by Diane Moody
“Definitely,” Michelle added. “Trevor has a great collection of first editions, particularly those by New England authors. Lots of history, biographies, that sort of thing. He’s a bit particular about his books, so if you’re looking for Harry Potter or bodice rippers or any of those vampire books, you’ll be out of luck.”
“Clearly, I prefer his taste to those you mentioned,” Olivia said.
Trig draped a dish towel over his shoulder. “It’s a great bookstore, if you can get beyond Trevor.”
“Meaning?”
He refilled her coffee cup. “He’s a bit of an odd duck. Or I guess I should say he’s a bit of a cold fish.”
Michelle backhanded his bicep playfully. “Trig! That’s not nice.”
“Yeah, but get it? Cold fish?”
Michelle leveled her eyes at Olivia. “Trevor’s last name is Bass. My husband finds this hilarious.”
Olivia laughed. “So which is it? Is he an odd duck or a cold fish?”
“Both,” Michelle said. “He’s rough around the edges, but I’m sure there’s a heart somewhere—”
“—under all those fins?”
Michelle snickered. “Stop! Don’t be so rude in front of our guest.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ll find our favorite bookseller to be a real perch of a guy.”
“Trig!”
“A regular cod-mudgeon, if you catch my drift.”
“Enough!” Michelle stood and yanked at his sleeve. “Let the lady eat in peace. Time to put you back to work, Mr. Myers. Let’s go clean your kitchen.”
Trig tossed a wink at Olivia as his wife pulled him toward the kitchen. “Sorry. She wants me to scale back on my fish jokes. Have a fin day, Olivia.” He reeled in an imaginary fish before disappearing around the corner.
Olivia couldn’t help laughing. Her first morning in Caden Cove and she already loved it. With a final sip of coffee, she decided to make Books & Such her first stop and check out the mysterious bookseller.
Main Street was only a couple blocks over from the Captain MacVicar, so Olivia bundled up and headed down the street. The brilliant blue sky overhead warmed her heart despite the chilly temperatures. She took her time, stopping to enjoy the various architectural styles of the historic homes along the way. She tried to imagine what the interiors looked like. Had they retained the original styles or opted for more modern updates? Obviously the people of Caden Cove took pride in their town as every home appeared to be well-kept. She wondered how they might look when the lush colors of spring embellished these neighborhoods.
Maybe I’ll just stick around and see for myself.
She dug her hands deeper into her coat pockets, liking the idea. Which explained the smile she saw reflected in the window of the first shop she came to.
A sign on the door of The Pottery Shoppe read, “See you next spring!”
Next door, a similar sign at Sarah’s Closet read, “Pardon our hibernation.”
The first “Open” sign appeared a couple of doors down at a small souvenir shop. She kept walking, thinking she’d have plenty of time to shop for gifts later. She spotted Molly’s Coffee Shop & Pharmacy at the end of the street and looked forward to meeting the proprietor. But curiosity drove her toward the bookstore.
Rounding the corner, she spotted the quaint shop, pleased to find a brick exterior, a dark green awning, and a handsome carved “Books & Such” sign hanging over the door.
She pulled her knit cap tighter over her ears and crossed the street. The lights glowed from inside the windows like so many warm invitations. She reached for the brass doorknob but found it locked. Only then did she notice the handwritten sign hanging posted in the window: Be back at 1:00.
“Well, that’s no fun,” she muttered, checking her watch. Still, she couldn’t help peeking through the windows. She inhaled, imagining the familiar scent of books and lemon-oil, and perhaps a hint of coffee. She cupped her hands against the window pane, delighted to spot a bricked hearth in the corner with a small fire glowing inside.
She could see rows of bookshelves, potted ivies here and there, comfortable chairs beside lamp-lit tables, and a sliding ladder giving access to higher shelving. Disappointed, she decided to kill some time over at the pharmacy until 1:00.
Moments later bells jingled above her head as the entered the pharmacy and coffee shop.
“Good morning!” a voice called from the back of the store. “Be with you in a jiff.”
“Take your time,” Olivia answered, pulling off her gloves and cap. Stuffing them in her coat pockets, she glanced around the unique shop. Needlepoint pillows, wind chimes, scented candles, bagged coffee, tins of cheese straws and shortbread cookies. The perfect gift shop, including a cluster of tables and chairs near the antique coffee bar. High on the back wall an antique sign lettered in a vintage calligraphy script read, Ye Olde Pharmacy.
“Sorry about that, I was just filling a prescription,” the matronly woman announced as she made her way up the center aisle. “Oh, hello,” she said, seeing Olivia for the first time. “This time of year I always assume my customers are locals. How lovely to see a new face. Welcome. I’m Molly.” She extended her hand and Olivia shook it.
There was something strangely familiar about the friendly pharmacist wearing a lavender-print dress beneath a matching sweater and a string of pearls at her neck. With her elegantly coiffed white hair, tiny wrinkles around her eyes, and a gentle smile gracing her countenance, Olivia felt as if she were looking at the perfect picture of an American grandmother.
“I’m Olivia. Nice to make your acquaintance, Molly. Trig and Michelle over at the Captain MacVicar told me to stop in and meet you.”
“Oh, aren’t they adorable? They bought the inn about eight years ago, and I’ve loved them since the first day we met. Come in, come in, have a seat,” she insisted, motioning toward the coffee bar as she slipped behind the counter. “What do you take in your coffee? First cup is always on the house.”
“How nice of you.” Olivia took a seat on one of the barstools. “Cream, no sugar, thank you.”
“Tell me, Olivia, where do you call home, and how did you find our little corner of the world?”
“I’m from Atlanta, Georgia.”
“Atlanta! My goodness, this must be quite a climate shock for you. Hope you like snow.”
“I love it. We rarely see snow, so I’m thrilled to be here. My best friend and her husband have vacationed here many times. They’re the ones who suggested I come up and visit.”
Molly passed a steaming mug of creamy coffee across the counter to her then filled one for herself. “We have lots of tourists from Georgia, which always surprises me. I would think Southerners would prefer Charleston or Savannah, not New England. But they seem to really enjoy it here.”
“I can see why. It’s a lovely town. So very different from the South.”
Molly took a seat on a stool behind the bar. “Yes, it is. But you must come back sometime when the weather’s nice. Oh, you should see all the flowers in bloom and the sailboats coming and going. It’s just heavenly.”
“I can imagine. In fact, I’ve already had the thought of staying a little longer.”
“Oh? How long are you staying?”
“My reservation is through the end of the month—the twenty-ninth. Funny, but I hadn’t realized until yesterday that it’s a leap year.”
Molly’s eyebrows arched. “Oh? Why, yes . . . the month ends on February twenty-ninth this year.” She studied her finger as it traced along the rim of her coffee cup. “Is this a vacation for you?”
Olivia hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I suppose you’d call it that. I work at a bank, but I’m thinking of taking early retirement. Originally, I’d planned to take a few weeks off, but now I’m wondering why I’d ever want to go back.”
“My goodness! Sounds tempting. Do you have family back in Atlanta?”
“No, it’s just me.”
“Ah.”
&n
bsp; Ever so slightly, Molly’s demeanor changed. Much the same way Michelle’s had changed when Olivia checked in.
“I’m curious,” she asked. “Is there something I should know? Something about leap year here in Caden Cove? Or maybe something about the MacVicar?”
Molly looked up. “What? Oh, no, dear. Not a thing.” She smiled then added, “It’s such a lovely place, the MacVicar. What room are you staying in? If you don’t mind my asking?”
“I’m staying in the one called the Catherine—”
“Prettiest room in the house,” Molly interrupted, still smiling.
“Yes, but I’m curious why . . . well, just now when you—”
“Oh, silly me,” Molly said, standing. “I didn’t even offer you a cookie. These are my famous cranberry macadamia oatmeal cookies.” She lifted the glass dome from a pedestal plate of neatly stacked cookies and used silver tongs to select a large chunky cookie. “Here, you must have one.”
Olivia raised a palm. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly after such a big breakfast at the inn.”
“Oh, of course you did. Well, now. I’ll just put this in a bag for you, then you can have it whenever you want.”
“I can already tell it’s true, what Trig and Michelle said about you.”
Molly straightened. “About me?”
“Yes. They said, and I quote, ‘Meet her, and in five minutes you’ll feel as if you’ve known her all your life.’ They were right.”
Molly slid the cookie into a small wax paper bag then handed it to her. “That’s so sweet of them. The way I see it, we’re all given a few years on this old earth, so we might as well make the best of it. Why waste time carrying a grudge or being grumpy all the time?”
The bell jingled over the door. Olivia turned as a handsome man in a wool coat and gray ivy cap entered the shop.
“Hello, Molly.” He nodded toward the pharmacist, then dashed a quick glance at Olivia before heading down the aisle toward the back.
“Speaking of grumpy,” Molly whispered, patting Olivia’s wrist. “You enjoy your coffee. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Olivia decided to browse the gift area while she sipped her coffee. She wandered the aisles, fascinated by the assortment of locally handmade gifts. As she reached for a uniquely shaped piece of pottery, she turned at the sound of footsteps.
“Pardon me,” the same gentleman said as he approached her.
Olivia smiled in return making room for him to slip by her. A faint whiff of musky cologne drifted in his wake. A moment later the bell jingled again and he was gone.
“There you are.” Molly joined her. “Sorry for the interruption. Trevor stopped by for a prescription.”
“Trevor? The same Trevor who owns the bookstore around the corner?”
“The one and only. I suppose I should have introduced you, but I could tell he was in one of his moods. Why are you smiling like that?”
“Oh, nothing. Just something Trig said this morning.”
“Let me guess.” Molly grinned. “The fish jokes, right?”
“They were so bad, but I couldn’t help laughing! Is Mr. Bass really as stuffy as they implied?”
Molly motioned her back toward the coffee bar. “Oh, goodness, no. Trevor’s harmless. He’s just one of those guys who likes what he likes, disdains what he doesn’t, and isn’t hesitant to speak his mind. You just have to get to know him. Unfortunately, most of our tourists find him less than amiable, but they still visit his shop.”
“Something tells me there’s a story in all this.”
Molly wiped down the counter. “Not really. Honestly, all kidding aside, he’s really a quite interesting young man.”
“Young? He didn’t look that young to me. I’m guessing he’s forty-five? Fifty?”
“The oldest forty-something you’ll ever meet—forty-seven going on seventy, if you ask me. His birthday was just a few weeks ago. We had a little party for him at last month’s book club.” She paused and looked up at Olivia. “You should come! Book club meets tomorrow night. We’d be delighted to have you join us.”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t want to impose. Especially since I haven’t read whatever book you’ve all read.”
“Nonsense. Doesn’t matter. It’ll be fun! We read Maeve Binchy’s book, Minding Frankie. Ever read it?”
“I love Maeve Binchy! I’ve read all her books.”
“Then I insist. Tomorrow night at seven.”
“You sure he won’t mind?”
“Oh, he’ll mind. That’ll be half the fun!”
Chapter 5
Half an hour later, Olivia took a deep breath before opening the door to Books & Such. Just as she expected, a mixture of pleasing scents wafted through the cozy bookstore. As she closed the door behind her, she heard strains of a familiar Vivaldi tune playing softly in the background. Once again pulling off her gloves, she turned to peruse the books displayed on a round table just inside the door. A paisley tablecloth in hues of deep red, navy, and hunter green hosted titles by David McCullough, Jan Karon, David Balducci, and of course, Maeve Binchy. She reached for the copy of Minding Frankie, recalling Molly’s invitation.
“Not her best, but an interesting read nonetheless.”
His voice startled her, though she knew instantly it was Trevor Bass.
“Oh, hello. Again. I’m the . . . I just saw you over at . . . when you—”
“Molly’s. Yes. I remember. Middle aisle. Georgiana’s sculptures. A little strange for my taste, but tourists seem to like them.” A touch of arrogance seemed to lift his brow.
Olivia smiled, not quite sure how to respond. It was her first good look at him. She was surprised to find a gentleness in his expression as the arrogance slowly dissipated. A few wisps of gray hovered near his temples complementing a neatly trimmed head of dark brown hair. A day’s growth lined his jaw, much of it gray. A line or two here and there graced features she found altogether pleasant.
“It’s too early for tourists.” He pulled a leather-bound volume off the shelf nearest him and slid it into a different place with the others. “You’re not one of the locals, so I assume you’re a guest in our little town.”
Again, she paused before answering. “Yes. I mean, no. That is to say, I’m not a local. I’m just . . . visiting. Yes. A little getaway. Well, not just a getaway. I’m staying a few weeks . . . three, actually.” She smiled, begging her mouth to stop the babbling deluge. “Three weeks.”
His eyes narrowed a bit. He studied her while straightening more of his books.
“Actually, it’s one of my favorites,” she continued, setting the Binchy book back on its stand. “Scarlet Feather is probably my favorite. Maeve Binchy is amazing. I love the depth of her characters. By the end of the book, it’s as if you know each of them personally. I was really saddened to hear she passed away last year.”
He nodded, but said nothing. She waited, thinking he might say something about the book club, possibly even invite her. Or not. The silence felt uncomfortably awkward. “You have a lovely bookstore. I peeked through the window earlier while you were out.”
He turned to face her, his hands still aligning books on the shelf. “Yes, I was out showing some property.”
“Oh? You’re also a realtor?”
He blinked and furrowed his brow just so. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
Now it was Olivia’s turn to blink. The encounter felt more like a ping pong match than a conversation. “No reason. Just curious.” She flashed a tight smile, waiting for him to respond.
Finally, he dusted his hands together. “Yes, well. Feel free to browse,” he said, stepping past her. “If there’s anything I can help you with, let me know.” He was halfway to the back of the shop before she could answer.
“Thanks.” Olivia bit back a smile. “I think?” she muttered under her breath.
She browsed the aisles, enjoying the ambiance in spite of him. Creaking hardwood floors, creative book displays, and a crackling fire against
the backdrop of classical music. Perfect. Between the rows of books in the history section, she caught a glimpse of Trevor seated behind a counter at the rear of the shop. When he reached up to rake his fingers through his thick hair, she noted his ring finger was bare.
What’s your story, Mr. Bass? Why’s a guy like you not—
Olivia winced at the thought. How many times had people asked her that same question? How come such a pretty woman like you hasn’t settled down and married? The first thousand times, she’d ground her teeth together and tamped down the snarky responses lurking through her head. But at forty-five, she’d long grown weary of it all, choosing to chalk it up to ignorance on their part and let it go.
Yet here she was, pondering the same ignorant question about the bookseller.
Shame on you.
“What’s that?”
She ducked behind the books. Did I say that out loud?
The sound of his chair scooting against the hardwood floor sent a sickening dread through her. Trevor leaned around the end of the row. “Did you say something?”
“No! No.” She shrugged innocence and shook her head. “Wasn’t me.”
“Yes, but I’m pretty sure I heard you say, ‘shame on you.’” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his corduroy slacks as he ambled closer.
“You did?”
“Yes. There’s only you and me here in the store.”
She swallowed hard, feeling the heat glowing in her face. Suddenly, something slapped against her leg.
“AHHH!” she cried, launching herself right into his arms. “What was—”
“Charlie, sit!”
By the time Olivia realized an animal had joined them, she was already extracting herself from his arms. “I’m so sorry! I felt something on my leg and I . . . well, it startled me! I’m so sorry.”
“No, I’m the one who should apologize. I assure you, Charlie’s quite harmless.” He leaned down, scratching the spaniel behind the ear. “I’m sorry she frightened you.”
Olivia tried to calm her racing heart. “She?”