Chapter 5
Noelle
I pulled on my jacket. Everything in this tiny storage room was depressing, but outside was a winter wonderland. Maybe I could take a stroll, admire the lights, and get some fresh air. Then I’d come back and try sleeping on the hardwood floor. At least that didn’t squeak.
Bundled in a wool beret, scarf, and mittens, I braced against the freezing air.
Snow had kept falling all night, covering the ground like a diamond blanket.
I headed toward the bookstore, fingers fumbling for the key Fredrik had given me.
I didn’t even need to use the bathroom, but I wanted to take a look around.
I was curious about Fredrik. He dressed and talked like an old professor or a hermit buried in books, but he was too young for that.
Like he’d put on a Halloween costume and never taken it off.
He was the hottest mad professor I’d ever seen, though, with dark lashes and a sculpted jaw.
And maybe, just maybe, I had a little thing for elbow patches.
I worked the key into the lock with half-frozen fingers.
The bookstore, dusty and crowded as it was, instantly calmed me.
It had to be the smell of books, steady and loyal, faithfully holding all the thoughts even the writers had long ago forgotten.
Books were keepers, and I felt adrift, like nothing was keeping me.
My eyes fell on the Russian classics shelf. Had Fredrik really read them all? He probably had. I loved reading, but I’d never picked up anything without a fun, colorful cover. Why choose an author you couldn’t stalk online or buy merch from?
I grabbed Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment. Maybe if I read one of Fredrik’s favorites, I could figure him out. What else did I have to do in this town, with no friends and a squeaky bed?
Carrying the leather-bound brick, I wandered to a corner where two wingback chairs had been squeezed next to a shelf of category romance.
He hadn’t lied. This was the entire romance section, featuring endless medical-themed titles: doctors, surgeons, and nurses finding love in small towns, many of them with secret babies.
I wondered if the ladies from the crochet club placed special orders.
The green velvet chair was dangerously comfortable. More comfortable than my bed. But instead of putting me to sleep, the book pulled me in. Sonya was no spunky romance heroine. She was an oppressed doormat, which bothered me enough to keep turning the pages.
Eventually, exhaustion crept up. I’d never really thought about what those “wings” on a wingback chair were for, but when my head lolled to the side and was caught in one, I sighed in relief, and sleep claimed me.
I woke to the alarming sound of the door buzzer and shot upright. The five-pound book slid from my lap and hit the floor with a thud.
Shit.
I scrambled up, smoothing my hair and brushing at my clothes. The morning light seeped through the window. If Fredrik caught me here, I’d pretend I’d come in to use the bathroom. I’d even buy this stupid book.
But it wasn’t Fredrik. A tall woman in a bright blue overcoat rounded a shelf, took one look at me, and screamed.
“I’m so sorry!” I blurted, hands in the air like I was under arrest. “Fredrik gave me the key to use the bathroom. I just moved next door to run the Christmas pop-up shop, and there are no facilities, so I’m trying to figure it out.” The words tumbled out in a frantic rush.
She steadied herself against a shelf, eyes wide. “Fredrik gave you a key? Holy mackerel.”
Only then did I notice the bucket of cleaning supplies in her hand.
“Are you his cleaner?” I asked.
She plopped the bucket onto the counter. “Yep. But I’m also his sister, which is the main reason I’m here.”
I tucked the Russian brick under my arm and stuck out my hand. “I’m Noelle. Nice to meet you.”
She tugged off a glove and shook my hand. “Felicity. Owner of Sparkle & Shine. And your new admirer.” Mirth danced at her lips.
“My what?”
“My brother hasn’t been in a good place for… a while. The fact he gave you a key is a big step.” She peered over my shoulder, eyebrow raised. “And I see you’ve made yourself very comfortable?”
I turned and stifled a yelp. My pockets had spilled their contents across the velvet armchair: phone, packet of mints, three scrunchies, and a menstrual cup. A grotesque still life of disorganization.
I lunged, scooping everything up. “I’m so sorry. I fell asleep reading.” My lip wobbled. “The bed in my place squeaks, and I couldn’t sleep, so I came here. Please don’t tell Fredrik. Please.”
Felicity laughed kindly. “I won’t.”
I eyed the cleaning bucket. “Can I help?”
She tilted her head. “I don’t need help, but you’d probably feel better if you did something. Right?”
I nodded eagerly. “Crime and Punishment.” I lifted the book.
She chuckled, tossing her coat on the chair behind the desk and snapping on latex gloves. “What kind of punishment? I usually just empty the trash, vacuum, and wipe the desk. But yeah, this place could use some dusting.”
“Anything,” I said, grabbing the duster.
“Fredrik sort of lost interest in looking after this place a couple of years ago,” Felicity said as she spritzed a cloth. “We made a deal. He watches my teenager after school, gives her something to do, and I come in once a week to stop him from descending into total chaos.”
“Sounds like a good deal.” I tackled the Russian classics.
Books sure gathered dust fast when they didn’t fly off the shelves. The fluffy duster barely made a dent in the grime between the spines. I googled a solution.
“Does that have a brush attachment?” I asked as Felicity wrestled the R2-D2-looking vacuum cleaner down the stairs.
“Maybe. Check the upstairs cupboard.”
I rushed up the stairs and followed the dark hallway, finding the cupboard right past the bathroom.
When I opened it, a toothbrush and cup toppled out.
I set them back on the shelf beside the shaving cream and a pair of boxer shorts I could only pray were clean.
Fredrik must have spent nights here. Where had he slept? Surely not in the armchair.
Curiosity took over. After digging out a likely brush attachment, I noticed another door. With the vacuum roaring downstairs, I risked a peek.
It was an office. With a bed.
The space was twice the size of my shoebox room and strangely bare: just a desk stacked with books, a checkered spread on the bed, and heavy curtains drawn tight. The air was stale. Clearly not one of the rooms Felicity regularly spruced up.
I backed out, closing the door and wiping the knob with my sleeve like the worst burglar ever.
Back downstairs, Felicity had just finished vacuuming. “You want this?” She handed me the vacuum cleaner.
“Yes, please.”
I spent twenty minutes vacuuming the display books while she emptied trash and wiped down surfaces.
“So… what happened two years ago? I mean, what happened to Fredrik?” I asked, unplugging the cord. The question had been burning inside me, and I couldn’t hold it back anymore.
She gave me a long, assessing look. “Trust me, I’m normally delighted to pass on information.
I’m even happier to gather it. For example, I’m not going to let you leave before you tell me your story.
” She threw me a wicked smile, then turned serious again.
“But I feel like maybe my brother could connect with you, and God knows he needs a friend. Which is why I think it’s best that he tells his own story. ”
I nodded, though I didn’t get it. “But… it’s nothing illegal, right? He’s not fresh out of prison, or… dying?” Horror flooded me. I slapped a hand over my mouth. “Sorry! I don’t mean I wouldn’t be his friend if he were dying or a criminal, I just—”
I was just a pathologically curious nutjob with zero filter.
Felicity laughed. “Relax. He has no criminal record. He’s never even been in a fight.
Fredrik is an expert at avoiding conflict.
I’m not selling him, am I?” She shook her head, and her laugh fizzled out.
“I mean, he’s a stand-up guy with a finely tuned moral compass.
And as far as I know, he’s in perfect health. He’s just… he’s a widower.”
The word landed heavy. My mind filled with follow-up questions, but Felicity held up a finger. “Nope. Not saying anything else. Talk to him.”
“Okay.” I drew a breath, trying to quell my quest for knowledge. “I was invited to join the crochet club, though. What if I hear it from them?”
“Well, that’s a real concern.” She paused, fighting the trash bag into a tight knot. “I’ll talk to those ladies,” she finally said. “Now, what brings you to Hideaway Harbor?”