Ginny folded her arms and leaned against the stair rail. “Right. You’ll have Fridays through Sundays off, so you don’t need to report till Monday.”
“Will I be working by myself or with another employee?” The idea of running the bookstore by herself was a bit overwhelming.
“I’ll work alongside you.”
“How will the other employees feel about me taking hours away from them?”
“It’s just me right now.” The woman’s smile faltered.
Hmm, curious reaction. Sophia needed to shut her therapist’s brain off. She was not here to take on anyone else’s burdens—she had enough baggage of her own. “Perfect.”
The woman’s shoulders seemed to relax. “In the meantime, go out and enjoy yourself. Explore the town. There’s plenty to do, and I can offer some suggestions if you’d like. I’ve lived here for five years, so I know a lot of stuff the guidebooks won’t tell you.”
Sophia bit her lip and stared up at the door above them. She longed to go upstairs, unpack, curl up with her novel, and fall asleep with the window open, the salt-tinged air lulling her to sleep. But she’d also come here to break free of the mold, to write her story. And part of that meant discovering, digging in, doing what wasn’t the most comfortable.
She turned back to Ginny. “Would you happen to be free for dinner? I don’t know anyone and would love to hear more about the bookstore and the town.” It seemed like a small step forward, but she’d already taken the large leap in coming here. Small steps were enough for now.
Sophia’s question seemed to take Ginny by surprise, and it took a moment for her to respond. “I—”
“Of course, you’re probably busy. Forget I asked.”
“No, it’s not that. I just don’t have anyone else to cover the bookstore. But I can close a bit early tonight. It’s not like we get much business on a Saturday night anyway.” Ginny’s lips tightened and her jaw twitched. “Plus, it would be good to get out.”
Sophia couldn’t help but put her hand on Ginny’s upper arm and squeeze. Perhaps that was a strange thing to do for someone she’d just met five minutes before, but Sophia’s therapist instincts kicked in. Despite Ginny’s brave front, she could tell this woman was hurting—and Sophia could relate. “It’s settled then. I’ll go put my things upstairs, you get everything sorted out, and we’ll go eat a delicious dinner somewhere.”
7
GINNY
At least one of Ginny’s ideas for helping the bookstore seemed to be working out well. Her first renter was almost too good to be true.
Ginny opened the door to the Village Pub, a Port Willis classic frequented by locals and tourists alike. Enticing scents of roasted lamb, frothy Cornish beer, and sizzling butter nearly knocked her over. It had been hours since she’d last eaten. Sophia followed her inside, taking in the well-lit pub with its wood-paneled walls and nautical decor as if she was a child at Christmastime and this the North Pole.
Open fireplaces lit several cozy snugs where patrons enjoyed cask ales and lagers. “This way.” Maneuvering around the crowded room toward her favorite table in the back, Ginny nodded to villagers as she passed. She plopped into a white wooden chair in front of a long window overlooking the harbor.
Sophia sat across from her and folded her hands in her lap, eyes glistening as she took in her surroundings. “This place is so amazing. How long has it been in business?”
Ginny had always liked it here, but she’d largely avoided it the last six months—just like she’d avoided most public places. She hated feeling like people were whispering about “poor Ginny Rose.”
But she’d forgotten the charm of this particular pub, the first Garrett had taken her to when they’d newly arrived in Port Willis together. Looking around the room, she studied the nooks and crannies, the way the tables sat intimately but felt communal at the same time, how the little trinkets and displays on the wall set the fishing village tone without overdoing it. “I believe since the eighteenth century. Rumor has it many a prime minister has dined here in the last few centuries.”
“I can’t even imagine that kind of history. Arizona only became a state a little over a hundred years ago.” Sophia tucked a strand of jet-black hair behind her ear. Despite having just traveled all day, she looked put together without seeming like she was trying too hard: her slacks only slightly rumpled, her blouse chic, but more Target than Barneys, her makeup pretty but minimal.
The woman seemed pleasant, if not a bit on the quiet side, and the fact that she was staying for the whole summer meant Ginny would have some steady help in the bookstore—especially if first appearances meant anything.
Ginny pulled a menu from between the salt and pepper shakers and handed it to Sophia. “They’re known for their roasted artichoke and garden pea tagliatelle, but the stargazy pie is supposed to be good as well.”
“You haven’t tried it?” Sophia opened the menu, her white-painted fingernails tapping the plastic cover.
“Ugh, no. I actually hate fish.”
“Has it been hard living here then?” Sophia cracked a smile.
“I actually grew up near the water.” Ginny shrugged and leaned back in her chair. “My dad worked all the time—still does—and my mother was the president of a million charity organizations, so she didn’t ever have time to cook. So I’d just either request something non-seafoody from our chef or whip something up myself.” Shoot, she’d let it slip that they’d had a chef. What would Sophia think of Ginny now?
But she wasn’t that person anymore—the kowtowing daughter of a millionaire with a trust fund that would set her up for life. When she’d come here, Ginny had left behind the Bentley name and all it stood for.
Thankfully, Sophia didn’t seem to have a reaction to that tidbit of info. “I’m sure I would accidentally poison someone if I tried to cook. Despite my mom’s best efforts to teach me, I’m horrible in the kitchen. I did much better in the classroom.”
“It’s actually quite fun.” More than fun—once upon a time, she’d dreamed of going to culinary school. But her parents had shot that idea down as soon as the words left her lips.
Mary Patrick, whose family owned the restaurant, approached their table, a tentative smile in place. “Hi, Ginny. How are you? We haven’t seen you in a while.”
She and her husband, Blake, had been friends with Garrett since high school, and the four of them had enjoyed many a pizza and movie night together. Until Garrett left. Then, when Mary had tried to call, Ginny couldn’t move past the question of whether they were really friends with her . . . or just Garrett.
But seeing Mary now, she realized how much she’d missed having a friend all of these months. “Hey. Yeah, things have been . . . you know.” She cleared her throat. “This is Sophia Barrett. She’s renting the room over the bookshop for the summer.”
“Ah, I’d heard something about that. Welcome to the Village Pub. I’m Mary.” She leaned in close to Ginny. “We’re all hoping you and Garrett can work this thing out between you. It must be hard.”
“Thank you.” Ginny gripped her menu a bit harder, flicking her eyes toward Sophia. Had she heard the exchange? But if she had, she pretended otherwise and kept studying her menu.
After a slight hesitation, Mary turned to Sophia. “Do you know what you’d like to order?”
Sophia bit her lip. “I’ll take the roasted lamb, please.” She flashed a smile at Ginny, something hidden in the depths of her piercing blue eyes. “I’m not much for being adventurous.”
“Excellent choice. My da makes the best lamb on the northern shore. And for you, Gin?”
“The normal, please.” She couldn’t go wrong with shepherd’s pie. “Thanks, Mary.”
The waitress bit her lip and patted Ginny’s shoulder. “It’ll be right up.” She left them.
Ginny swallowed, her throat dry. She took a sip of water.
“So, tell me more about the bookstore and the town.” Sophia’s gaze moved to the window and settled on so
mething in the distance.
Whew, yes, please. “What do you want to know?” The things she loved about it couldn’t really be explained and would never be written in a guidebook. At first, Port Willis had represented an escape, a new life for herself with Garrett by her side. It was all about a feeling she got when she waded in the brisk water overlooked by the bluffs, the pride when she sold a book and built on Garrett’s dream, the sweet memories of Garrett chasing her along their favorite hillside trail, making love in the tall grass where no one could find them.
“I suppose I know a lot of the basics about the town itself. I’m a bit of a research nerd.” Sophia picked up the saltshaker and ran her fingers over the grooves in the glass surface. “So how did you end up here, so far from home?”
Ginny winced. She hadn’t intended to mention Garrett. But Sophia was going to be here for months. She’d learn about Garrett sooner or later. “My husband was born here.” The memories were sweet and painful all at once. “He was working at a bookstore in Boston, and I was in my junior year at Harvard when we began dating. We met through mutual friends. He always intended to come home and open a bookstore eventually, then a chain of bookstores throughout England and maybe all of Europe. It had been his mother’s dream to do that, but she died when he was young, so the dream became his. He’d planned to get some experience, earn enough money to do it, but then his dad passed away suddenly when we were dating. He asked me to come home with him for the funeral. I did, and I never left. We married a few weeks after we arrived here.”
“That’s such a sweet story.”
Sophia’s words startled Ginny. She’d lost herself in the reverie for a moment. Remembering how broken Garrett had been over his father’s death, how determined to find some purpose in the pain. He’d clung to her, and she’d never felt more needed or more beloved. For the first time ever, she’d belonged.
“My parents didn’t think it was so sweet. But that’s a story for another day.”
Sophia reached across the table and squeezed Ginny’s arm for the second time tonight. The touch was surprisingly comforting, and another tear sprang to Ginny’s eyes.
“When did your husband pass away?”
“What?” Ginny nearly jerked from Sophia’s touch. “He isn’t dead.” Her new tenant must not have heard Mary’s comment about Garrett after all.
“Oh. I’m so sorry. The way you talked about him, I assumed . . . but I was probably projecting my own experience onto the situation.”
“What do you mean?”
Sophia’s lip quivered. “My fiancé . . . He died recently. Well, a year and a little over three months ago.” She looked out the window once again. “But that too is a story for another day.”
“I’m so sorry, Sophia.” The pain of being separated from Garrett was bad enough. To imagine him dead—the thought punched her in the gut and stole her breath.
“That’s one reason I’m here. To heal. Finally move on, if such a thing is possible.” Sophia pulled her gaze back to Ginny, and she put on a brave smile. “Let’s change the subject to something less dreary. What’s your favorite thing about owning a bookstore?”
“I thought you wanted a less dreary topic. The truth is, the bookstore was more Garrett’s dream than mine. I’m afraid I’m not very good at it. We’re . . . I’m kind of in trouble. Financially, I mean.”
“That’s awful.” Sophia tapped her fingers on the tabletop. “I’m aware I just arrived and don’t know much about running a bookstore, but I do love books, so if there’s anything I can do to help, I will.”
“Thank you. That’s very kind.” Ginny paused. She hated to burden a virtual stranger . . . Oh, why not? Sophia would be involved in the day-to-day operations of the bookstore anyway. “Actually, I’d love your help in brainstorming some ways to make the store more attractive to patrons or turn a bigger profit.”
Just then, Mary delivered their food. Steam rose from Ginny’s shepherd’s pie, a lovely mixture of potatoes, vegetables, and lamb. Personally, she’d have added a bit more onion and thyme, but this version was nearly as good as her own.
Ginny filled Sophia in on the things she’d tried already and what issues she’d run into.
Sophia swallowed a bite of her lamb. “This is just a fleeting thought, but as we were walking through the bookstore, I noticed the rare books are buried in the back somewhere. Is that intentional?”
Ginny shrugged as she moved her fork through her mashed potatoes and snagged a carrot. “That’s just where they’ve always been.”
“But your specialty is rare books, right? Then maybe those should be front and center.”
“Wow. Why have I never thought of that?”
“Also, your website really could use some work.” Sophia waved her fork in the air. “Before I booked the reservation, I looked it up. It’s fairly basic, but it doesn’t offer any opportunities for people to buy online. And you know with Amazon and other internet giants that online is the wave of the future. Well, it’s the wave of the present, really.”
“That’s a really good idea too. I know a guy in town who builds websites.” Steven was another of Garrett’s chums from school, and he’d always been kind to her.
They continued tossing ideas around, putting their brains together and creating a storm of thoughts that started a stirring in Ginny’s soul. A stirring that looked and felt a lot like hope.
And Ginny knew she might have just met the answer to her many prayers—someone to help shoulder her burden and bring success back to Rosebud Books.
8
SOPHIA
Most people wouldn’t voluntarily spend their days buried in the back room of a bookstore, sorting through dusty editions of classics and non-classics alike. After all, it was ill-lit, the dust bunnies caused frequent sneeze attacks, and she hadn’t seen another soul for hours.
But Sophia was not most people.
She hummed as she sat cross-legged on the wood floor, piles of books surrounding her. Volumes large and small, some with torn jackets and frayed covers, threads coming loose, others in more pristine condition, as if they’d never been cracked. The poor dears. To never have fulfilled your purpose, even if you were only a book . . .
Of course, in Sophia’s mind, there was no such thing as “only a book.” Books were whole other worlds wrapped in cardboard and parchment.
“You’re ridiculous, Sophia.” Her whispered words echoed in the storeroom, but no one was around to hear them. Ginny was up front working the desk.
It still came as a surprise to Sophia how quickly they’d become friends, though it was clear that Ginny didn’t want to discuss her husband and their current situation. Sophia had heard others around town whispering about it, but she’d closed her ears to the gossip. If Ginny ever decided to tell her what was going on, Sophia would be there to listen. Even though she’d initially planned to focus solely on writing her own story while she was here, something drew her to Ginny. She wanted to help the woman, and not just as a therapist, but as a friend.
It was why Sophia had offered to help any way she could—thus, how she’d landed the task of sorting through books that had been donated or purchased and then shoved in boxes and stuffed in the back for who knew how long. Ginny hoped to get their entire inventory up online as soon as possible, but she was so busy managing the other aspects of the store, she hadn’t had a chance. And Sophia really didn’t mind, although she looked forward to this weekend when she could explore more of the area surrounding Port Willis. She’d spent most of last Sunday getting settled in and acquainted with Port Willis itself.
Sure, she’d been here five days and still hadn’t written a word of her own story. But she had time. She only had to wait for inspiration.
“How’s it going back here?” Ginny poked her head through the door.
The light from the doorway hurt Sophia’s eyes. She waved her hands at the piles of books. “I’ve made decent progress. Of course, in order to determine pricing on them, I have to examine the
m thoroughly, including skimming the pages for blemishes, which inevitably leads me to reading . . . so I’m afraid I’m a bit slower than others might be.”
There were just so many new-to-her authors and books she’d never heard of, each one fascinating. Even with boring titles like Horticulture in the Eighteenth Century and Cornish Mining History Explained, each book held secrets she longed to discover.
Ginny laughed. “You’re likely more effective at pricing than I am. I’m not much of a reader.”
Sophia lifted her eyebrows and wiped her dusty hands on her jeans. “And you run a bookstore?”
“It’s business, and it was my husband’s dream before it was mine.” For a moment, a flash of sadness passed over Ginny’s face, but it was quickly replaced with a smile. “When I have free time, I’d much rather experiment in the kitchen or binge watch The Great British Bake Off.”
She squatted next to a pile of books, picked up the one on top, and flipped through it. “Oh, snore. I feel so guilty giving you this job.”
“Don’t. I’m loving it. How do you have so many unique books I’ve never heard of?”
“Families from all over Port Willis and surrounding areas donate books to us, or we buy them for a pittance when they want to clean out their attics. Our policy has always been to take them, sell what we can, and then donate any leftovers to the public library or school system. Of course, some are in such deplorable condition, that’s impossible.” She picked up a bound notebook. “And then we get stuff like this, which isn’t even a book. Is that the toss pile?”
“No, that pile isn’t sorted yet. I can’t bear the thought of tossing any of these books.” Sophia took the notebook in hand. She flipped it open, finding pages and pages of three-hole-punched, 8.5″ by 11″ printed paper.
Sophia’s eyes skimmed the first page. “Oh wow. This one seems to be a story or something.”
Ginny held out her hand. “May I see?”
Sophia handed it over. Ginny perused the pages briefly. “Maybe a school project?” She gave it back to Sophia and stood.
The Secrets of Paper and Ink Page 5