by Nicole Ellis
She grabbed the mushroom she’d eyed previously and stuffed it in her mouth to keep the tears at bay. The juicy mushroom exploded in her mouth, giving her something else to think about other than how much Agnes hated her. When she finished chewing, she said, “Agnes is a piece of work. She used to be so nice to me when I came here as a kid. I don’t know what changed.”
Gretchen leaned over to Dahlia on their shared bench seat and gave her a quick shoulder hug. “She’s not normally this awful. The Ladies like to control things in Candle Beach, or think they have some control, but this is odd, even for them. I’m so sorry Dahl.”
“Oh, and that isn’t even all of it,” Dahlia said. “A few hours after she left, I received a visit from the County Health Department.”
“What do they have to do with a bookstore?” Maggie asked. “We get semiannual surprise visits from them at the café, but I wouldn’t think they’d care about a bookstore.”
“They objected to the cookies and tea. Something tells me I wouldn’t have been on their radar if it hadn’t been for a call from Agnes.” She signaled to the waitress for another glass of wine. “They’ve shut me down until Monday when I can get a permit from the county. It’s like nothing I do goes right. I should have sold when I could.”
Maggie reached for a boneless buffalo wing and daintily dipped it in ranch dressing. “If it’s any consolation, I’ve heard a couple of customers at the café saying how nice it is that you’re here to manage the bookstore. I think you’re doing a great job.”
“But that’s the problem, I don’t think I am. Or at least not as much as I could be doing.” She tapped her fingers on the wooden table. “Do you girls think there’s more I should be doing?”
Gretchen squirmed in her seat and Maggie looked away for a second. Dahlia caught their hesitation.
“You do, don’t you? What can I do to improve the bookstore?” She wanted to get their impressions before she shared her own ideas.
“Maybe spruce it up a bit?” Gretchen said. “I can help you find a place to install new carpet or polish the hardwoods. Maybe even paint?”
“Yeah.” Maggie nodded. “I think that would help freshen things up and be more inviting for customers. After Ruth got sick, she wasn’t able to perform more than basic maintenance on the bookstore, so there are a few things that could use help.” She sipped her glass of Merlot. “Maybe you should participate in the summer market? There’s still over a month left before it closes.”
“Would that help? It didn’t seem like a place to sell books.” Dahlia grabbed a pen out of her purse and jotted some notes on a clean paper napkin.
“It’s not so much the actual selling of the books, but more the visibility the bookstore gets from participating. When tourists and townspeople visit the market they’ll see the To Be Read booth and remember they wanted to read the beach read du jour. You know how it goes—out of sight, out of mind. With the new Book Warehouse in Haven Shores, you need all the good publicity you can get.”
“After Agnes left, I was thinking about some improvements I could make too,” Dahlia admitted. “What do you think about expanding the tea and cookies into a full espresso bar with pastries? I could move the children’s section over and put in a small coffee bar there. I need something to compete with the Book Warehouse.”
“So you’re going to compete with the café?” Maggie asked. She wrapped petite fingers around her long-stemmed wine glass.
“No, no, nothing major, just the espresso bar and some pastries.”
“Dahlia, I’m kidding. We have plenty of business at the café. I think that’s a great way to modernize To Be Read. It’ll be just like the big chain bookstores. If you want, we can provide you with pastries. Our pastry chef is fantastic.”
“Thanks Maggie, I’d love that.” Dahlia drained her second glass of wine. The alcohol had begun to take effect and she felt the worries of the day melt away. She caught sight of Garrett sitting at the bar flirting with the pretty bartender. She looked away before he saw her.
The waitress came around to check on them. “Can I get you ladies anything?” she asked. “The kitchen is closing in half an hour, so it’s your last chance to try some of the new Asian chicken lettuce wraps.”
“That sounds lovely,” Maggie said. “We’ll take an order of the wraps.”
“Can I get a jumbo margarita please?” Dahlia asked.
The waitress noted it on her order pad. “Sure. Anything else?”
Maggie looked at the two wine glasses in front of Dahlia that the waitress was in the process of clearing away. “Maybe another basket of bread?”
The waitress nodded and left.
“Agnes must have really gotten to you,” Maggie said to Dahlia. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you have more than two drinks in a night.”
Dahlia shot a glance at Garrett, who was now engaged in conversation with the woman next to him. The woman, probably a tourist, had long, jet-black hair and exotic features. She kept tossing her hair back and beaming at Garrett. He smiled and laughed as he drank from a bottle of IPA beer. Dahlia’s eyes kept drifting back to him. He’d kissed her today, so why was he flirting with another woman? Apparently the kiss hadn’t affected him as much as it had her, which hurt to think about. Part of her hoped he’d notice her and come over to their table.
“It’s not just Agnes,” she admitted. “Garrett stopped by today too. He offered to buy the bookstore.”
“That’s great!” Maggie said. “You’ve been so stressed about it. Are you thinking about it? I’m assuming you’re still on the fence since you’re talking about a remodel.”
“I don’t think it’s the right time to sell. Besides, if I wait until the year is up, I get all the money. If I sell now, I have to split it with Agnes.”
“Are you sure this is what you want, Dahlia?” Gretchen asked. “You could sell the bookstore and walk away. Think of all you could see and do with the money. It wouldn’t take long to convince me to take the money and run if I were in your shoes.”
“Yeah, me too,” said Maggie. “We’d miss you, but if I didn’t have Alex to worry about, I’d consider selling the café. You don’t have any responsibilities to tie you down. Maybe this would be best.”
Dahlia bristled at Maggie’s comment about her lack of responsibilities. She knew her friend hadn’t meant anything by it, but it still hurt. Everyone lacked confidence in her ability to successfully manage To Be Read. She tried to brush it off.
“If it had been anyone but him, I might have considered it.” She slowly buttered a roll and ate half of it, then washed it down with a swig of margarita. The sweet and sour blend struck her as a perfect metaphor for her current predicament. The bookstore was a blessing, but the possibility existed that she wasn’t cut out to own a business.
“Ah, so the plot thickens,” teased Gretchen. “I knew you had a thing for him.”
“Not a romantic thing for him,” Dahlia said. “We’re acquaintances, that’s all. Well, I thought maybe there was something more, but look at him.” She nodded to where Garrett sat at the bar, still with the gorgeous woman. He didn’t appear to have noticed she was there with her friends. “Truthfully, part of me doesn’t want to sell. Aunt Ruth wanted me to have To Be Read. I wish people would start believing in my ability to run the place. Even Garrett thinks I can’t do it. He offered to help me with the business because he feels sorry for me.”
Gretchen and Maggie exchanged knowing looks.
“Of course. The only reason a hot guy could possibly be interested in hanging out with you is if he felt sorry for you,” Gretchen said with a straight face. Maggie’s face contorted as she attempted to stifle laughter.
“I already told you,” Dahlia said. “I’m not interested in him. And he’s not interested in me, only in the bookstore.” She didn’t mention his pity kiss to her friends or the way she’d melted against him when he kissed her.
“Uh-huh.” Gretchen’s eyes were full of mirth as she consumed the rest of he
r drink.
Their teasing made her feel uncomfortable. “I should get going.” She threw thirty dollars on the table, grabbed her purse and looked pointedly at Gretchen. Gretchen stood to allow her room to slide out of the booth.
Maggie’s face fell. “We didn’t mean anything by it,” she said to Dahlia. “Please sit down.”
Dahlia glanced at the clock on the back wall. It was after ten and with the alcohol and a long day, she was bone tired.
“No worries,” she said breezily. “I’m heading out early tomorrow to check out some furniture stores in Haven Shores. I’ll see you guys later.”
“Do you want a ride home?” Maggie asked.
“No, the walk home will do me good. I’ve been inside all day.”
She took a few steps toward the front door, but stopped when she saw Garrett saying goodbye to the woman he’d been chatting with. He saw Dahlia out of the corner of his eye and waved to her. She swiveled in her tracks and opted to head towards the hallway to the back door.
Stepping out into the chilly coastal summer evening, Dahlia swayed and braced herself against the door. The third drink coursed through her veins. For someone unused to consuming larger quantities of alcohol, even the extra helping of bread hadn’t soaked up the excess liquor. She took a deep breath of the cool air and walked unsteadily down the alley. On the plus side, unlike in Seattle, she didn’t feel in any danger walking down a dark alley at night. Laughter and gleeful shouts floated out from the arcade and the aroma of the pizza served at the four-lane bowling alley filled the air.
Outside the back door of the hardware store, she stumbled on a piece of wood and toppled to the ground. After determining nothing was broken except her pride, she brushed her jeans off. Paint cans lined up against a brick wall caught her attention. In the dim glow of the street lamp, Dahlia read the word “Sample” on top of the cans. The hardware store owner must have intended for them to be picked up with next week’s garbage collection.
On impulse, she grabbed the can handles of what the sample splotches showed as aqua and burgundy paint. For smaller cans, they were surprisingly heavy.
Instead of heading home as she’d told her friends she would, she decided to return to the bookstore with her newfound art supplies. After clumsily unlocking the back door of the bookstore, she set the paint cans down. No longer tired, she flipped on the radio to a rock station and turned the volume up, getting into the party mood.
She looked around the bookstore. At the moment, she didn’t care about her official to-do list. She needed to make her mark on the bookstore now. By morning, everyone would see that she cared and could make the bookstore hers. Looking around, she decided that removing the curtains needed to come first. She strode over to the oppressive curtains and ripped them from their hooks. The glow of the streetlamp shone through the window and lit the bookstore for all to see. Satisfied, she dumped the curtains in the garbage.
With the adrenaline rush from tearing down the heavy drapes, she surveyed the store for her next project. The music throbbed through her as she stared at the potential coffee bar area. Jogging to the back, she retrieved some paint brushes she’d seen in the cleaning supplies closet. She brought the cans of paint and brushes into the main store and placed them on the old end table in the seating area.
She cleared four rows of children’s books off the shelves next to where the teapot and cookies usually stood and stacked them on the floor. With the weight of the books removed, the bookshelf moved with ease across the hardwood floor. She moved the other furniture away from the wall. With a pair of scissors, she pried open the lid of the first paint can, dipped her brush into it and smeared the paint across the wall. She repeated the process until aqua paint covered the entire back wall.
She stepped back to admire her handiwork. Some paint had dripped on the floor, but the hardwoods needed to be refinished anyway. She flexed her fingers. Using a smaller paintbrush, she used some black sign paint and the burgundy paint she’d liberated from the alley to create a mural on the wall above the future coffee bar. Once upon a time, she’d been a budding artist. Now, the thrill of creation flooded through her, filling her with joy. She spun around to figure out what to do next.
Through her giddiness, she realized a man was peering through the front window at her. She stopped and stared at him. He waved and she realized it was Garrett. What was he doing there?
Garrett had been waiting outside To Be Read for over ten minutes. He’d tried knocking at the door, but Dahlia hadn’t heard him over the bass of the music. Next, he’d tried waving his arms in front of the window, but she had her back to him and appeared to be deep in concentration as she manically drew on a freshly painted wall.
He finally got her attention, but from her angry stance, he doubted she was going to let him inside. He’d seen her in the wine bar with her friends, but she’d studiously avoided making eye contact with him. He’d chatted up the bartender to get information about Dahlia. She told him Dahlia had come in about once a week or so with her friends since they’d opened, but that she didn’t usually drink so much.
She had occupied a spot on the fringes of his mind since the first time he’d seen her on the overlook. After discovering her free-spirited nature during their conversation at Ruth’s house, he’d tried to stop thinking about her, but the feeling persisted. He’d purchased more books from her than he could ever hope to read in a lifetime, but until their kiss today, their conversations had never gone any further than polite chitchat. Offering to buy the bookstore to help her out had seemed like a good idea, but something had backfired.
Seeing her at Off the Vine with her friends had been a stroke of good luck. When she made a move to leave, he’d wanted to talk with her and explain himself, but instead, she’d turned around and walked towards the bathrooms. When she hadn’t come back from the hallway for a while, he paid his bill and discovered she’d slipped out the back door. It hadn’t been difficult to find her.
The music stopped and she opened the door, paintbrush still in hand. She scowled at him. “What are you doing here?”
“I saw you leave the wine bar and you looked upset,” he said. “I wanted to make sure you got home okay.”
“You looked like you were doing fine chatting up the bartender.”
“She’s a friend. And she was telling me about a trip she and her husband are taking to the Bahamas.”
“Right.” Dahlia gave him a skeptical look. “How’d you find me?”
“They could hear your music clear to Haven Shores,” he said dryly. “Are you okay?”
She didn’t answer his question. “What are you doing here?”
He pushed the door open and stepped inside. “I see you’ve been doing some painting.” The aqua wall glowed in the harsh fluorescent lights. It wasn’t to his taste, but perhaps it would be better in the daylight.
With the music off, she seemed to deflate.
“Maybe you should go home and sleep it off. You look exhausted,” he observed.
“I’m fine.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You can let yourself out.” She flicked the paint brush at him as she spoke. Splatters of wet burgundy paint fell on the hardwood floors. She swiveled and returned to the newly painted wall. Loud music filled the air again, cutting off all hope of communication.
Why was she being so hostile? He’d tried to talk to her, but it was like their kiss earlier in the day had never happened. He stared at her for a moment, then exited, letting the door slam shut behind him.
Dahlia woke the next morning with a crick in her neck. Where was she? She sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. A sofa, small kitchen table, galley kitchen. She was in the apartment above the bookstore. A lemony scent filled the air and she saw a half empty bottle of Citrus Fresh Cleaner on the table, along with a bucket and a few used sponges. Had a cleaning fairy come last night? And why was she in the upstairs apartment?
She stood and the room spun. Marbles bounced around in her brain like a rousing game of H
ungry Hungry Hippos. She lowered herself back onto the couch cushion and leaned back. Memories were resurfacing. The drinks at the bar with her friends, the late-night visit from Garrett and the attack of the green-eyed monster, and then that bottle of Aunt Ruth’s favorite port she’d finished off after he stormed out. No wonder her head throbbed. Clean glasses stood on the drying rack next to the sink, furthering her belief in the cleaning fairy theory. She filled a glass with water and drank deeply, quenching the cotton feeling in her mouth.
Next up was locating some aspirin for her headache. She had some in her purse downstairs, but that entailed moving. She plodded over to the stairs and gripped the railing as she picked her way down. At the foot of the stairs a dustpan and broom were propped against the door to the main floor. As she moved them over to open the door, images flooded in.
After Garrett left, she’d been in a frenzy, determined to make sure the bookstore would be ready to open on Monday as soon as she received her food permit from the county. She wasn’t sure what that had meant to her in her alcohol-induced state, and now she was a bit afraid to find out.
Apparently she’d also delved into Aunt Ruth’s cleaning supplies. Getting the upstairs apartment ready to rent for extra income was imperative if she wanted to keep the business afloat. She remembered scrubbing and polishing the rooms upstairs with the fervor of an electric toothbrush. Tomorrow every muscle in her body would ache, but at least she could check readying the rental apartment off of her list.
She pushed the door open and cringed. Without the curtains, light blared through the window and straight into her eyes. She rubbed her forehead and looked away. The aqua wall looked bare, but in her opinion, cheery, and definitely not something Aunt Ruth would have chosen. She eyed the open space. With a dark wood espresso bar, the black and burgundy coffee cups she’d painted on the wall would stand out and entice customers to wind their way through the store to the back. She smiled. She may not remember all of last night, but it had certainly been productive.