Chapter 2
TAYLOR
The next morning, I wake up to soft light streaming through the windows. As soon as I sit up, I fall madly in love with my new apartment.
The decor looked a bit white-on-white-on-white last night, but now that it’s lit up by the sun, it’s just like a fluffy summer cloud.
And when I get out of bed, a view over the whole town is basically at my feet out those sliding glass doors that lead to the tiny Juliet balcony.
Beyond the quaint row of shops across the street, Angel Mountain itself reaches for the heavens, each tree and crag on its towering face frosted with shimmering snow.
All I want is to post a dozen photos to my socials. But then I remember that I’m still avoiding them after the incident. And besides, I have way too much to do to get caught up in the view.
After a quick shower, I pull on jeans and an old sweater and grab my apple pie from the fridge.
I’m in too much of a hurry to get started with work, so I don’t make coffee, or even put the pie on a plate, opting to just hold it in the foil and take a bite. The sweet crumble is the perfect counterpart for the tang of the apple and the luscious flaky crust.
Mrs. Perkins missed her calling working in real estate. If the food she left for me is any indication, she probably could have opened a restaurant.
Too soon, my delicious pie is gone and I’m heading downstairs to the shop.
The space is pretty cold, but I’ll be cleaning and organizing all day, so that’s probably a good thing. There’s no point running up the heat bill when I don’t even have customers here yet.
Whatever the light of day did for the upstairs apartment, it does the opposite down here.
The dinginess of the paint and carpet is more apparent, and the wooden bookshelves are clearly just cheap pine, stained darker to look like something more expensive.
Their uneven heights and the way some of them seem to be listing to one side hint that they were made by an amateur.
But I can work with it. I can work with all of it. I’m no stranger to a paintbrush.
Well, that’s not exactly true. I’ve only ever painted one room in my life. But I’ve seen videos of people painting their homes. How hard can it be?
Before I get into all that, the first order of business is to make the place look a little more welcoming. If I learned one thing from publishing, it’s that buzz is everything. And the buzz about this place needs to start at the front door.
My first thought is something festive. Some pine boughs would be decorative and aromatic. And I am right next to a tree lot.
Glancing out the side window, I notice that the chain in front of the lot is down, so I decide to grab my coat and head out to meet my neighbor before I get myself too dirty.
It’s definitely cold outside, and the sky is gray over Angel Mountain.
But the breeze is light, nothing like the harsh wind that whistles between the buildings in the city.
Christmas decorations brighten the shops, and an older couple walking across the street waves to me in a friendly way, as if to say, We’re all up early, isn’t it great?
As I approach the lot, I can’t help wondering again why it’s unadorned. The evergreens leaning against wooden rails add a festive fragrance to the air, but that seems more accidental than festive.
It doesn’t take long to spot a man in a lined flannel shirt bent over a stack of trees wrapped in netting.
“Hey, there,” I call out cheerfully. “I’m your new neighbor.”
He doesn’t respond, and as I move closer, I can’t help but notice that his shoulders are broad enough to strain the seams of the flannel.
“Hi,” I say from about three feet away. “I’m Taylor. Taylor Greer.”
Suddenly, the mountain of a man is rising up and I wouldn’t be half surprised if the top of his head scraped the sky. He doesn’t say anything, just narrows his brilliant blue eyes at me while I stare up in awe at what might very well be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.
He’s got a thick shock of dirty blond hair that would be at home on the hero of a surfer movie or a cartoon prince, but he’s dressed and built like a lumberjack, and his jawline is sharp enough to cut diamonds.
“Roan,” he growls after a moment.
It takes me a second to realize that’s his name. This massive cowboy of a man has a name like a stallion. That adds up.
I’m unable to do anything but gawk up at him like a fish on a hook for another couple of seconds as he observes me coolly.
“Can I help you?” he asks at last, bringing me back to my senses.
“I, uh, I was wondering if you have any extra trimmings,” I manage. “You know, like from the bottoms of the Christmas trees? Could I buy some?”
“Nope,” he says.
“Really?” I ask, stealing a glance over at the pile of trimmings down by the front of the lot. “I just wanted to do something for the front of my shop. It looks so sad beside all the other places with their pretty decorations.”
The words are out before I realize that in my nervous babbling I’ve probably managed to offend the only other proprietor with less decor than I have.
“Just take what you want,” he barks out before turning back to the stack of trees he was unwrapping when I got here.
I’m left standing in the breeze with an awkward feeling but a not altogether unpleasant view of his muscular back.
What did I do wrong?
“Thanks,” I say over my shoulder as I march away, my cheeks heating.
All I want is to go back to my shop and pull the curtains. But the shop doesn’t have any curtains. And besides, I actually do need the trimmings, or else this whole uncomfortable interaction was for nothing.
So instead, I pick up as many evergreen trimmings as I can carry. They smell amazing, but they’re also sticky and prickly enough that I wish I had thought to wear gloves.
I’m determined that I won’t be coming over here again, so I fill my arms high and scurry back down the sidewalk to my own shop, depositing them unceremoniously on the stoop before heading inside to see what in the world I’m going to use to hang the branches.
I’ve got a spool of red ribbon for wrapping presents, and not much else of use, so I carry it back outside along with a pair of scissors and do my best to make a garland I can wind around the spindles of the handrail.
There are already hooks around the door, so it’s easier to hang another garland there.
At first, I’m nervous that my new neighbor might be watching and judging. But just a few minutes in, I’m relieved to realize that he’s studiously ignoring me.
When it’s done and I step back for a better look, I’m pleased that the place feels much cheerier than before, even if my decorations aren’t perfect. The greenery is lovely and the red ribbon sets it off nicely.
Now it’s time to clean, and as much as I normally hate cleaning, I’m honestly looking forward to working on the inside. Maybe once it’s neat and tidy it will be a bit more welcoming.
After doing my best to scrub the sap off my fingers, I head to the front of the shop. I’ll survey my kingdom from there, and decide where to start. Only before I get a chance to look over much, I notice that the faded carpet is pulling up in one corner.
I can’t resist grabbing the edge and tugging it back a little more.
“Oh, wow,” I murmur.
Under the ugly blue rug and its filthy padding is the prettiest, pumpkin-colored pine floor I’ve ever seen. And at least in this corner it appears to be beautifully finished.
I tug up just a bit more and sure enough, I reveal even more gorgeous wood.
Stop, Taylor, I tell myself. You don’t want to pull up the carpet and padding. You don’t want to scrub the wood floors.
I can just do what I planned, vacuum, and dust, and clean, and minimize the risk that I’ll find anything else I have to spend money on. It’s not my building, and not my job to rip things out or try to make big improvements.
But my hands are already getting ahead of me, pulling the rug and padding back even more, and I already know what I’m going to do.
When I’ve rolled it back all the way to the first shelf, I realize that I need to have a strategy here.
Taking a step back to look things over, I try to figure out how I can move everything off the rug.
The answer is that I needed to do an inventory anyway. Maybe I’ll take all the books off the shelves and move the shelves to one side of the store so I can pull up one side of the rug. Then I can do it all on the other side.
It’s a big job, but I’ve got to start someplace.
So I put my hair up in a quick ponytail, roll up the sleeves of my sweater, and get to work.
It’s late afternoon by the time I’ve got all the shelves moved to the right side of the room with half of them leaning against each other, and enough of the exposed carpet pulled up to reveal half the wood floor on the left side.
Books are double stacked on a couple of the upright shelves and piled high on the checkout counter, the floor, and even the benches that flank the front door.
It wasn’t easy, and I have no idea where I’m going to get the strength to do the other half of the job when my muscles are already jelly and my stomach is roaring.
But the floor is gorgeous.
It has to be worth two days of work to expose it like this.
Except that I don’t really have two days to spare. I’ve got to get this place open again as soon as possible.
My belly lets out a sound like a wildcat. I jog upstairs for food, but there’s too much to do for me to stop for a real meal.
I wind up just grabbing the casserole dish of mac and cheese from the fridge and carrying it back down to the shop.
Standing at the counter, I take a bite while I admire the floor.
My best friend Chessie would say that I’m in “full goblin mode” right now—filthy clothes with my hair a mess, eating cold leftovers right out of the container, and I guess she’d be right.
But if I can just get my energy back up, then maybe I can power through and get the rest of the carpet up tonight.