Chapter Three
CHAPTER THREE
Elderflower Island was absolutely beautiful. Malcolm pointed out the tearoom, several of the boutiques, the old concert hall where so many massive rock ‘n’ roll careers had begun, the manor house and grounds where locals walked their dogs and laid out blankets on sunny days to sun themselves or savor a picnic. He showed her where the stand-up paddleboarding group met at least once a week to take their boards out on the river. He took her into the Elderflower Café, where she met the owner, Jacob, a large and cheerful man with a bushy beard and a big personality.
“It’s good to see you back on the island,” Jacob said to Malcolm after they shook hands. “We miss you.”
“Good to be back,” Malcolm admitted. “Are your sausage rolls still the best in London?”
“Naturally,” Jacob said. “But don’t even think about franchising my baked goods all over the world. I prefer to keep my business local.”
Malcolm grinned. “Then I can simply enjoy your food and not worry about how it would sell in San Francisco.”
“Obviously, my sausage rolls would sell brilliantly in San Francisco,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. He passed one to Josie on a square of parchment paper. “Don’t you agree?”
She bit into the flaky pastry and then the fragrant, spicy meat filling, and as the flavors hit her tongue, she nodded enthusiastically.
Malcolm bought them both sausage rolls and two teas to go. Then they sat in the manor house grounds and enjoyed the people-watching. It was so good to sit in the warm sun and breathe fresh air after being cooped up in a plane for so long. Josie felt almost as though she were in a dream, which she attributed to jet lag. Though, when she glanced at the gorgeous guy beside her, munching on a sausage roll and drinking tea from a paper cup while wearing a designer suit—more gorgeous now than he’d been fifteen years ago—it was no wonder she felt like she was in a dream.
After a friendly dog had happily taken the last bite of her sausage roll and licked her hand clean into the bargain, she felt ready to face anything.
They disposed of their garbage in a nearby container and then headed for the bookstore.
She felt like she was floating on air. Though they’d gotten off to a rocky start in the airport, he was obviously trying hard to make it up to her by being charming and friendly. Also, she couldn’t deny that her companion was magnetically handsome.
Of course, he was completely out of her league. He’d made that perfectly clear in high school, and now that he’d matured, he’d obviously become extremely successful. He had an air of wealth about him, and considering the way he gave crisp instructions over the phone, he had a staff of minions at his beck and call. Besides, even if she’d thought she might have a chance with him, she’d sworn off men forever.
But that didn’t mean there wasn’t a little part of her still thrilled by being with Malcolm Sullivan today.
Okay, so her exhaustion from the flight was clearly playing into her emotions. But the truth was, she was having a wonderful time with him. He hadn’t said anything about what had happened in high school—and he certainly hadn’t apologized—but perhaps that was for the best. There was no point in stirring up an old hornet’s nest. High school was a million years ago. They had both been teenagers, and most teenagers did super dumb stuff. Especially in front of their peers. He surely hadn’t meant what he’d said to her at prom. And even if he had—well, what did it matter after all these years? The best thing was to focus on how thrilled she was to be on Elderflower Island, how much fun it was going to be to stay on his houseboat, and how they’d even shared a couple of laughs today, especially after his dance on the roof of his boat.
He pointed out the pub, and then she spotted Mari’s bookstore across the street, on the riverside. The painted sign above the door said Elderflower Island Books , and she could see a window full of titles she’d no doubt want to read. As she drew closer, she saw that the building dated back to 1883. Excitement filled her at the idea of meeting the woman she’d been emailing with for a couple of months now. Mari had explained that she’d inherited the bookshop and was looking for new ways to add value. When she read a blog post Josie had written about her work, Mari had contacted her, and they’d soon begun chatting like old friends about the books they’d loved and new releases they couldn’t wait to read. Then, finally, Mari had asked if she could hire Josie to come to London to help her create a space where she’d hold reading retreats. Naturally, Josie would lead the first one.
She hadn’t stopped to think about it, but had enthusiastically agreed. She’d set up reading retreat spaces in a couple of hotels, a spa, and a library, so she felt confident in her ability to give Mari exactly what she wanted.
“Wow. I absolutely love it,” she told Malcolm. She felt like a broken record, but it was true. She was loving everything she’d seen since she’d landed. The only thing she hadn’t loved was when Malcolm had been so grumpy, and she’d realized that her past had possibly come back to haunt her. But as she’d just told herself, there was no point in getting in a funk over bad memories of things that had happened a long time ago.
“This is exactly the way I’ve always pictured a British bookshop,” she continued. “With ivy growing down old stone walls and pretty window displays crammed with books.” She sighed. “I have a feeling I’ll need yet another suitcase when it’s time to go home.”
“It even comes with a black cat that sleeps on the counter after Mari lets it in in the morning,” Malcolm informed her.
Grinning from ear to ear, Josie said, “I’ll have to take pictures of that so I don’t forget it after I’m gone.”
She already knew she was going to miss Elderflower Island when she left. It wasn’t practical to even dream of staying, so she wouldn’t waste her time lamenting that.
The door opened, and a pretty woman with a tumble of auburn hair and a huge smile stepped out. “Josie. I’m Mari. Welcome. I’m so glad you’re here. It’s wonderful to finally meet you in person.”
When Mari opened her arms, it felt perfectly normal for Josie to walk into them. As two major bibliophiles, it was like greeting a long-lost friend, all because they shared a love of books.
“I’m so happy to be here, Mari. I love absolutely everything about the island so far. Malcolm’s houseboat. How gorgeous the island is. The sausage roll I ate from the Elderflower Café. The classic British pub across the street. And, best of all, your bookstore.”
Mari beamed. “I love all those things too. Now come inside. You must be exhausted after your trip.” Mari gestured for Malcolm to come in too. “Can you stay a few minutes for a cup of tea, or do you need to rush back to the city?”
“I could do with a quick cuppa,” he replied. Since they’d just finished tea, Josie imagined he wanted to visit with Mari for a few minutes.
“Thanks again, Malcolm, for picking Josie up,” Mari said. “Things got out of control so quickly in the store today. When Grace called in sick, there really was no way I could leave.” She glanced toward an older woman who was chatting with a customer. “Clare fills in when I’m stuck, but she couldn’t come earlier, and besides, she doesn’t know books, so I had to be here.”
“Were Gran’s fans happy?” Malcolm asked.
Mari looked over at a group of people visible in a separate part of the bookstore. “I added on a special room for Mathilda Westcott fans,” Mari explained to Josie. “There are all sorts of interesting mementos from her career, even things like dolls that were made by a fan for each of the main characters in her books. And it’s also a great place for them to meet. This is the unofficial headquarters of the Mathilda Westcott Appreciation Society, and they do support the shop, so I always like to make sure the meetings run smoothly.”
Josie looked from Mari to Malcolm. “Wait… Your grandmother is Mathilda Westcott ?”
He grinned. “Gran’s a handful, but I don’t know what any of us would do without her. She writes pretty good books too.”
Josie felt like she’d stepped into Alice’s Wonderland. “Wow. I can’t believe you’re related to her. I’m feeling starstruck. She’s my number one favorite mystery author. And I love mysteries.”
Mari laughed. “I felt the same way when I first got to meet her. She is absolutely delightful, and I know she’s going to love meeting you. I’ve spoken to her about your reading retreats, and she’s very curious about how it all works. I imagine she’ll want to be one of the first people to book a spot once we’ve got it all set up and running.”
Josie swallowed. “I feel like the bar just got set way higher. I use her books in my reading retreats. There’s a true lesson in seeing how Camilla Fernsby finds the truth in small details. I feel like we could all do more of that in our lives. Plus, no matter how complicated the plot seems, everything works out in the end.”
“That’s so true,” Mari said.
Josie put a hand to her belly. “But I think I’d be a nervous wreck if I actually met her.”
Malcolm shook his head. “Don’t worry about impressing her. Despite the fact that she’s famous worldwide, she’s still just Gran. With that said, if she does terrify you, I’ll ask her to tone it down.”
Josie laughed. “I’ll do my best not to be terrified.”
She took a moment to do a slow spin in the middle of the bookstore, taking in the floor-to-ceiling shelves of books, the throw rugs covering most of the old wooden floor, the comfortable velvet and leather seats strewn throughout the space. Then she took a big deep breath, inhaling from her toes all the way up to the top of her head before sighing with happiness.
“There’s nothing better than the smell of a bookstore.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Mari replied. “I knew we were going to get along famously. Now what would you like—builder’s tea that’ll strip the paint off your insides, or something lighter, like chamomile or peppermint?”
“I was thinking it might be wise to take a little nap in a bit, so peppermint or chamomile would probably be better.”
Malcolm pulled his buzzing phone out of his pocket and scowled at the screen as he read. “Dammit, looks like I don’t have time for that cup of tea after all.” He jammed his phone back in his pocket before turning to Josie. “Let me know if there are any issues with the boat. I left my number on the galley counter. Sorry to drop you off and run, but if I’m going to salvage this deal, it looks like I’d better do it straightaway. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
“Oh, absolutely, you should go. Thank you again, for everything. I’ll treat your houseboat like it’s my own. Even better.” But he was already heading out the door, phone to his ear as soon as he closed it behind him, and she wasn’t sure he’d heard anything she’d said.
Mari came back with two pottery mugs. “Where did Malcolm go?”
“He’s having issues with a deal.”
Mari handed Josie one mug and kept the other for herself. “He’ll pull it off. He always does. But I don’t envy him. I’ve never seen anybody work as hard as he does. Not even my father, who owns his own accountancy in California. It’s crazy the hours he puts in and the stress that he has to deal with. I honestly don’t know how he does it.”
“He took a work call in the car, and it was like he was speaking a foreign language. Actually, it put me to sleep.”
Mari laughed at that, but then grew serious. “I just hope he’s happy. I’m not trying to be nosy, but I’ve come to know the Sullivans so well since I moved to London and started dating Owen that I find myself worrying about all of them from time to time. Maybe it’s just that I am so blissfully happy now, and I want the same for everyone.”
Josie smiled at the woman she already considered a friend. “I can’t wait to hear more about the marvelous Owen Sullivan.”
“That’s good, because I have a hard time not talking about him. You’ll have to tell me when to put a lid on it if it gets boring.”
“Are you kidding? There’s nothing I like better than tales of true love. Even if I find them more believable in fiction.”
“I used to feel that way too. I never thought I would find that kind of love for myself.”
“It’s wonderful that you did,” Josie said. “I’m really happy for you.”
“I can’t wait for you to meet Owen. He’s smart and kind and loves books as much as we do. He’s also pretty easy on the eyes. Well, you met Malcolm, so you can imagine.”
If Owen was half as gorgeous as Malcolm Sullivan, he’d be up there with the best-looking guys Josie had ever seen.
“Anyway, enough about my love life,” Mari said. “Sit down while there’s a little lull before more customers or Mathilda Westcott fans come in. Tell me how your flight was.”
“It was great. I probably should’ve slept, but I was so excited about coming to Elderflower Island to work with you. And I was on the last half of Tasmina Perry’s latest.”
“I couldn’t put that book down either,” Mari said. “I won’t keep you too long so that you can take a nap, but be forewarned—don’t sleep for more than an hour, or you won’t sleep tonight. I went through that myself. I live upstairs, so you know where to find me if you need anything.”
“I love how you’re actually living the fantasy in your home above the bookstore that you own!”
“Every day, I have to pinch myself,” Mari agreed with a smile. “It’s not that there aren’t plenty of difficult aspects about owning and running a bookstore, especially in a country that I didn’t grow up in. But with the help of Owen and his family, and all of the other welcoming people on Elderflower Island, it’s been so much easier for me than it would otherwise have been. Especially because I came here after my estranged father died and willed his store and home to me out of the blue.”
“Wow, it sounds like you have a lot of stories to tell.”
“I do, and I’m sure you’ll hear them all soon enough, but for right now, I’d love to know more about you. How did you get the idea to set up reading retreats as a profession? I read what you said on your website, and of course we talked about it on Zoom and over email, but I can’t help but wonder, was there some sort of incident or pivotal moment one day that made you want to completely change your career?”
Josie was silent for a moment as she sipped her tea. “Just like in a novel, there was definitely an inciting incident.”
“I don’t mean to pry, so you can tell me to butt out—”
Josie shook her head. “It’s not prying. It’s important backstory, where you need to know why the heroine is behaving the way she is.”
“Ah, I love someone who talks about real life with genre-fiction vocabulary.”
They both grinned at that. But then Josie’s smile faded. “I thought I was in love. I thought I had the rest of my happy-ever-after planned out. Perfect guy. Perfect life. Get married. Have children. White picket fence.” She paused for a moment. “And then one day, there was a knock on the door.”
Mari grimaced. “An unexpected knock on the door is rarely ever good in a novel, or in real life, is it?”
Josie sighed. “You can say that again. A woman I’d never seen before was standing on my front porch, holding a six-month-old baby girl.”
“Your boyfriend’s wife and daughter, I presume?”
Josie nodded. “Every time I’ve read books with that storyline, I always questioned, how could the woman not know that the man she was dating had a whole other life? I mean, how could anybody be that blind? How could someone be that lost inside their own fantasies that they couldn’t see what was right there in front of them?”
She took another sip of tea, as though that would help settle her stormy emotions. Even after all this time, simply talking about her boyfriend’s betrayal riled her up.
“But once it happened to me, I suddenly understood how we believe the people we love. He worked as a salesman, and he was always on the road. Or so I thought, anyway. I would see him once, maybe twice a week when he was in town. And he always told me how he was getting ready to switch jobs so that he could settle down with me. He frequently told me I was the love of his life and had made him rethink his career and his goals. And of course, dumb me, I rolled out the red carpet whenever he was in town. He had gone to an Ivy League school on the East Coast and wore sharp suits and took me out to the fanciest restaurants we had in Coeur d’Alene. I felt so lucky that he chose to be with me when he could have stayed in Boston and been with anybody else.” She rolled her eyes. “What a fool I was—he had.”
“You can’t blame yourself,” Mari insisted. “You are neither dumb nor a fool. From what you’re saying, it sounds like he did everything he could to set up the narrative that you were his one and only. I don’t know anybody who wouldn’t be fooled by a plausible story told by someone they love.” She put her hand on Josie’s shoulder for a moment, then said, “I’m really sorry you went through all of that.”
“I am too.” Josie sighed. “Coming out of such a screwed-up relationship makes me feel like I’ll never be able to trust a man again. Because no matter how great he seems on the surface, how can I trust he isn’t telling me a pack of lies?”
Mari didn’t reply for a moment. “I could say a bunch of platitudes about how not everybody is a liar and how there are a lot of great guys out there, but while both of those things are true, that doesn’t negate what you’ve been through. Nor do I blame you for being suspicious the next time you’re on the verge of being in a relationship with someone.”
Josie shook her head at that. “Nope. There are not going to be any verges or budding relationships. I am perfectly happy being footloose and fancy-free. And although I know this might sound strange, telling you my horrible relationship story is actually a very long-winded way of explaining why and how I started to put on reading retreats.” She paused to take another sip of tea. “I was so beat up inside over what happened that I couldn’t find solace in anything. Not until my mother came to my house, carrying a suitcase full of books. Turned out that she had booked me into a hotel for a week. Her prescription for me, in the hopes that it might help me find some joy again, was to just do nothing but sit and read for a week.”
“Your mom sounds great.”
“She is. And she was right. I was a freelance editor at the time, and I still do some work for my favorite clients here and there, but I was so down over finding out that I’d been duped by a married man that I didn’t even think I could concentrate on a single book. And maybe I wouldn’t have been able to if my mother hadn’t done such a great job of choosing books that she knew would make me happy. There were several Mathilda Westcotts in there, of course,” she told Mari with a small smile. “Along with some of my old favorites. It was a curated list of novels about women who had bad things happen to them, yet who overcame hardship to thrive. Gone With the Wind , Jane Eyre , of course. Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, The Color Purple by Alice Walker, and a stack of others, including some newer titles too.”
She stopped speaking for a moment as she thought back to that week inside her head and her heart. “Sure, there were love stories running through some of the novels, but in every case, the woman at the center of the story triumphed through her own wits and hard work. It was a message I really needed to hear.
“I went into that hotel stay as one person and came out as another. I was sad and dejected at the beginning of the week, and though things obviously didn’t completely heal while I was reading, so much did. Coincidentally, that was when I found an article about two women who were putting on reading retreats in Vancouver. It got me thinking about whether I might be able to do that too. So I reached out to them and asked how they set them up. They were so kind to share their hard-won knowledge with me, because like any book lover, all they wanted was to spread the love of books. The best part was when they invited me to come and experience a reading retreat for myself.” She took another sip of tea, then said, “So that’s what brought me to creating reading retreats. Heartbreak and betrayal. Just like all good stories, right?” When Mari nodded, Josie added, “Everybody has a story. I know I’m not unique in having gone through something difficult.”
“No,” Mari said, “you’re not.”
Josie felt her heart go out to the other woman, even though she didn’t know her story yet. All she knew was that Mari still clearly felt pain over it. “Your story was difficult, too, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, and it wasn’t cut and dried,” Mari confirmed. “In a nutshell, my father left me and my mother when I was three, because he had a problem with alcohol. My mother put up with him until the day he was supposed to be watching me, but he left the door wide open, and I managed to get out of our apartment. I was found crossing a busy road in Santa Monica.” She shuddered as though she could still feel the terror of a small child in such a terrible situation. “The sad thing was, I think I knew that he loved my mom and me, but he loved alcohol more.”
“That sounds like it must’ve been really hard for all of you.”
“It was, and I never heard from him again. Not until the day a lawyer called and told me that my father had left me his bookshop and the flat above it. It was a real shock. I knew he lived in England and had a bookstore, and a big part of me had always secretly wanted to come here and see where he lived and get to know him. But while I never did get the chance to know him in person, everyone on the island has told me so many stories about him—not only that he stopped drinking, but also how kind and gentle he was—that I truly felt like I was getting to know him after all.” She paused for a moment before adding, “And then I found the books he’d written.”
Josie’s eyebrows rose at that new piece of information. “Did you know he was a writer?”
“I had no idea. I only knew that he lived on Elderflower Island and owned the bookshop, because of research I’d done on the internet as a teenager. But no one knew he was writing. No one except Mathilda Westcott.” Josie smiled then. “He never tried to get them published while he was alive, but the stories are wonderful, so I pursued publication on his behalf. Kind of a way for us to be together, I suppose. Actually, I just got the very first copies from the publisher today, and I’ve been dying to show someone.”
Mari walked over to a cardboard box on the counter by the store’s cash register. She pulled out a hardcover children’s picture book. “My father wrote stories about the two of us. About things we did before he left and things he must have wished that we had done as I grew up. When I found his journals with the stories and illustrations, I knew they needed to be read by more than just me. Fortunately, Owen works in publishing, and he was able to connect me with a fantastic children’s picture book publisher. These are the very first copies of Mars at the Beach .” She hugged the book to her, glowing with happiness, before handing it to Josie. “If this book does well, there’s an entire series of them. Like Flying Kites With Mars and Playing Conkers With Mars .” Her voice grew husky. “Mars was his pet name for me. He even named the black cat who comes in and out of here Mars. It’s like a whole series of activities he’d have loved to do with me that we never did, so he wrote and illustrated these beautiful books.”
“I’m honored to be the first to see your father’s book.” Josie looked down at the charming illustration on the cover—a father and daughter building a sandcastle. “He was a good illustrator too. You don’t mind if I take a few minutes to read it?”
“Of course not. That’s what I live for. Later, we’ll talk about the space I’ve got to set up reading retreats in, but I need to go send a couple of quick emails anyway. So why don’t you enjoy reading for a while, and I’ll check back with you in a bit?”
It felt so perfect, Josie thought, curling up on this cozy leather armchair and getting to read a story that was so precious to someone she had just met. Soon, she was completely enthralled by the story. While the book never used the word divorce , it was clear Mars and her father didn’t live in the same house, but shared a special bond. They built sandcastles and skimmed stones on the water, and then the sun got low, and it was time for Mars to go home. Her final line was, “See you again soon, Dad.”
After hearing Mari’s history with her father, Josie’s eyes prickled with tears.
The story was sweet, the illustrations were adorable, and she loved every page of the book. If she had a child, she would love to read this to them at night. She could imagine a child whose parents had split up would find a lot of comfort in a book like this.
Her chest squeezed, but she briskly told herself that there was no reason to feel that pain. No men didn’t have to mean no children . She could have a kid entirely on her own if that’s what she wanted. After all, she was bold and brave and out living life on her own terms, wasn’t she?
A few customers came in, and Josie took the opportunity to read the book again slowly and really savor it the second time. When she finished, she decided it was time to get on her feet, stretch, and then browse this lovely bookshop. She was happily looking through shelves and making notes of a few titles that she thought Mari might like to order for the retreat, when an older woman said, “Excuse me? Would you happen to know if this is any good?”
Josie glanced at the book she held. It was a nice-looking coffee-table book about the history of the domestic cat. However, when she saw the woman’s red-rimmed eyes and the air of dejection about her, she didn’t think this was a lady who wanted to read about the history of cats. Taking a guess, she asked, “Did you recently lose your cat?”
“How could you possibly know that?” The woman sounded stunned. Then she nodded slowly, and a tear slid down her cheek. “His name was Buttons. I know I shouldn’t be so silly over a cat, but you see, after I lost my husband, Buttons was all I had left.” She reached into the pocket of her cardigan and pulled out a damp tissue, dabbing at her eyes.
Josie’s heart went out to the woman. “I’m so very sorry for your loss,” she said softly. Then she led her to a couch, where they sat. “I would like to recommend several books that you might like to read. Nothing will bring back your husband or Buttons, but reading about those who have also suffered a loss can be helpful.”
At that moment, a black cat slipped in the door on the heels of a customer, paused to peer around the bookstore, and then strolled over to where Josie and the customer were sitting and jumped up to sit beside them. Josie knew that animals sometimes had a strong sense of human emotions, and this cat obviously sensed that the lady needed comfort.
The woman stroked the black cat. “Oh, aren’t you a beauty?” The cat nudged her and then promptly curled up in her lap.
Josie overheard one of the ladies, presumably from the Mathilda Westcott Appreciation Society, say, “Look, that’s Mars. He’s in the Bookshop on the River mysteries that Mathilda Westcott wrote. Of course, she renamed him Cocoa, but everyone knows Mars was the model.”
“This is a very famous cat,” Josie told her new friend. “I’m Josie, by the way.”
“Emily Soames,” the woman answered, still giving Mars all her attention.
“When did you lose Buttons?”
“Only last week,” she said on a sniff. “And Bernard—that was my husband—passed away six months ago. It’s all been such a shock.”
“Let me pull some books that you might find helpful.” Josie was so pleased she’d toured the bookshop and had discovered some of her favorite titles on the shelves. There were others in her suitcase, but that was on the houseboat. She’d manage. She chose four titles and returned to where Emily was looking better for spending time with Mars.
“If you read these books, see if they make you feel better, or at least help you understand that grief has stages and it won’t always be this painful.” First, she handed Emily On Grief and Grieving: Finding the Meaning of Grief Through the Five Stages of Loss by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross and David Kessler. “This will help you realize your reactions are normal and part of the healing process. I learned so much from this book about grief, large and small.”
Emily nodded and accepted the book.
“The second book I’d recommend is A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis. The author documents losing his wife, and the book is both beautifully written and intensely personal.” Then she added two more. “And this is Mathilda Westcott’s first Bookshop on the River mystery, Miss Fernsby Investigates . Her bookshop is based on this one, and the cat the sleuth sometimes talks to when she’s solving a crime is called Cocoa, but according to one of the Mathilda Westcott fans, he’s based on Mars here.” Josie was fairly certain that Emily was a little hearing impaired and hadn’t heard the woman telling her friend about the cat. “My advice is to have a nice cup of cocoa while you read the book. And for something completely different, try T.S. Eliot’s Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats .” She presented the slim volume with the colorful cover. “They are fun, light poems all about cats. I’m sure you’ll see Buttons in there somewhere. Andrew Lloyd Webber was inspired by these poems to write the musical Cats .”
“Why, these are all lovely, Josie,” Emily told her. “I can’t thank you enough. I’ll take all of them, and if I come this way again, I hope you’ll be working so we can discuss the books.”
Josie smiled. “I don’t actually work here, but Mari, who owns the bookstore, will always be able to get hold of me if you’d like to talk.”
With a final pat to Mars, Emily Soames got up and took her books to the register. Only then did Josie become aware that Mari was standing off to one side. She came forward now and said, “I think I just overheard a bibliotherapy session.”
They both glanced to where Emily was chatting with Clare as she rang up her books. “It was a short one, but yes, that’s what I do.”
“I loved how kind you were. She’s so much happier now, and I can imagine we could help a lot of people if we incorporated personalized book recommendations.” Her eyes were shining. “I know you’ve barely got off the plane and I already have your plate piled high with things to do, but could you maybe come in one or two afternoons while you’re here? People who want personal recommendations for themselves or a friend could spend an hour with you. If we don’t have the books you think they should read, we could order them. What do you think?”
Josie laughed. “I think you’re one of the most energetic people I’ve ever met.” She loved how enthusiastically Mari was embracing her new role as a bookseller. Then she leaned closer, feeling Mars purr against her thigh. “And I’d love to.”
Then Mari picked up her father’s children’s story. “What did you think?”
“I absolutely love it! Every word, every drawing, the storyline. This is going to go on my must-read list for people who come to the retreats and are divorcing or are already divorced with children.”
Mari beamed. “The publisher has high hopes for it. They want me to do some press as well, though I’m not completely sure how I feel about telling my story to the world once the first book officially releases on Thursday.” She swallowed, her skin going slightly pale. “The big launch party is only a few days away, and the PR team working with the book has already set up several interviews.”
“Just do what’s right for you and forget about the rest,” Josie said. “If you want to talk about your past and your story with people, great. And if you want your story to be something that only you and the people you love know, then that’s perfectly okay too.”
“You sound exactly like Owen.”
“I’m going to take that as a great compliment,” Josie said with a grin. “I look forward to meeting him. And if you want to talk anything through at any point in the future, people have told me I’m a good listener.”
“I can already tell that you are,” Mari said. “Now, since I know exactly how it feels to get off a plane from the US a mere hour or two ago, you’re probably at the point where you could simply close your eyes and fall asleep.”
“I’ll admit that it wouldn’t be too hard to fall asleep right on this sofa.”
“I’m getting ready to close up in about a half hour. If you want to look around the shop for a while, how about I make you dinner upstairs? We won’t talk shop until tomorrow, but we can at least get to know each other better. And then Owen and I can walk you back to the houseboat so that you can get some much needed shut-eye.”
“That sounds perfect.” For the next thirty minutes, Josie had a wonderful time continuing to pore through the books in Mari’s store, both old and new. She chatted with some of the Mathilda Westcott fans, sharing some of her favorite books in the series. To her delight, the Mathilda Westcott section was decorated exactly like the amateur sleuth’s living room, where she often puzzled over clues. One of the fans let on that there was talk of a TV series being made about the books and that it would probably be filmed right here at Elderflower Island Books.
As Mari began to close the shop, the cat jumped up on the counter beside the cash register as though it was his customary spot, then closed his eyes and went to sleep.
Josie then happily went upstairs to Mari’s charming second-story flat. The large windows looked out on the river, and the wood-planked floor had obviously experienced plenty of footsteps in the last two hundred years. The roast chicken dinner Mari made was delicious. Owen Sullivan joined them, and Josie had to admit he was very easy on the eyes. It was lovely to see the devoted way he gazed at Mari and the heat that arced between them when their gazes met.
Owen was very sweet, and handsome, but he didn’t make her heart flutter like his brother Malcolm did.
The only awkward moment came when Owen mentioned that one of his brothers had done a foreign exchange program in Coeur d’Alene. “You didn’t happen to know Malcolm Sullivan then, did you?” He’d said it as a joke, as though the likelihood of them having ever met was nil.
For a moment, Josie didn’t know what to say. She and Malcolm hadn’t discussed what they were going to tell his family about them having known each other. But she figured the easiest thing to do was to tell the truth.
“Actually, it’s kind of a funny story. I do know your brother.” Both Mari and Owen looked shocked by this revelation. “I was as surprised as both of you obviously are. When I saw him waiting to pick me up at the airport, I was sure my eyes were deceiving me. Because what are the odds?”
“Wow,” Mari said. “It just goes to show how small the world really is.”
“Were you in the same year at school?” Owen asked.
“I was two years behind. And I didn’t really know him. I mean, everybody knew about the British exchange student, but it’s not like we ever talked the whole year. Only once at the very end, and that was just for a few minutes.”
She could feel her cheeks going pink. Because she and Malcolm hadn’t talked. They’d kissed, a kiss that had felt like all of her dreams rolled up into pure beauty and pleasure.
And then he’d casually crushed her to smithereens with a few harsh words.
As though Owen could read a little of what she was thinking, he said, “I hope he wasn’t an arsehole.”
Josie laughed at his assumption that his brother had been rude. Then she shook her head. “Like I said, I didn’t really know him back then.” Desperate to change the subject, she said, “I love his houseboat. It will be such a treat to stay on it for the next two weeks.”
“I remember helping him rebuild it,” Owen said. “He loved working on that thing. For a while there, I thought that was what he might decide to do for a living—just chuck in the financial world and rebuild houseboats. But that wasn’t his path. I guess the allure of all the cash and power in his world of international big-money deals was too much for him to resist.”
To Josie, it didn’t seem as though Owen was judging his brother. Instead, it was more that he seemed a little worried about whether his brother was truly happy.
Josie suddenly yawned, a yawn so big her jaw popped. “Sorry about that. I don’t mean to be rude. I guess now that I have a full belly from that delicious meal, all the blood has rushed from my head to my stomach, and I’m completely ready to nod off.”
Mari pushed back from the table. “In that case, why don’t we walk you back to the houseboat? I was so exhausted the first day I got here that Owen found me curled up on that couch, fast asleep while he cleaned up the mess my father had made of the flat all around me.”
“Let me help you clean up after dinner first,” Josie offered.
“Nope,” Owen insisted. “Mari and I can take care of that later. Right now, our only goal is to get you to bed so that you can regain a few of those hours of sleep you lost changing time zones.”
The three of them headed out a few minutes later. As they walked to the houseboat, Elderflower Island was even more beautiful in the moonlight. “It’s so pretty here. Do you ever get used to it?”
“I haven’t,” Mari said. “I’m constantly astounded by how beautiful this island and London are.” She sighed, her hand held comfortably in Owen’s. “And I come from California, which is incredibly beautiful, but somehow this is home.”
“I feel the same way,” Owen said. “I grew up over in St. Margarets, just across the river. I’ve been to a lot of amazing places, but this island is where I always want to come home to. Especially now that Mari is here.”
They were so sweet together, and Josie couldn’t help but hope that one day she might find a man like Owen, who actually cared about her and was honest and had a big heart.
Wait, she’d sworn off men forever, hadn’t she?
But a small part of her admitted that maybe there might be a decent, good man in her future. Maybe.
At the door to Malcolm’s houseboat, Mari gave Josie a hug. “I can’t wait to get started tomorrow. How about I swing by the houseboat and grab you at nine a.m.?”
“Fantastic. See you tomorrow morning. And thank you so much for dinner and the great company.”
Exhaustion fell over Josie as she stepped inside the boat. Stopping only to brush her teeth and slip into pajamas, she walked astern and crawled into bed. The sheets smelled fresh, and the bed was warm and toasty.
For a moment, she imagined Malcolm sleeping beneath these same covers, naked and incredibly sexy. Her blood heated for a moment, but then exhaustion took over, and she was down for the count.