Chapter 8 #2
I stop in my tracks when I find myself outside a bookstore and hesitate when I feel a sudden urge to walk in.
As a teenager, I could stroll through a bookstore forever, running my fingers over the different kinds of book spines, picking out the ones that spoke to me.
The ones that somehow called my name. I used to dream of having my own library at home—a room filled with books from floor to ceiling, only for me, where all my favorite books were gathered in one place.
Now, back in New York, all I have are different piles of books I never manage to read. Piles of guilt.
The female shop assistant smiles at me as the doorbell chimes above my head, and it feels like I’ve stepped right into Meg Ryan’s bookstore in You’ve Got Mail. Shelves in dark wood envelop the small store, and nostalgia squeezes my chest when I smell the scent of paper.
“You looking for something special?” As I turn around, I’m met by two eyes over the rim of a book.
She lowers it with an open smile on her face and swings her legs down from the desk behind the counter.
“You looking for Tessa Bailey’s latest?” Before I have time to say anything, she looks to the right and to the left to make sure we’re alone, which is kind of funny because she clearly must know we are since the store is so small.
Then, she lowers her voice conspiratorially.
“Okay, so it actually releases tomorrow, and we’re not supposed to display it until then but .
. .” Another look in both directions. “If it is that one you’re looking for, I can make an exception.
I have boxes with it in the back. It is so steamy!
” Her eyes glitter, and I think I see her flush.
“She really outdid herself this time, queen Bailey, let me tell you that.” She huffs out a weird-sounding little noise and gives me a meaningful look with more sparkling eyes.
I’ve never heard of Tessa Bailey and based on how the girl in front of me looks, I’ve clearly missed out on something.
“Um—” I begin but get cut off.
“Don’t say another word. I’ll get it for you.” And before I have time to stop her, she disappears through a door behind her. I stare after her blue ponytail, not really sure what just happened, but I guess I’m about to buy my first Tessa Bailey book.
It doesn’t take long before she’s back, panting with a book raised above her head like a trophy. “Girl, you’re in for a treat,” she says with a wink as she, without further questions, puts the book in a purple paper bag. “But please don’t tell my boss. Cash or card?”
A little bewildered and not sure what just happened, I’m back on the street again. A brand-new, secret Tessa Bailey book in my possession. Yet another thing I didn’t think I was going to own twenty-four hours ago, but a lot more pleasant to possess than let’s say . . . a dog? A shattered career?
I want to crawl into the trashcan next to the sidewalk, but I don’t. Instead, I start walking down the street again. It looks like it’s still too early for tourists to be here, and I must say I prefer having the street almost all to myself.
I meet a couple of locals, and they greet me like they know I’m not a tourist. Like I’m one of them, even though I’m not.
I’m more of a tourist than the tourists themselves.
The familiarity here is so different from New York, it almost scares me.
People see each other here, which makes it kind of impossible to hide. It’s a constant spotlight.
I pass a hardware store, a pharmacy, a gallery, some kind of boat equipment store, and a shoe shop before I reach a pink building.
Bubblegum pink. It’s actually amazing. I shuffle inside, not noticing what kind of store it is at first, but once inside, I realize it’s a clothing store.
Two women, one older and one younger, stand at the cash register and laugh at something when I step inside, but the moment the bell chimes above the door, they both look up and welcome me with wide smiles.
“Welcome, honey!” the older of them says.
I return their smiles. “Thank you.” I don’t think I’ve ever been welcomed in such a genuine way at any other store, including Adler Bowman. This woman looks like she means it, not speaking from a manuscript her boss has forced her to use.
The store is small but charming and very pretty.
The wooden floor creaks under my heels, and the sun bathes the space with light.
And I must say I’m kind of surprised when I see the clothes.
They’re modern—the kind people would actually buy.
Clothing shops in small towns are usually filled with dresses in bad quality and tops with cats on them. But not this one apparently.
“Just holler at me if you need anything, sweetie. I have more sizes in the back.” Once again, she sounds like she means it.
“Thank you. It’s a beautiful store,” I say and meet her gaze. Both she and the younger woman are watching me with kind eyes.
The older woman’s face lights up. “You think? Thank you.”
“It’s your store?” I say in surprise.
“Well, yes, of course, sweetie. Who else’s would it be?”
The younger woman rolls her eyes in a loving way. “Aunt Viv, it can literally be anyone’s.” She smiles and steps towards me. “Hey, I’m Iris.” She puts out her hand for a shake.
“Hi, I’m June.”
She looks at me curiously. “You’re not a tourist, right? You don’t feel like one.”
I don’t? “No.” I smile. “Or, well, kind of. My godmother lived here and passed away a while ago, and she left me her house.”
The older woman looks up. “You’re Liz Evans’s goddaughter?”
Jeez, small towns and their gossip . . .
“Yeah.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss. Liz was such a doll.”
I don’t know what to say to that but I’m not in the mood to explain anything, so I settle for a nod and a thank you.
Iris rakes a hand through her blonde beach waves, then furrows her brows together. “So, you don’t know anyone here?”
“Um, no, I don’t,” I admit.
“Then you have no idea where to find the best coffee around here either?”
I chuckle in surprise. “Unfortunately, no.”
“Outrageous.” She shakes her head. “Come, follow me.” She whips around, leaving me with no other choice but to follow her. “Bye, Aunt Viv,” she yells before she closes the door behind us.
“Bye, girls!”
Less than eight minutes later, I find myself seated at a small table on the sidewalk on one of the smaller streets behind Main Street, a steaming cup of coffee in front of me. Across from me sits Iris with an iced latte in her hand.
“Delicious, right?”
And, oh yeah, she’s right. This coffee really is delicious, better than most of the coffees I’ve had in New York, actually. Weirdly and unexpectedly. “Amazing. Thank you for bringing me. Gertrude just got a new regular.”
Iris smiles, the freckles on her nose crinkling. “Yay! Gertrude is the best. And the tourists never find their way here. Too bad, actually, because Gertrude would’ve sold a hell of a lot more coffee, but . . . she prefers it this way.”
Honestly, I kind of get Gertrude. Tourists bring money, but they also bring a lot more annoying buzz.
I fall in love with Iris immediately. She reminds me in many ways of Clara, and that’s my favorite kind of person.
It turns out we’re the same age, and she tells me she’s lived her whole life in Pearlband Beach.
She’s an elementary school teacher and a surf instructor.
And she’s gorgeous with her beachy waves and almost constant smile.
I tell her about my life, not going into detail about why I’m here, and she nods knowingly when I tell her about my job.
“I could see it immediately. You are the most stunning girl to set foot in Pearlband in ages. I know a couple of men who will lose their shit over you. A couple of women, too.”
I snort a laugh. “Men are boring.”
Iris raises her cup. “Agreed. We should put that on a T-shirt.”
She is Clara. Iris checks her watch.
“Shit, I need to go. I have a private lesson in twenty minutes. But, hey, you must come with me to karaoke night at Lost & Found tomorrow.”
“Lost & Found?”
“The only bar worth visiting here.”
“Karaoke . . . ?” I say hesitantly. I really can’t sing.
“Fuck karaoke. Come for the burger, it’s heavenly.” She stands. “Promise you’ll come?”
I hesitate again, and Iris gives me puppy eyes that would make Cactus jealous. I laugh. “Okay, I’ll come,” I finally say, and can’t believe my own ears. Was it me who just said that? Who agreed to go to a social event with a girl I just met in a town I know nothing about? Wtf?
“Yippee! Meet you there at seven.”
I stare at Cactus, who stares at the dog food I’ve bought.
“What’s wrong?” I cross my arms over my chest.
She sniffs it one more time and then she snorts (snorts!) before leaving the kitchen. Excuse me?
“It looks exactly the same as the one you ate yesterday and this morning!” I yell after her. I lift the bowl and sniff it with a grimace. Smells like . . . dog food. Yikes. What can possibly be wrong with it? Is she messing with me? Don’t dogs eat everything?
Apparently not this dog. Two hours later, she still hasn’t touched the food and is still lying on her spot on the couch.
I try to read my book but for some freaking reason, I can’t concentrate.
I close the book irritably and march out to the kitchen.
I hate this. I never asked for a dog, and I never asked for a dog who refuses to eat. What the hell am I even doing here?
I bite back some angry tears and suddenly remember the lasagna. I still haven’t made it, and since I don’t have anything else to do while I’m basically unemployed, I might as well. With clumsy fingers I tie an apron around my waist, wipe something wet from under my eyes, and get started.
I had totally forgotten how time ceases to exist when in a kitchen.
How chopping onions, frying meat, and stirring a sauce can make everything else disappear.
When the smell of the lasagna seeps through the oven door, it makes my toes curl.
I sink into a chair, let out all the air in my lungs and then watch it cook, simmer, and get color.
I’m on my way to the porch when I notice Big Diva.
She hasn’t moved from the couch since I last saw her a couple of hours ago, and she doesn’t even acknowledge me now—but I do hear a little sniff.
I pause for a moment, watching her. Then, with a sigh, I head back to the kitchen.
I cut a piece of the lasagna and place it in her bowl. Then I walk outside.
When my plate is empty, I pull my legs up on the porch swing and pick up the book again.
This time I don’t struggle to concentrate.
I read page after page as if I’ve been starving to read.
Maybe I have. Or maybe I’ve unknowingly been starving to read a Tessa Bailey book because, man, this is good.
The girl in the bookstore knew what she was talking about. It’s spicy and . . . spicy.
Hours later, when I return to the kitchen, Cactus’s bowl is empty.