Chapter One #3
Mina’s tone was soothing. “You say what needs saying. We’re here for you.”
She nodded, took another breath and got it out this time—the thick truth. “I can’t afford the hours anymore. I can’t even pay you for part-time work.”
Rina’s mouth trembled, then firmed, her chin twitching upward like she did when someone tried to cut in front of her at the bakery. “We saw it coming, Felicity. Numbers are numbers, and you’ve got a business to run. Don’t you dare feel guilty about this like it’s within your control. It isn’t.”
“It’s not your fault, honey,” Mina added. “You did everything. The theme nights. The crafts, the kids’ story hour. You stretched this little shop far and wide these past months.”
“Not far enough.” More tears slipped out, unstoppable, and Mina handed her a tissue.
She leaned into her friend and dabbed her eyes. “You’re like my favorite cousins. This is so hard.”
“We’re still family. We’ll call you every day to get the local gossip.”
At that, she let out a watery huff. “You guys hear more gossip than I do!”
“All the more reason to stay in touch. We can’t leave you in the dark about what’s going on in town.”
“I hate this,” she whispered. “I hate doing this to you.” What would become of her dear friends, her little bookshop family? Her bookstore wasn’t the only business hurting from the detour. Could they even find work around town to keep themselves afloat?
Sure, it wasn’t her worry to carry, but she couldn’t bear the idea of being responsible for their struggles. Or worse, them leaving Willowbrook in search of work.
“The two of us will be just fine. We’re like cats—we land on our feet.” Rina smoothed Felicity’s hair in a comforting touch. She leaned into her.
“We’ll meet for coffee and can visit the Black Heart if we miss your sister Honor’s crafts.” Rina’s voice brightened.
“We still have five-dollar margarita pitchers at the Rusty Spur,” Mina jumped in.
Heat flashed under her skin at the memory of their last margarita night.
Those fruity drinks seemed harmless, a little reward for surviving another slow week.
But then those two guys had started a shoving match over who “called dibs” on a dance with her.
Dibs. Like she was a library book they could check out. The memory made her stomach roll.
Felicity shook her head. “Tea at the café sounds better.”
“Tea,” Mina agreed. “Whoever’s working at the café can sneak us extra biscotti.”
“We can hold our book clubs there.” Rina’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “We’ll read the raciest books and cause a ruckus.”
The plan smoothed some of the sharpness of the moment, and Felicity blew out a breath around her wobbly smile. “Okay, it’s a date.”
Feeling wrung out and lighter at the same time, she wiped her cheeks and blew her nose. Then she lifted her tea and sipped, allowing the warm drink to loosen the thickness in her throat.
The ladies settled at the table with her, finishing their tea and lemon bars while telling stories about one of their cats and how the mountain had a layer of fresh snow. Ordinary things that made life feel a little more normal.
When the mugs were empty, they moved like they always did at closing time. Mina pushed a book into line on the shelf while Rina swept the floor. Felicity stood behind the counter and tried not to cry again.
This wasn’t just shutting down the shop for the day. It was shutting down her dream.
They hugged her and made promises again—tea and book club, texts every day until then. She clasped them in tight hugs, more grateful for their stalwart company than ever.
When the bell chimed behind them, the silence that followed was tender, not so cruel.
Felicity turned her focus to the tasks that came with downsizing the shop.
She took down a small display of hand-carved bookmarks she ordered for the holiday season that had never sold.
She wrapped them with care and packed them up to return to the woodworker, along with a note about how beautiful they were.
Then she moved along the shelves, letting her fingers trail over spines like a goodbye. But it wasn’t final. Maybe without paying Rina and Mina, she could stay afloat a little bit longer—until the interstate exit reopened.
She drifted into the back room and her gaze fell over three boxes stacked in the corner. Three boxes of antique books she ordered before things slowed down, thinking the books she didn’t want in her private collection could be sold during the upcoming rush of third quarter.
Only they’d sat there for months, unopened. She hadn’t had the heart to look inside—there wasn’t a market for them, and no room left on the shelves anyway. Just the thought of sorting through those forgotten treasures felt too heavy, so she’d let the boxes be, gathering dust and time.
She lifted the box off the top of the stack, hefting the weight in her arms. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to the cardboard. “I didn’t mean to leave you sitting.”
She carried it out the back door to her car parked a few feet away. She tucked all three boxes into the trunk like they were sleeping children and stood there, staring at them, breathing the cold air.
She shut the trunk, then went back inside to lock up.
She would add the books to her personal library when she finally felt like sorting them.
But not today.
Her phone buzzed. The group chat lit up—Mina sending a photo of the racy book she planned to bring to their book club.
Tea. Sunday, 2 pm. Wear your coziest sweater!
Felicity let out a watery laugh, her eyes blurring again. She thumbed a reply.
Wouldn’t miss it.
Tea on Sunday. Boxes when she was ready. She’d get there. One careful page at a time.