Joyce headed inside, Alice arriving for her morning shift. Technically, it wasn’t quite time for us to be open, and her eyes popped when she saw people browsing. She pulled out her phone and glowered at the screen.
“Wait, am I late? Did we say to come early?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Is it daylight savings?”
I laughed. “That was months ago. It’s okay, you’re good. We just had a line starting, so I opened the door.”
Alice made a whew sound and shrugged off her jacket. She headed for the back to open up the café. Today would be our first day selling coffee and cakes, but our cakes hadn’t come yet, and wouldn’t till noon. Orla had added us to her bakery route, and starting next week, we’d be her first stop. But this week, she was off on a well-deserved cruise, so we were serving just coffee till lunch.
“Ooh, look at this place!” The chimes went again and Dora came in. Rex came behind her with a string of grandchildren, who immediately split up and swarmed the shop. One went for the picture books, one for the sci-fi. One did a face-plant into a beanbag chair. The other two chased around between the shelves, and Brad chased after them.
“Hey, hey, no running…”
“You got fishing books?” said Rex. Dora smacked him.
“Fishing books, what’s a fishing book? No one writes about fishing.”
“We do,” I said. “They’re on the outdoors shelf. Or we’ve got A River Runs Through It if you’re looking for fiction, or Trout Bum for more… reflections on fishing.”
“ Trout Bum ,” said Dora, and nudged Rex in the ribs. “Sounds like someone wrote a book about you.”
“Slander,” said Rex. “Or is that libel? I never remember which one is which.”
The chime went again, and it didn’t stop tinkling. We were swamped by eight thirty, half-panicked by nine. Brad had to step in as part-time help, pointing customers to the best deals, wrangling their kids. Wiener snuck in the first time at ten thirty, then again at ten forty and again at eleven. Mrs. Schneiderman caught him going for a fourth break-in, and marched him back to her tiny back yard. We all knew he’d be back out in five minutes flat, but he wasn’t so bad really. Just… overeager.
Brad brought me a coffee right around lunch, then Alice came running out all in a panic.
“The bakery guy’s here, but he brought a whole week’s worth. We have no place to put them, and he can’t take them back.”
“Okay… okay.” I massaged my temples, trying to think. “The fridge should hold some of them, and the rest, uh…”
“We could bring some out front,” said Brad. “Give them out as free samples. Then folks will remember they can eat here as well.”
I glanced around at the books and thought of sticky fingers. Then I pictured a week’s worth of pastries going stale in the back. Alice was hovering in the café archway, peering at the back counter, then out at me.
“Bring them out,” I said. “But bring lots of napkins. And put a sign out, something polite. ‘No sticky fingers,’ uh…”
“That sounds like ‘no stealing.’” Brad grabbed a pen. “How about this: ‘Enjoy a free pastry! Please wipe your hands before handling the books.’ Then I’ll draw on a smiley emoji…” He drew a smiley face with its tongue sticking out.
“Perfect,” I said. The chime went again. Alice went rushing into the back. A pink van pulled up full of old ladies, and one old man with a cane painted orange.
“My knitting club!” Mrs. Schneiderman had appeared from somewhere, and she ran out to greet them. Wiener tried to push past her. She shoved him back out — “bad dog. Bad dog!” Her friends all fussed over him, rumpling his ears.
All day, the chimes rang and the register dinged, and our perfect displays grew gaps, then vanished. Alice ran back and forth restocking shelves. Our pastries got eaten, our coffee got drunk, and some kid bought a whole fourteen-book sci-fi series. We practically had to sweep out the last stragglers, dawdling into the twilight choosing their books.
“That was crazy,” said Alice, when the door closed at last.
“Better lock it,” said Brad. “Before more sneak in.” He turned the deadbolt and flipped the shop sign to CLOSED. I stared at it, shellshocked, but in the best way.
“I never saw half those people before in my life. Were they summer people, or did they come just for this?”
Alice smothered a yawn. “Must’ve been from the fun run. Mrs. Schneiderman’s knitting group was campaigning all over Boston.”
“We’ll have to reorder early. The shelves are picked bare.”
“The café as well. They drank all our coffee.”
“ All of it?”
“Most of it.” Alice yawned again.
Brad stroked my arm. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’ll run by that fancy place first thing tomorrow. They’ve got the beans you use, till you can place a new order.”
I leaned up against him, warm all over. Every day wouldn’t be as huge as today, but I could feel in my bones we’d turned a corner. We’d missed our spring rush, but we’d brought in a new summer one, our register bulging, our shelves full of gaps. The vibe had been good today, folks having fun. Sitting and chatting in the café. And Brad there through all of it, keeping me calm, a help when I needed one, still there when I didn’t. It made my heart swell, how he seemed to enjoy it. Maybe he would stay here, start a new life. Build decks on the island. Come home to me nights.
“Today was the best,” he said. “But, man, I’m starving.”
I frowned, trying to think. “Did you eat at all?”
“Pastries,” he said. “A whole lot of sugar.”
“I can close up,” said Alice. “If you want to go eat.”
I didn’t want to abandon her, but Brad did look hungry. “Don’t worry about cleaning up. We can do that tomorrow. Just make sure the cash is locked up in the safe. And check the back door, you know, the weird deadbolt.”
“I know, wait till I hear it thump twice.”
I winked. “You know it.” Alice headed off. Brad took my hand and we slipped out the front, and up the back stairs, into my hallway. For a moment we stood there, just savoring the quiet. The day had been loud, full of bustle and chatter. Now it was just us, in the dimming daylight. A sliver of moon was up, and Brad’s hair shone silver. I reached up to fix it where it was mussed.
“Thank you for today. You made it perfect.”
“You did that,” said Brad. “It was all you.”
I shook my head. “No…”
“ Yes. I was watching.” Brad tilted my chin up to look in my eyes. His expression was serious, but his eyes were still warm. “You were great with the customers. You know your books. No matter what someone asked for, you knew what they’d love. They all left with books they couldn’t wait to read. When I say that was all you, I mean it. All you.”
A rush of warmth swept through me like I’d never felt, and nothing could’ve stopped me from rising up, kissing Brad. Tasting the sugar from the pastries he’d had. It all felt so right, like our whole lives had led here. Like I’d always been waiting for us, for this moment.
Brad pushed my hair back. Kissed my closed eyelids. A shiver ran through me, the sweetest excitement. I took his hands and pulled him back down the hall, back past the kitchen and past the hall closet, all the way to my bedroom. He paused at the door.
“Yeah? You sure?”
I pretended to think for all of a second. I’d never been surer of anything in my life. This was our night, mine and Brad’s, and I wasn’t about to let it slip away. Whatever came next, we’d have this, tonight. We’d have this shining triumph, and our night of each other.
I pulled him into my bedroom and let the door swing shut.