Chapter 2 #2
I’m only on my second bite when there’s a horrible crash followed by the tinkling sound of broken glass dancing along the surface of my pretty floor and skittering across the counter.
My fork clatters back into the casserole dish as I try to make sense of what I’m seeing.
It’s a tree.
A giant Christmas tree has exploded into the window of the shop. Glass and pine needles are everywhere. I’m lucky there’s nothing in my eyes.
Before my heart starts fully beating again, the door to the bookshop bursts open and the giant from next door stands in the threshold, his blue eyes wild.
“Are you okay?” he demands.
I nod at him, speechless.
His eyes rake the shop as he strides in, taking in the disaster area of rolled up carpet, books scattered everywhere, and shelves leaned against the inside wall.
“You didn’t do all that,” I say quickly, finding my voice as I turn to watch him walk through the space. “I was already moving everything to rip out the carpet.”
“Whoa,” a little voice says from the doorway.
I turn back around to find a girl with a long brown braid, her blue eyes wide at the sight of the tree.
“I’ll replace the window,” Roan barks out.
“Thank you,” I tell him, feeling relieved. “The property manager said the landlord’s a grump, and I don’t want to get in trouble. I’m already pulling up carpet and I didn’t exactly get permission…”
“You took all the shelves away,” the little girl says accusingly, stopping me mid-babble. “I thought this was a bookstore.”
“It is,” I tell her right away. “I’m just moving some things around.”
“Wait right here,” Roan says, heading out of the shop like a man on a mission.
I turn back to the little girl.
“You can watch me while my dad’s gone,” she says in a nonchalant way.
Her dad.
Of course. With those blue eyes, who else could she be?
“Are you the bookshop lady?” she asks patiently, like maybe I need a little extra help socially.
“Yes,” I say quickly. “I’m Taylor. What’s your name?”
“Meg,” she tells me.
“Is Meg short for something?” I ask automatically.
“Margaret,” she grumbles.
“No way,” I say. “Just like A Wrinkle in Time.”
“What’s that?” she asks with a frown.
“Oh my gosh. I can’t believe you’ve never read it,” I tell her. “You’re just about the right age too. Are you nine?”
“Ten,” she says proudly.
“Hang on,” I say, holding up a finger and heading over to one of the stacks of books on the floor. “I think I have it.”
“There aren’t a lot of books for kids here,” she tells me.
“I know,” I say, shaking my head as I push past The Wind in the Willows, looking for the familiar black spine. “I’m hoping to change that.”
“You are?” Meg asks.
I can tell by her voice that she’s pleased. Maybe she’s a reader. My sourpuss neighbor can’t be such a bad guy if he’s raising a reader.
I lift up a copy of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and right underneath, there it is—A Wrinkle in Time.
Gosh, how I loved this book when I was her age.
“Do you get scared easily?” I ask her, not holding it out to her just yet.
“Is it by Stephen King?” she asks, eyes wide. “I’m not allowed to read Stephen King books yet, except for The Eyes of the Dragon.”
“Oh, that’s a good one,” I tell her, smiling. “But no, this is a sort of fantasy adventure by Madeline L’Engle. It won a Newberry Medal.”
“A fantasy adventure?” she echoes, moving toward me with her eyes on the book like she’s hypnotized.
“It’s one of the best books for kids I’ve ever read,” I tell her honestly as I hold it out. “And the main character is named Meg, short for Margaret.”
“Whoa,” she breathes, taking the book.
There’s a rustle and another sprinkle of glass diamonds scattering on the floor, and then the Christmas tree is backing out of the window, leaving me with a view again, and a harsh, cold breeze.
“Yikes,” Meg says without even looking up from the book.
Her dad comes back in a moment later and heads over to the window with a measuring tape. It looks about the size of a roll of dental floss in his giant hand as he makes short work of measuring the window.
“What’s that?” he asks as he shoves the tape measure back in his pocket.
I turn to see that Meg is already reading the book. She’s clearly enraptured and I’m honestly jealous. I wish I could read it for the first time again myself.
“Oh, just a book I thought she might like,” I say.
“Can we get it, Dad?” Meg asks. “Can we?”
“No charge,” I say quickly.
“We can pay for it,” Roan growls.
“I’m not even set up to take payments yet,” I admit. “Besides, I think it’s been on the shelf a while. The pages are yellowed.”
“If you’re giving books away, you’ll have this place belly up in no time,” he predicts.
But when I glance up at him, those cold blue eyes are twinkling.
It takes me a second to realize it, but I think Roan just made a joke.
“We’ll be right back,” he says. “Come on, Meg.”
She looks up from the book and meets my eyes with a questioning look.
“It’s yours,” I tell her, nodding. “Maybe we can talk about it when you’re done reading it.”
“Definitely,” she tells me before rocketing off after her dad.
“Don’t touch anything,” Roan says from the doorway. “We’ll clean up.”
And just like that, they’re gone before I can say another word.
And I’m left standing among the wreckage of my shop, wondering what just happened.