by Nicole Ellis
A few minutes after Dahlia broke away from shelving books, a harried, middle-aged man carrying a leather messenger bag entered the bookstore. Finally, a customer. Better yet, she’d never seen him before. The man made a loop around the outer aisles of the store, pausing for a moment in front of the plate of Danish butter cookies. Aunt Ruth used to swear the cookies made people more comfortable in the store and more likely to purchase books.
The man whipped out a clipboard and made a note on the top sheet of paper.
Dahlia approached him. “Hi, can I help you find something?”
“Are you Dahlia Winters?” He flipped through the stack of papers and withdrew one from the bottom of the pile.
“Yes, why?” She didn’t recognize the man, but he somehow knew her name. Generally when someone official knew your name, they weren’t coming to offer you a sweepstakes prize. After dealing with Agnes and Garrett on the same day, what more could be thrown at her?
“I’m Miles Linz from the Grayton County Health Department. We’ve had a complaint that you’re offering food and beverages without a proper license.” He nodded at the plate of cookies.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. I inherited the bookstore from my aunt a few months ago and I’ve carried on her tradition of offering tea and cookies to bookstore patrons. I didn’t realize I needed a license to do so.” She leaned against the front counter for support. “I’m not selling any food or beverages, they’re free for customers.” To the best of her knowledge, Aunt Ruth had never carried a food and beverage permit.
“I’m sorry ma’am, but offering food or beverage without a permit, whether charging for it or not, is a violation of the county health code.” He handed her an official-looking piece of paper.
“What’s this?” She scanned the page.
“It’s a notice of closure for your bookstore. Until you have proper licensure, we have to shut down the establishment.” He shuffled his papers around before placing the clipboard in his bag.
“Can’t I just remove the cookies and tea? I mean, the cookies are out of a can, it’s not like I made them in my home kitchen.”
“I’m sorry ma’am, but we can’t let you do that. You’ll need to shut down.” He appeared mildly apologetic. “Look, it’s Friday afternoon and the county office in Haven Shores closes soon, but you can apply on Monday and they’ll issue the permit then. As soon as you get it, you can reopen the bookstore.”
“But the weekend is my busiest time. I can’t shut down for the weekend.”
He shrugged. “Sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. Once we’ve been notified of a violation, it must be corrected before a business can reopen. As of now, you’re closed for business.” He walked toward the door, pulling it shut behind him.
Dahlia grabbed a handful of the offending cookies and poured herself a cup of tea before collapsing into the wingback chair. The bookstore was far enough in the hole as it was. Closing for the weekend would put her even further behind.
Giving up and returning to Seattle had never sounded so good. With Agnes’s refusal to act like a normal, sane human being, and Garrett’s offer to buy To Be Read, she had all the reasons she needed to return to her old life. With the profits from selling the bookstore, if she traveled frugally, she could backpack through Europe for at least a year. Maybe there would even be money left over to see parts of Asia. This was her chance to be the world traveler she’d always imagined herself to be, and she had the opportunity to be free of the chains of everyone else’s expectations.
But then there was Garrett. With the way he’d been acting, she hadn’t expected him to kiss her. The kiss had been everything she’d hoped for—sweet and sexy at the same time. She wanted to get to know him better, but did he want the same thing?
She set her teacup down and leaned back against the fraying brocade chair, closing her eyes. She focused on the sound of her breath. Only the faint hum of the air conditioner marred the silence of the empty bookstore.
Aunt Ruth would want her to be happy, whether that meant staying in Candle Beach or seeing the world instead. A slight breeze ruffled her hair and she opened her eyes. Surrounded by the furniture Ruth had chosen and everything she had loved, Dahlia felt as though her aunt were present in the room.
“Aunt Ruth?” she whispered. Her skin prickled, casting doubt on her beliefs about Ruth’s wishes. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said out loud. “Please tell me what I should do.” She half hoped that ghosts existed so she wouldn’t have to make the decision on her own.
Another puff of air caused her hair to stand on end, until she realized the health inspector hadn’t latched the door completely, allowing for drafts to enter the store. She rose to shut the door. She pulled it closed as Ruth had done so many times before, and the connection heightened the sense that her aunt was with her in that moment.
Dahlia wanted to make her proud of the woman she’d become. Agnes had been correct that she’d been flighty as a teenager, a trait which had persisted into her twenties. While she had never seen herself as the owner of a small-town bookstore, the idea was starting to gel with her and she owed it to herself to see if it was a good fit. Although her dream two years ago may have been to be a free-spirited traveler, that didn’t mean it was still right for her now.
She assessed To Be Read with a critical eye, all the way from the front display window to the tea and cookies against the back wall. Reinventing the store would take a lot of work. Was she ready for it? Did she have money to fund the remodel? Did she even want to take on the project?
She wasn’t sure how she felt about investing her time and money in the bookstore, but what she did know was that she wasn’t going to lose the bookstore and let Agnes win. Garrett’s offer to purchase the store tickled at her thoughts. Selling to him would be an easy way out of the whole mess. She could take the money and run, albeit only receiving half of what the store was worth.
But she didn’t like that option, for two reasons. One, because Agnes would get half of the sales proceeds, and two, because she didn’t want to give up on Aunt Ruth’s wish for her to run the bookstore. She got up to take a closer look at the store’s fixtures.
The layout of the front window display hadn’t changed in the last ten years. Threadbare curtains framed the bay window, but their breadth obscured the view into the store. She had to retract the heavy velvet folds to clearly see the display. Books stood in tiered rows, facing the window for people on Main Street to view. While functional, the design didn’t invite patrons to come in and check out the new books.
Closing her eyes again, she thought about what would entice her into a store. A pop of color would help and props would liven up the display. She envisioned sand buckets and toy shovels behind the newest beach reads, or a cookbook display with an apron and cast iron pan. She grabbed a pen and scribbled furiously. Should she replace the curtains? No, the windows should be bare. Expensive curtains weren’t in the budget and letting customers see the rows of books inside at all hours of the day couldn’t hurt.
Excitement bubbled through her body and she swiveled around, seeing the bookstore with fresh eyes. The stained welcome mat had to go and the hardwood floors needed refinishing. Although the fabric-covered armchairs held a lifetime of memories of teatime with Aunt Ruth, they’d seen better days. Her eyes lit upon the shelves of fiction books. She’d kept up on ordering the latest books, but the shelves and displays themselves looked dated.
She crossed the room to the fiction section. Behind it, Aunt Ruth had used a small alcove to house a tall potted plant. She attempted to pick up the planter and then push it across the floor, but the plant thwarted her efforts. It was heavier than it appeared. She sat down on the floor, braced her back against the wall and used her legs to slide the plant out of the alcove. Then she stood to assess the newly open space. Without the heavy, dark foliage of the plant, new possibilities opened up for the alcove. In fact, there may even be room for two comfy chairs and a small table in between th
em. Perfect for kicking back with a cup of coffee and a pile of books to peruse.
Coffee. To compete with the chain bookstores, To Be Read needed a coffee bar. Not just tea and cookies, but a compact espresso bar offering coffee and pastries. As if infused already by a jolt of caffeine, she rushed across the room to the tea area. She took a few steps back and mentally measured the space. If she moved the children’s section over a few feet, she would have enough room for someone to make espresso behind a short bar. If the health department was going to require a permit for food and drink, she might as well add in a serviced espresso stand. She picked up the tray of cookies and practically bounced over to the front of the store.
She flipped the sign in the front window to ‘Closed.’ Outside, Mrs. Mendelsohn and Mrs. Lee passed by, deep in conversation, most likely about the latest knitting pattern they’d discovered. The two women came in often to browse through the craft section of the bookstore. She felt an odd tug at her heart. A child across the street in the large town park waved at her and she returned the wave, smiling as she did so.
Without realizing it, she’d become a member of the community and Candle Beach had become her home. When she’d first inherited the bookstore, Candle Beach had been a fond memory, but not a place where she’d want to spend a significant amount of time by choice. Now, three months later, she had friends, a business, and even a stray cat had wheedled its way into her home and heart.
She’d never have thought three months could make such a difference in her life. Much as she hated to admit it, her mother had been right. She had needed something new in her life. Whether this was merely a brief stop in her life’s journey or somewhere she’d put down roots, Candle Beach was exactly what the doctor had ordered.
She carried the tray of cookies to the back room, munching one as she walked. Changes needed to be made in the bookstore, but first of all she needed to confront her old archenemy, the general ledger.
A bookkeeper had been maintaining To Be Read’s accounts and she hadn’t worried herself too much with the overall income and expenses, assuming that he would let her know if there were any issues. As he’d done every week, he had left her a profit and loss statement when he’d stopped by on Tuesday. She hadn’t looked at it yet and to be honest, she hadn’t reviewed the statement in over a month.
Now, she forced herself to open the file folder and dive into the details. What she saw was worrisome. Sales were worse than she’d expected to see and expenses were higher. She needed to come up with ways to sell additional books and make more money.
The building creaked and she turned around. No one was there, but the door to the hallway caught her eye. She walked through the door and into the small hallway, which was piled floor to ceiling with boxes. Thank goodness Agnes hadn’t sicced the fire department on her as well.
After using a stepladder to remove the topmost boxes in one stack, she moved the remaining books to the side, revealing most of a previously hidden door. In all the hubbub of taking over, she’d completely forgotten about the small one-bedroom apartment over the bookstore.
She reached behind another box for the knob, but it didn’t turn. She shoved the boxes into the center of the hallway and pulled harder, but it was locked. Then she remembered the ring of keys Gretchen had given her. She retrieved them from her purse and inserted one of the unused keys in the lock. The second key she tried worked.
She opened the door gingerly, not sure of what she’d see or smell. A wave of heat barreled down the stairs to greet her. Aunt Ruth had installed air conditioning in the main store and back rooms to protect the books from humidity, but there was no sign of it in the upstairs apartment. To her surprise, while she was greeted by a musty odor, there wasn’t any smell or rustling of mice. The stairs creaked with every step she took but they didn’t show signs of wood rot. She flipped on the light switch at the top of the stairs.
When Dahlia was a small child, Aunt Ruth had rented the upstairs apartment to a widower, but after he died, she’d used it as storage. Sometime while Aunt Ruth was sick, someone must have moved all of the file and book boxes downstairs into the hallway and storeroom for easier access. Now, the dim light revealed dust bunnies hiding under a sheet-covered couch and an ancient TV, but the room was otherwise free of clutter.
Off to the side was a small galley-style kitchen with a two-burner stove and a full-sized refrigerator straight out of the seventies. She remembered the two closed doors led to a bathroom with a shower and a decent-sized bedroom. She walked over to the kitchen window and spread the fading lemon-yellow curtains to let in light. She opened the window too, exchanging some of the stuffy air for the cooler air of the summer evening.
With the aid of the natural light, she sat in one of the two vinyl-padded chairs accompanying the Formica-topped kitchen table and reassessed the room. This could work. The apartment could be rented for some extra cash, either as a monthly rental or as a nightly rental for the tourists. While not ideal for repeat business at the bookstore, she knew from Gretchen that Candle Beach’s thriving tourist economy had created a high demand for vacation rentals.
Her spirits lifted and her mind spun with everything on her to-do list. She returned to Ruth’s office and grabbed a notepad and pen to take notes. She needed to call the property management company and get the apartment cleaned out. She stopped for a moment, tapping her pen against the desk. Did she need to get Agnes’s permission to rent out the apartment? Surely that was part of her inheritance and could be used to offset the costs of owning the building housing To Be Read. She decided it was better to act first and ask forgiveness later. Something had to be done to keep the store from going under.
By the third page of notes, her hand cramped and she stopped to rub her fingers and thumb. Buying a computer for the store needed to be a top financial and time priority. Ruth had ordered books directly from the publishers by phone and paper orders, and Dahlia had continued that tradition, but the contact at the distribution warehouse had told her that they were moving over completely to computerized ordering. It was time to modernize the store and bring it into the twenty-first century.
She dug into the files and reviewed the accountant’s statements again, noting places to cut costs. To purchase a computer and remodel the store’s furnishings, she’d need to take a hefty bite out of Aunt Ruth’s savings. Was it worth it? She looked around Aunt Ruth’s office—correction, her office now—and decided it was a worthy investment in her future. The largest Russian doll on the top shelf beamed down at her, and silly as it may have been, she knew she’d made the right choice.
8
An hour later, Dahlia slid into one side of the dark, scarred wooden booth across from Maggie at Off the Vine. The recently opened wine and tapas bar had quickly become a favorite among her friends. She and Maggie pored over the menu.
“Stuffed mushrooms for sure. They were so yummy last time.” Dahlia ran her finger over the description. “And how about the boneless Buffalo wings and prosciutto-wrapped dates?”
“Sounds good. I’m glad the new owners left some of the old bar food on the menu when they converted Beers Ahoy into a wine bar.” Maggie closed her menu. The waitress came by and the two of them placed their orders. A few minutes later, Gretchen flew in the door and rushed over to their table, collapsing next to Dahlia on the bench seat.
“Ahh. It feels so good to sit down,” Gretchen said, stretching her neck against the high-backed seat. “I haven’t had a break since lunchtime.” She flagged down the waitress and ordered a jumbo lime margarita.
“I don’t remember Beers Ahoy very well, but this place is a huge hit with the tourists,” Dahlia said. “Any place that can lure tourists in helps all of us.”
Maggie and Gretchen exchanged knowing looks.
“Now you’re talking like a native of Candle Beach,” Maggie teased. “Soon you’ll be spouting off the tide tables with ease.”
“This is my home now,” Dahlia said. “Well, for at least nine more months. Wh
o knows, the town is growing on me.”
The waitress returned with their drinks, and Dahlia reached for her glass of Chardonnay and gulped half of it down. “I needed this.”
Maggie raised her eyebrows.
“What?” Dahlia asked. “It’s been a long day…too long.”
Maggie grinned and pulled a piece of olive loaf from the bread basket. “Thank goodness for late-night happy hour. I love my café, but sometimes I just want someone else to make me food.”
“I agree,” Gretchen said. “I had fourteen nightly tenants come in today with issues with their rental houses. After figuring out the logistics of getting all the problems fixed to their satisfaction, I’m beat.”
“Well, I had another weekly visit from Queen Agnes,” Dahlia said. “As usual, the bookstore wasn’t up to her standards.”
“Yeah, I saw her come out of To Be Read this afternoon,” Gretchen said. “She had the biggest grin on her face.” She delicately licked salt off of the rim of her margarita before taking a drink.
All of Dahlia’s enthusiasm for remodeling the bookstore faded with Gretchen’s words and she removed her hand from the basket of mushrooms. She’d been about to select a plump one to dip in the blue cheese dressing but her rising anger kept her from eating.
“Agnes was smiling?” She wiped her hands on a paper napkin and swigged the remaining wine from her glass. “She spent half an hour in the bookstore telling me how inept I was at running the place and how disappointed in me Ruth would have been.”