Chapter 4
four
The Dashbern Bookshop
Oscar prey-chitters in the seat beside me as he peers through the bars of his kennel.
I opted for a bigger one so that he could stand up and see out the window, thinking it would entertain him for the ride, or maybe ease some of his anxiety.
Instead, it has resulted in hyper excitement, and endless chatter.
My mistake.
“Next time we’ll accept the sleepy drugs from the doctor,” I tell him.
The scenery is nice, but there are just so many birds that Oscar is losing it. They seem to be taunting us. Is it migration season or something?
I check the map and see we’re just twenty minutes from Dashbern. I couldn’t be more excited to get out of the car forever. I’m sure Oscar would be too, if he understood that the next stop was our last.
We really pushed it on day one and made it well into Utah. Day two was a struggle, with many bathroom stops. Apparently, travel doesn’t agree with either of us very well, so we’d only just made it to Wyoming. Day three got us into South Dakota and on day four, we made it to Minneapolis.
Day five has us both feral, and ready to be done. My belly hurts from all the garbage I’ve eaten, and I swear my ass is swollen from too much sitting. I’m ready for a hot soak and a massage—
But that’s Publicist Money Brain talking. We don’t have publicist money anymore. We have broke-ass bookshop owner money. Still, there has to be something I can do to ease the aches from being stuck in the same position for days on end.
Oscar does a potty meow, and I sigh.
“We should’ve flown.”
But then I would’ve had to wait to get some of my essentials, like my books and my inflatable mattress. Then we still would’ve had to drive for about two hours from the nearest international airport, and either rent a car or buy a ride. And then my car would’ve been shipped.
“Never mind, we made the right choice,” I say as I steer us off to the rest stop.
There’s no one else around, so I get Oscar hooked up to his kitty harness and open the door to the grassy field beside the brick outhouse. I take a few lunging steps to work out the ache in my hip, but the damn thing is persistent. That’s what I get for sitting hours and days on end.
A chill breeze blows through the budding trees and I hug my arms tight against my sides.
“It’s almost freaking May,” I mutter to the wind that feels way too cold to be on the brink of summer.
Oscar sniffs around for a few moments, then finds a bit of dirt he likes. It’s just number one, so I put my little plastic baggie back in my pocket and hurry him to the car.
Ten minutes out from the city, we hit major construction that diverts us onto another road. I’d read about the “highway” adjustments, but thought there’d be at least one lane open. Apparently, the road is going from single lane to two, and they decided to just rip everything up and go for it.
The GPS complains wildly as I follow the detour. Oscar screams at the fake woman with a British accent on the fourth request to make a U-turn, so I disable the voice feature. I’m so, so over this trip.
The trees thin, and I spot glimpses of water between the budding boughs. It shimmers with the bright afternoon sunlight and I sigh.
“Oh, look at that beach,” I tell Oscar.
He chirrups and stands on his back legs to look out the window.
He’s always loved the beach—though I wonder if he thinks the sand is just one giant toilet.
The crisp, salty air, and flocks of birds to chase, brought him so much joy.
He always gave his best attempt to sneak up on the seagulls, but I knew that, given the chance, those birds would take off with him instead of the other way around. So, always a harness.
The signs demand I slow down to twenty-five as I enter town, and it gives me a great opportunity to look around more.
The Boogle Street View images didn’t do any of it justice.
Is it a little run-down? Yeah, but it’s also a three-hundred-year-old town that’s never exceeded a population of two thousand.
It’s really, really small-town vibes here.
Still, it’s the hub for several other, even smaller towns, that surround it, bringing the weekend foot-traffic up to about ten thousand.
Flagging sales during the weekdays will give me ample time to work on my rebind commissions, so I’m not worried about income so much.
And, if my online business keeps growing, I could attract major attention to this speck of Wisconsin.
I drive past a shed in the middle of a field that has “GUNS” spray painted on the side in blue, and a little American Flag fluttering over the door.
Very small town.
Finally, I make it back to Main Street after all the rerouting and pass the bar and restaurant I’m dying to try; The Chubby Radish.
Not only do they have some amazing vegetarian dishes—like black sesame roasted brussel sprouts—they have some incredible looking fresh fish tacos.
Oscar and I love our fish tacos. Well, he just loves the fish and I eat his extra tortilla.
There’s a statue of a plump, anthropomorphic radish waving to the traffic on the street and I chuckle. It reminds me of the radish spirit from one of my favorite animated films, and those squeaky little feets.
We drive by several more businesses and restaurants I can’t wait to try before making it to our new home sweet home—Second Chance Fantasy. Well, it just says “Books” above the beautiful door right now, but soon it’ll have its own custom sign.
I pull off the street and into the little gravel drive that leads to a dilapidated single car garage behind the building. Oscar senses that we’ve arrived at our destination and begins yowling at the top of his lungs. I put the car into park and throw him a treat to make him settle.
“I need to get a few things set up before you can come in,” I tell him.
He lets out a long, unbroken scream of fury and I groan.
“Fine! You can come in! But you have to stay in the kennel.”
I throw open my door and stretch myself long and hard as I emerge from the torture chamber. Oscar continues his angry song, as if I might forget he exists. I come around and pull him out of the passenger seat, then amble my way to the back of the building.
It’s all wood siding from the waist up, but red brick below that. I’d read that the town had burned down a few times, so I’m guessing this brick frame is the remnants of what came before the bookshop. I wonder why it’d caught on fire so many times…
I set Oscar down and fiddle with the number dial on the back of the safety-key holder attached to the knob. I pull out the set of old bronze keys and jingle them at Oscar.
“We’re home, buddy,” I say with a grin.
He meows impatiently and I roll my eyes.
I insert the key into the slot and grab the handle to hold it steady. A sizzling jolt of static discharges up my arm—or at least, I think it’s static—and I pull back with a start. I shake out my hand and go back in for another try.
The knob is warmer now than before, so it must’ve been static. I probably rubbed against the car seat too much in the past thirty minutes with how uncomfortable my butt was getting.
The handle clicks and I move on to undo the bolt with a snap. I turn the handle and push the door open. It squeaks loudly and afternoon light spills over the first few feet of the back of the shop.
It’s an office space for the owner. There’s an antique desk in the corner that needs a good oiling and an ancient filing cabinet beside it. I scan left and right, seeing nothing else. I reach for a light switch and…there isn’t one. Awesome.
I knew the electrical was going to be out of date, but I didn’t think it was going to be absent. There is a two-pronged outlet under the desk, so there’s at least that.
I sigh into a lip-flapping raspberry and pick up Oscar’s kennel.
I get my phone out with my other hand and activate my flashlight.
The back office is a decent size, with the desk and cabinet on the left, and stairs to what I assume is the apartment on the right.
There’s only one window, and it’s been blocked off with cardboard, leaving it dingy inside.
Ahead is a closed door that leads to the rest of the shop. I push it open and walk down the long passage. The opening is highlighted in gold and pink light at the end, and a feral giddiness blooms in my chest. The room opens up, and I suck in a gasp at the sight.
It’s tall and wide, with two support beams in the middle that run all the way to the second-floor ceiling.
There was once a twisted staircase and a walkway supported between the beams, but they’ve since rotted out and collapsed.
There’s a second-floor overhang that runs the perimeter of the room that’ll have just enough space for some cozy chairs at each corner.
I might need to reconsider second floor access, since hauling boxes of books up a winding staircase sounds like a recipe for a broken neck.
Maybe I can install a ramp on the left side.
That would make it more accessible, too.
Then, I can cordon off a “mature” section behind that wall on the first floor, ensuring that no young, impressionable minds discover the magic of monster peen too soon.
The light pouring in the stained-glass windows glitters against the disturbed dust as we walk farther in.
The ambiance is magical, and I feel like a princess.
I turn about, taking in the damaged shelves, the hooks left behind that have half-ripped out of the walls, and all the other scars of life that this place has seen.
“It’s perfect,” I whisper.
Oscar “me-rows” in reply, not sharing my sentiment.
That’s okay. Once I get his kitty jungle gym and a few scratching posts set up, he’ll be right at home in here.
I don’t doubt he might be one of the main attractions of the store.
He’s an excellent cuddler, and there’s nothing much better than a comfy chair, a nice cup of something sweet, and a lap warmer while reading.
My mind starts painting the walls in books, and the floors in colorful rugs. There’ll be two tables right up front with new releases and local authors. I’ll stock Indies right alongside the Traditionally published to help get them exposure.
“Shall we see our new house?” I ask him.
“Meh,” he chits.
“Really?”
He blinks at me slowly and I scoff.
“Fine. I’ll just leave you right here, then.”
I set down his kennel and head for the back. Then, I realize I’ve left some of my most precious possessions, besides Oscar, in the car. I run out and open the back, grabbing the first of five boxes. It’s heavy, but that’s the price I gladly pay for gorgeous, special edition hardbacks.
I move the boxes one at a time into the office area until the back only has my luggage and the blow-up mattress.
I’m not one hundred percent sure I want to stay here tonight, but I do need a safe place to store my books if I’m going to stay at a hotel, and I’m really tired of hauling them back and forth every night.
It’s safe here, I have a key, and they’ll be all good.
With that done, I move to the right side of the office and up the stairs to the apartment. They’re a little tight, and that doesn’t bode well for my king-sized bed…
Good thing I hired movers!
I bought the premium package with my vacation hours payout that’ll have all my items moved in and placed exactly how I ask for them to be placed. Without any friends in town, that was really my only option.
It’s dark at the first landing, so I pull out my phone and activate the flashlight app.
The stairs have a switchback halfway up—another ill omen for my dresser—and there’s another door at the top.
The handle is locked, which is nice, I appreciate the added privacy.
I flip through the keys and find the one that fits this door.
The handle turns, but the door doesn’t budge when I push on it. I scowl and push a little harder, only to hurt my wrist. I look for a bolt or something else that might be barring the way but there’s nothing.
I brace one foot on the lower step and turn the handle, then ram my shoulder into the door. It breaks away and scrapes loudly on the old wood floor. I yelp as I topple into the room and onto a pile of something hard.