Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Town
“Who told you?” I groaned. “Muddy?”
“Of course.”
“This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. I was making up a business plan to show you. A full presentation and everything, with numbers and goals and a timeline so I could come to you with more than just a dream and vibes.”
“Sometimes a dream and vibes is all you need,” she said, turning away from me. “Come on.”
I trailed after her to the back room. There were four chairs around a card table, a bottle of bourbon and a deck of cards in the center.
“What do you play?” I asked, gesturing to the deck.
“Poker,” she said with a grin. “Sit.”
I sat and placed my bakery bag on the floor and waited. She didn’t say anything as she went to the coffee maker that rested on the counter against the back wall.
“Coffee?”
“No thanks,” I said.
She made herself a cup, grabbed her mug, and returned to the table. She pulled out the chair across from me and took a seat. “Tell me about your bookstore.”
“I really wish you’d let me make a presentation and come back and do this right.”
“No presentation. Just what’s in your heart. Why a bookstore?”
“Not just a bookstore,” I amended. “But a place for people to sit with their friends.”
“They have Sweet Teeth for that. Or The Diner. It sounds like you want to open a coffee shop.”
“Huckleberry Hill doesn’t need another restaurant.
And it definitely doesn’t need a coffee shop.
What it needs is a place with big couches that swallow you when you sit in them.
It needs soft ambient light. Gel pens. Journals.
Local crafts and preserves. I want the bookstore to be a place where people can woolgather. ” I smiled softly.
My grandmother had loved to woolgather.
Shaking my head, I dispelled thoughts of her, but the warmth of her memories swelled in the air around me.
We stared at one another and a slow grin spread across her face. “You have my blessing to open your bookstore. On one condition.”
“Name it.”
“I get to be your first customer.”
My lips quivered and then I crumbled into tears.
“Oh, honey.” Lucy sprang up and grabbed the tissue box that was next to the coffee maker.
She held it out to me.
I took a few tissues and blotted underneath my glasses.
“Poet? I think you’re exactly what this town needs.”
“Put your coffee down,” I commanded.
“Why?” she asked, even as she set it aside.
“So I can hug you.”
I embraced the older woman, wondering how it was possible that I could feel at home in a place so quickly.
“We should probably iron out some parameters,” I said when I pulled away. “Rent price, length of lease, that sort of thing?”
“Brooks took care of rent already.”
“But that’s just for the apartment. I’m talking about the rent on the store itself.”
“We’ll talk about it later,” she insisted. “Plenty of time for all that.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” She leaned forward. “Now, I want to hear all about you and Brooks.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I bet you do.”
“So, he moved in with you?”
“Yes.” I sobered. “Oh, wait. Was I supposed to ask your permission?”
She frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Some landlords have issues with people moving in if they’re not already on the lease.”
“It’s a good thing you and I don’t have a lease then,” she pointed out.
“Right. We just kind of agreed, didn’t we? Well, I’d like to at least know the parameters.”
“No raves.”
“Noted.”
“Aside from that . . .” She shrugged.
“Pets?”
“You want a pet?” she asked.
“No, I just mean—maybe. One day.”
She thought for a moment. “No rodents.”
“No gophers. Got it.” I grinned.
She grinned back. “I’m glad you’re staying, Poet. Now how do we get Wyn to move here?”
“Aside from chaining her to the town clock pole, I don’t know,” I said.
“Well, let’s hope the pull of Hadley, Salem and you are enough to sway her to move to our beloved small town.”
Our beloved small town.
I wasn’t born here. I wasn’t raised here. And yet, it felt like home.
I headed back to the apartment and texted Muddy for a banana bread recipe. A few minutes later, it came through on a voice message and I quickly jotted it down.
Shaking my head, I unloaded all the supplies Gracie had given me and turned on the oven to preheat.
My phone rang as I was in the middle of mashing the bananas.
“We’re downstairs,” Salem commanded. “Let us in.”
“Ask me nicely,” I quipped even as I went to the door of the apartment and traipsed down the back stairs, phone to my ear.
“Please,” Hadley begged. “I gotta pee!”
“So what else is new,” I said with a laugh, opening the back door.
Salem and Hadley weren’t there.
“Where are you guys?” I demanded.
“Out front,” Salem said. “Where are you?”
“I’m at the back entrance.”
“We’ll go around,” Hadley said.
“Don’t bother,” I said. “I’ll come to the front.”
I hung up the phone and went through the empty storefront, a zing of excitement blasting through me when I thought of wooden bookshelves and ginormous couches taking up space.
Salem and Hadley stood at the front door. I unlocked it, letting them in.
“I guess this means you’ve forgiven me,” Salem said. “If you’re letting me inside . . .”
“Forgiven—oh?” My brow wrinkled as I locked the door again. “Yeah, I guess I have.”
Hadley hugged me to her side. “I love that about you, Poet. No grudges.”
It only reminded me of what Brooks had said to me just last night.
“Come on,” I muttered. “I left the oven on.”
They trailed after me up the stairs and into the apartment. Hadley booked it for the bathroom immediately.
“You promise you’re not mad at me anymore?” Salem asked, her hazel eyes earnest.
“I promise. I’d tell you if I was.”
“Would you?”
I paused. “The Poet of yore might not have. But I’m the new and improved Poet. Poet 2.0.”
“The Poet of yore was pretty great,” Salem said. “But Poet 2.0 has no fear about speaking her mind, and that’s a good thing.”
I smiled at her. “She’s finding her voice. At least with those she loves.”
Salem smiled back at me.
The bathroom door opened, and Hadley waddled out and sat in one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “What are you making?”
“Banana bread,” I said. “For Brooks.”
“Ah, the male equivalent of flowers,” Salem said with a nod.
“Sweet,” Hadley said. “Whose recipe are you using?”
“Whose do you think?” I asked with a laugh.
“Muddy,” both of them said at the same time.
“I was going to text and ask if you and your mates wanted to meet at the Copper Mule tonight for barbecue,” I said.
“Mates?” Salem snorted.
“Seemed appropriate,” I said. “Husband. Husbands. Wow, still throws me for a loop.”
“Barbecue sounds great,” Hadley said, pulling out her phone. “What time? I want to tell Declan.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Five? Is that too early?”
“For Cas and Declan. They won’t be done and showered until at least six-thirty,” Salem explained.
“Well, then the three of us can go early,” Hadley said. “I won’t last until six-thirty. Wade put fried pickles on the menu with chipotle aioli dipping sauce.”
“Oh, yum.” I lifted the mixing bowl and poured the batter into the loaf pan. The oven was at temperature, and I shoved the loaf pan into it and set the timer.
“We have a few hours,” Salem said. “What are we going to do to occupy ourselves?”
“You’re going to help me,” I said.
“With what?” Salem asked.
I grinned. “My business presentation. For the bookstore.”
“So you can present it to Lucy and then the bank?” Hadley asked in excitement.
I shook my head. “Lucy already gave me her approval. Muddy pre-empted my asking by spilling the beans. This is just for the bank.”
Hadley and Salem looked at each other. “Mr. Perkins.”
“Who’s Mr. Perkins?” I asked.
“The man in charge of business loans,” Salem said. “He’s kind of . . .”
“Quirky,” Hadley said.
“Eccentric,” Salem added. “He’s a strange mix of modern affinity and old-world nostalgia.”
“I’m not following,” I said.
“What do you know about Bing Crosby?” Salem asked.
“Next to nothing.”
Hadley nodded and said to Salem, “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”