by Bella Andre
“Then what would happen?” her mother cut in to ask.
Mari knew better than to explain things over the phone. Or to say, Then you would understand why I’m going to stay in London. Instead, she said, “Please come. Once you’re here, I promise we’ll talk, and I’ll answer all of your questions.”
Again, her mother was silent for a long while. Finally, she said, “I’ll ask your father if he can leave the office on such short notice. There would be no need to buy us tickets, of course. You know Gary has plenty of miles we can use. If he is free, I suppose we could fly out Friday night.”
Which would get them into London Heathrow on Saturday. Right in the middle of Mari’s big store relaunch. “That would be amazing. It’s going to be so wonderful to see you both again. I know it’s only been a week, but I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too. I wish I wasn’t dead on my feet right now so that we could talk longer. I just hope you never forget how much I love you, Mari.”
“Never. I love you too, Mom.”
Once they disconnected, Mari immediately made another call, this time to her brother. He didn’t pick up, so she left him a message. “Carson, hi. Sorry to call so late, and you know I wouldn’t ask you for such a huge favor if I weren’t desperate, but if there’s any way you can come to England by Saturday, if at all possible, that would be amazing. I’ve asked Mom and Dad to fly in that day, and it would help to have your support, live and in the flesh, when I let them know face-to-face that not only am I staying…but I’ve also fallen in love with the man who has been by my side, helping me from practically the first moment I set foot on the island.” Figuring that was more than enough bombshells to toss her brother’s way in one voicemail, she wrapped up her message with, “I’ll explain more when you call back. Just know that I’ve never been happier.”
When she hung up the phone and looked down at herself, she was surprised to see that she was still wearing only a towel. It was time to get dressed and back to the job of making sure her store truly was ready to open by Saturday.
Mari smiled. The first day she’d arrived on the island and seen the state of Elderflower Island Books, she’d been hugely overwhelmed.
Now, she couldn’t wait to tackle whatever challenges awaited her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Giving herself only one week until the official reopening was borderline crazy. Then again, Mari had always thrived on a tight deadline. Whenever they had needed to finish a massive project quickly at the accounting firm, Mari had been happy to take it on. Strangely, she found that the more she had to do and the less time she had to do it in, the more clearheaded she felt while working.
Fortunately, as soon as she started digging into her massive to-do list, she found it was barely different than completing a client project. The big difference, of course, was that this time her bottom line was at stake. The thought was partly terrifying—but mostly, she was thrilled by the new future she was creating for herself.
The days flew by as she put together a comprehensive document telling Carson everything she wanted on the store’s website, created several social media accounts, made flyers that she posted around town and handed out at stores and restaurants on the island, sent press releases to print and online newspapers with the details for the grand opening, and convinced major book distributors to do rush deliveries of the latest bestsellers and her perennial favorites. She gathered artwork from local artists to hang on the handful of open walls and sell. She got the first three monthly meetings on the calendar for the mystery, romance, and thriller reading groups who had contacted the store in the past with requests to congregate in the space. She also picked up where Charlie had left off with the TV network in negotiating the fees to use the shop in the Bookshop on the River series.
Whenever she remembered to take a break, she would pull out one of her father’s notebooks to read. His stories never failed to make her smile, and across the dozen books he’d written, there were so many positive life lessons. Lessons about kindness, sharing, being a part of a team. Lessons encouraging a child to keep learning and not to be frightened by new things.
It broke Mari’s heart that there was no story about forgiveness. Charlie likely hadn’t been able to write about something that he was never able to do for himself in his own life. She wished for the millionth time that he’d been able to forgive himself for his lapse when she was a little girl. How very different the years could have been for both of them.
Every time she read one of Charlie’s books, she wondered what was happening with the copies that Owen had sent to publishers last week. No doubt it was far too soon to hear from any of them, with either good or bad news, but she held out hope that her father’s stories would somehow see the light of day. It wasn’t about the money—although it would certainly help the bookstore’s bottom line. It was about knowing that his imagination and talent would bring joy to others, in the same way his books were bringing such joy to her.
Though she was working so hard each day that she should be falling into bed exhausted at night, on the contrary, she had more than enough energy for Owen’s incredible lovemaking, which left her breathless just thinking about it.
But there was one very special part of the store that Mari was especially focused on setting up by Saturday’s launch. A section that she hadn’t let anyone see or help her with—not even Owen. By Friday afternoon, it was finally ready for the big unveiling.
Smiling, she left the store and walked down the lane toward Mathilda’s cottage. The weather had alternated all week between rain and cloudy skies. Today, however, the breeze was blowing both the rain and the clouds away. Hopefully, that meant Saturday would be warm, with sun and blue skies and plenty of people on foot on the island.
Mathilda’s front garden was awash with blooms. It smelled divine, and Mari took a moment to appreciate, yet again, how lucky she was to be here. Surrounded by new friends, in a city that felt as though it had opened its arms wide for her. Even the paperwork with the local council and the immigration authorities had been surprisingly seamless. Everyone local she’d worked with had gone out of their way to help her get the approvals she needed to reopen the store under her name, in large part because they’d all liked Charlie so much.
Each day, Mari learned something new about him. That he’d been a brilliant dart player. That there wasn’t a trivia quiz he couldn’t ace. And that he had been surprisingly good with a needle and thread, often volunteering to help people repair the holes in their heirloom embroideries while he was sitting behind the cash register.
Mari would never have learned these things if she hadn’t come to Elderflower Island.
Mathilda waved at her through the window in front of her writing desk. The front door opened a few moments later. “Hello, darling. You’re just in time for a cup of tea.”
“Actually, I was hoping you might come have it with me in the bookshop.” Mari was pleased with how natural it felt to say bookshop instead of bookstore now.
Mathilda’s eyes lit up. “I’d love to. Shall we invite my grandson?”
As if she needed to ask. “Of course.” Mari’s smile grew wider, even though it hadn’t been too many hours since they’d been in each other’s arms.
Mathilda called him, and he appeared with alacrity. “Mari.” Both his voice and his expression were filled with warmth. As his grandmother looked on, he drew Mari into his arms and kissed her.
“I was hoping you would come have a tea break with me and your grandmother in the bookshop.”
“Of course I will. What can we bring?”
“Just yourselves.”
Though it was only a short distance from Mathilda’s cottage to the shop, several people stopped to say hello and let Mari know how excited they were for the grand reopening tomorrow.
“Everyone is so supportive,” she said. “So why do I have butterflies flying around inside my stomach?”
Mathilda patted her arm. “Anything worth being proud
of is worth a few butterflies. Every time I release a new book, I feel the same way—just that tiny bit nervous about whether or not everyone will love it.”
If the great Mathilda Westcott could suffer an attack of nerves over her books, Mari supposed it was perfectly normal that she’d be nervous about her new venture. At this precise moment, however, all she cared about was how the two people walking into the shop with her would react to her surprise.
Mathilda stopped at the front door. “The shop looks marvelous, Mari. You’ve made a world of difference. I hope you’re pleased with what you’ve accomplished.”
“I am, thanks to you, Owen, and everyone else who pitched in to help.” The bookshop wasn’t perfect, but it was hers. And that would never stop giving her a thrill. No question about it, though she had enjoyed her job at her stepfather’s firm, she much preferred the title bookshop proprietress to accountant. “If you can wait another few minutes for tea, there’s something I’d like you to see, Mathilda.”
Mathilda raised an eyebrow. “I do hope you haven’t gone out of your way on my behalf.”
“Of course I have,” Mari said with a grin. “I just hope you like it.”
With that, she slid open the curtains in the left rear corner of the shop and revealed her surprise.
Mathilda gasped. “It’s perfect! Exactly as I imagined it.”
Gazing about the space in wonder, Owen’s grandmother explored Mari’s re-creation of the living room where Camilla Fernsby, Mathilda’s sleuth from the Bookshop on the River series, pored over clues. Mari had taken exhaustive notes on the descriptions of the space throughout each book in the series, then built the space to what she hoped matched the picture in Mathilda’s head. Of course, it came complete with a full set of Mathilda’s books on display, including one in every one of the fifty languages in which the books had been printed.
“You’re incredible.” Owen drew Mari into the circle of his arms. “Even if you’d had time for this project, I would be blown away by what you’ve created—but I know how busy you’ve been this week. I can’t imagine when you might have found the time to put this together.”
She smiled, feeling happier than she could ever remember as Mathilda settled herself in the armchair covered with the duck-printed fabric described in her books, and picked up the leather-bound notebook and bright green pen that Camilla Fernsby always used.
Several minutes later, Mathilda came over and hugged Mari. “What a wonderful woman you are to bring me such delight. I know my readers will adore the space, as well. Thank you, darling, from the bottom of my heart.”
“You’re so welcome. And speaking of your fans, I was hoping you would allow me to put together a book of reader letters from around the world. I loved looking through the fan mail in the Sherlock Holmes Museum, and I know your fans would feel the same way.”
“We also have some really interesting memorabilia for the series from places like Japan and Argentina,” Owen put in.
Mari’s eyes lit up at his suggestion. “If you have enough to display, I wonder if we could create a small addition to the building on the right side as a museum for your brilliant work as an author, Mathilda?”
“Well, I don’t know that my writing warrants museum space, but whatever your plans, I’m certainly happy to go along with them.”
“And as a bonus,” Owen said, “I’m sure the TV network will be thrilled that the work of building the set is already done.”
Mari hadn’t thought of that, but she supposed that was now a point in her favor as they wound down negotiations for the TV deal.
“Come over to one of the café tables I’ve set up in the patio garden, and I’ll make everyone tea,” she said. She’d also baked plenty of lemon bars, knowing they would keep well for her launch tomorrow.
Once they were seated, Owen said, “I was just about to come find you, Mari. You too, Gran. I’ve just received news I think you’ll both be extremely interested in.”
“Is it what I’m thinking it might be…?” Mathilda said.
Owen was clearly able to read his grandmother’s mind as he nodded, then turned to Mari. “The UK’s biggest, and best, children’s publisher has put in a preemptive offer on Charlie’s books. That means, in theory, that the amount they’re offering is high enough that they hope you won’t go looking for bids from other publishers.”
Mari’s breath suddenly felt a little ragged inside her chest. “What is the offer?”
The figure he named was so large Mari had to ask him to repeat it.
Once he had, Mari didn’t only have trouble breathing, she was also fairly certain her heart had stopped beating. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“Normally,” Mathilda said, “I’m not a fan of preempts, as an auction can often get a higher advance. However, I know the owner of this publishing house quite well, and with an advance of that size, I’m confident they intend to put the full weight of their marketing, sales, subrights, translation, audio, and publishing teams behind Charlie’s books.”
Subrights? Translations? Audio? Mari’s head spun. Earlier this week, she would have happily paid to print the books herself to have a few copies to hand-sell from the shop.
“If you were interested in pursuing this offer,” Owen said, “I would work with our solicitors to negotiate the contract. I want to make sure we get the best possible terms.”
“My grandson always gets the best terms,” Mathilda noted with satisfaction.
“I would also,” Owen added, “obviously, forfeit my percentage of royalties for the deal so that you get the maximum possible amount to help run, and keep improving, the shop.”
Mathilda nodded her approval. “And I will make sure that the payment for writing the foreword to each book also goes to you and the shop, Mari.”
“No.” Mari gave two shakes of her head, one intended for each of them. “I couldn’t let either of you do that. Charlie would want you to be paid for your work.”
“He would also want to know that the bookshop he left you was thriving,” Owen said. “And with this kind of seed money, there would be no stopping you from putting any and all of your brilliant plans into place—even the museum add-on you just mentioned.”
“First,” Mari said as she worked to collect her stunned, yet racing, thoughts, “thank you so much, Owen, for putting Charlie’s work out to the publisher. And thank you, Mathilda, for offering to write the foreword to each book. Though I know Charlie’s books are great, I also know the publisher has only been willing to make an offer of this magnitude because they trust both of you. And second, given that you both seem to think it’s a great offer—and frankly, the money is mind-blowing to me—I’m willing to accept it.”
“Fantastic.” Owen took a bag from beneath the table that she hadn’t noticed on the walk over from the cottage. “As I thought we might be in a celebratory mood, I brought some bubbly.”
Mari was surprised when he produced a bottle of champagne with a label that read Sullivan Winery.
“My cousin Marcus runs a winery in Napa Valley with his wife, Nicola,” Owen explained. “You probably know her as the singer Nico.”
Yet again, Mari was nearly stunned speechless. “Your cousin is married to Nico, the pop star?”
“She’s a lovely woman,” Mathilda said. “Not at all like the tabloids made her out to be. Same goes for all the other celebrities in the family. They’re as nice as can be.”
“How many celebrities are there in your family?”
“Loads.” Owen grinned. “You’ll meet them all soon enough. But for now—” He popped the cork, then poured champagne into a new set of mugs. “To you and your bookshop and to Charlie and his books.”
Mari heart was full to the brim as she clinked her mug with theirs. However tomorrow went—both with regard to the reopening and her mother’s reaction to her new life and plans—she would never forget how happy she was right now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Owen was one hundred percent
certain that Mari was going to make a success of the bookshop. Though the only contact she’d had with her mother was a text confirming Donna and Gary’s flight details, he felt wholly confident that Mari would be able to work things out with her family, as well. Anyone who loved her would support her dreams. He refused to consider any other outcome. Her parents would be arriving at Heathrow at noon and heading straight to Elderflower Island, at which point Mari would be able to talk everything over with them and have her lingering worries put to rest.
Just as he had all week, he’d slept over at her flat. When he woke at six thirty, Mari was already out of bed. She wasn’t in the bath or the kitchen. Which meant she must already be downstairs.
From his perspective, everything was done and ready for the reopening. She clearly didn’t feel the same way, though. Every time she gave the space another once-over, she found something new to tweak.
Pulling on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, he headed downstairs. Halfway to the shop floor, he realized Mari was talking with someone.
“What do you think, Mars?” She stroked the cat, who was sitting on her lap for what Owen was pretty sure was the first time. Almost as though Mars knew she needed extra support today. “Do you think we’re ready for customers?”
The cat purred. Loud and long. Then rolled to his back so that Mari could rub his belly.
Mari laughed. “I agree. We’re ready.”
“You are.”
Mari looked up and smiled when she spotted him on the stairs. “How long have you been listening?”
“Long enough to put in my vote of agreement.”
Eyeing Owen, the cat gave a twitch of his tail, then hopped off her lap and headed for the door. Mari let him out, then turned back into Owen’s arms.
“How are you feeling?”
She took a breath, blew it out. “Nervous. But good.” She threaded her fingers through his. “Whatever happens today, I know I’ve done my best. And I’m happy with it.”