Chapter 8 #2
“Ah, Julia. Is your mom staying out of trouble? I haven’t seen her around lately.”
She looks down at her shoes. “She’s okay.”
His brow creases in concern. “Can you do me a favor? I missed lunch today. Would you pick me up a sandwich from the café?”
Her face brightens a smidge, as if she doesn’t want to show any excitement, but it sneaks out anyway.
She shrugs. “Sure.”
“You know what I like.” He hands her a twenty dollar bill from the till. “Get something for yourself, too. I don’t want any change back, you hear?”
She disappears out of the door and walks purposefully slow along the sidewalk in front of the store.
Mr. Long shakes his head absently. “I don’t know where that girl is going to spend her time after school when I sell.”
My heart goes out to Julia with the troubled mom, but my thoughts focus on something else.
“You’re selling?” I ask.
He nods. “I wanted to sell years ago and move closer to my son and his family, but the only offer I have is from the developer who already owns three buildings on this street and a bunch of rentals in town. I was hoping to find a private buyer who wanted to keep this a bookstore. He wants to make it a flooring store. Can you imagine? Laminate and carpet instead of Robinson Crusoe and Jane Eyre?” He shivers. “The sacrilege."
I glance around and do not disagree. “It’s a unique and beautiful building.”
“It was built over a hundred years ago by my wife’s grandfather. It’s been renovated since, of course, but always owned by the family. I hate to see it go, but my son doesn’t want to take over, and I can’t hold on forever. It’s sad that no one wants to own a bookstore these days.”
I do.
Where did that thought come from? It’s such a stupid thing to think.
I’m not buying a bookstore, but as my eyes rove, I see so much potential.
Right now it looks its age, but with new paint and better lighting, it would feel more welcoming.
Fewer shelves and a lot less books would make it easier for customers to browse.
Once the windows have a good scrub, I could set up displays to catch the eye of window shoppers.
Mr. Long tucks my receipt inside the pages of Monte Cristo and pushes it across the desk.
“When are you selling?” I ask as I take my book.
“January. My son’s coming out with his family in December for one last Christmas in Blissful, then I’m done.”
“Well, I’m glad you're here today.” I hold up the book. “Thanks for this.”
“Thank you. One less book that will end up in the dumpster.”
If that isn’t the saddest thing ever.
I head to the sitting area in the back. The couch is surprisingly comfortable. Soon, I’m joined by Julia. She plops onto the bean bag and eats a sandwich with one hand while she draws in a notebook with the other.
She could be aged anywhere from fifteen to eighteen.
Her jeans are worn, and her hoodie could use a wash.
She scarfs the food so quickly, I wonder when she last ate.
I have a few granola bars in my purse I keep just in case I’m stranded somewhere with nothing to eat.
I want to offer them to her, but I don’t know how to without being awkward.
I remind myself that I’m a visitor to Blissful.
This bookstore is not my concern, and neither is Julia.
I open my book to page one and read. It isn’t long before I realize I picked the absolutely worst book.
Edmond Dantes, the hero, is betrayed by all his friends.
It hits a little too close. I snap the cover closed and stuff it into my bag.
Julia watches me. “Are you okay?”
The concern in her voice makes me smile.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
It seems like the perfect ice breaker, and I dig to the bottom of my purse and pull out three granola bars. They’re a little beat up; I’m not sure how long they’ve been there.
“Do you want one?” I ask.
She shrugs, as if she doesn’t care. I keep one and toss her the other two.
Though she tries to hide the pages of her notebook, I catch a glimpse of her drawing of a dragon as she leans forward. I’m not an art connoisseur, but it’s really good.
“Thanks,” she says.
I eat my granola bar with one hand and twist the ends of my hair with the other. The idea of a haircut rises up again. Why not? It’s nothing drastic. I haven’t had shoulder length hair since college, and I could use a change.
I’m going back to the salon to see if they can fit me in today.
Julia doesn’t look up when I leave, and Mr. Long isn’t at the front. I march across the street with purpose. When I walk into the salon, there are no customers, just two stylists sitting on the haircut chairs gazing at their phones.
The one closest to the door glances over and smiles. “Hi! You must be Stella.”
I look around, as if I'm expecting to see someone else named Stella. “Um, how do you know that?”
“I’m good friends with Claudia. She said you were hiding from Drew, but Monique saw you talking to him next to King Dairy Freeze so we’re wondering if you were playing hide and seek?” She laughs at her joke. “Just kidding.”
I guess it’s true what I’ve read in romance books and seen in Hallmark movies: in small towns, everyone knows your business. I feel stupid for even trying to hide my presence from Drew because with neighbors like these, he would have found out I was here within hours if he hadn’t seen me first.
“And who is Monique?” I ask.
“She works at the antique store.”
“And you are?”
“Nim. And this is Trudy.”
The other lady waves without raising her head.
“Nim, it’s nice to meet you. Drew’s a friend of mine.” That’s where I end the truth and start the lie. “I wanted to surprise him about my being in town.”
She nods as if this makes perfect sense. “Did you come in to shoot the breeze, or do you want your hair done? I’m fine either way. Everyone’s busy getting ready for Apple Jamboree, so no one has time for a visit to the salon.”
“I want a haircut,” I say decisively.
“Sit right over here.”
I take a seat. She puts the cape over me and snaps it behind my neck. As she pumps up the chair, she says, “It’s nice Drew has a lady friend after what Quinn did to his heart. Ripped it out of his chest, stomped on it, then blew it up with dynamite.”
“That’s … graphic.” And extremely sad. Drew is the nicest person, and that someone would treat him like that is horrible.
“All of us love Drew and hate what she did to him. It’s taken awhile, but he’s finally back to his old self. Is that because of you? Are you more than friends?” She gives me a look in the mirror as if she’s waiting for information she can spread through her gossip network.
I laugh. “No, I can guarantee that any transformation on his part isn't because of me. Honest, we are only friends.”
“Don’t you read? That’s how some of the best romances start.”
Right. Time to get to the point of my being here. “I want to take some length off. I’m thinking just below my shoulders. What do you think?”
She runs her fingers through my hair and gently tugs on the ends. “If you cut an inch above your shoulders, you have enough to donate to Locks of Love for wigs for children with hair loss.”
Above my shoulders is shorter than I’ve ever cut my hair before, but I have a soft spot for children. I want to help them more than I want two inches of hair.
“Yes. I want to do that.”