And she had Boone, who’d help her. Boone, her new friend who made her think she could, in fact, pull off this show—even without a theater. She’d find a way to show her appreciation. Give back to him the way he’d given to her. She wasn’t surprised when they’d finished lunch that he’d decided to go back to the football field while she’d headed off to Wild Harbor for her shift.
The bookstore resided in a remodeled Victorian house, complete with elegant peonies blooming along the stone walkway and a front porch that beckoned readers to slow down.
Vivien hopped up the steps, frowning at her own flyer with the playhouse still listed on it. First things first. She needed a location for auditions.
Inside the heavy wooden door, the bookstore smelled like fresh print, hours-old coffee, and Mona’s famous chocolate chip cookies. The sweet treats reminded her of Boone. How painful the consumption of her garden pizza had been for him.
She had to hand it to him, though. He had some good acting chops. By the end, he’d actually pretended to like it. He’d probably eaten worse in the Army at some point. Well, clearly the man needed someone to look out for him because he wasn’t very good at doing it for himself. Not if his job and his health were now on the line.
Vivien found Mona chatting with a few customers and waited her turn. It seemed they were looking for exactly the right book for a twelve-year-old girl who loved horses. And, as usual, Mona knew precisely where to direct them.
She left them to peruse her recommendations and turned to Vivien. “Good morning.” Mona wore her blonde hair down and the bold print of her T-shirt said “Reading is my superpower.”
“Good morning.” Vivien hugged Mona. “Tell me—how’s Joe’s latest manuscript coming along?”
Mona beamed, her green eyes bright. “He’s on his final edits. Thanks for asking.”
“Of course.” She gave Mona another gentle squeeze before letting go. “I was wondering if we could use the bookstore to hold auditions for the community theater show. After hours, of course. It’s scheduled for tomorrow night.”
“Let me check our calendar. Every so often we schedule an evening book reading.”
“Thanks.” Vivien followed Mona to her desk.
“Is that the one you ordered scripts for?” She began typing on her keyboard.
“It is. Did they arrive?”
“They just came in this morning.” She paused, looking at her computer screen. “Okay, it looks like we can make that work. I’m actually closing early tomorrow so Joe and I can eat with Gabe at the Garden.” She opened a desk drawer and fumbled through a cache of paper clips, notepads, and enough pens to fill an office supply store. Mona pressed her lips together in focus. “Oh, that’s right.” She closed the drawer. “You’ll have to get the key from Ella Bradley’s soap shop. I gave her my spare.”
Vivien looked over toward the open doorway into the other business the Victorian held. The drone of a power tool starting up cut through the quiet of the bookstore. “Sounds like she’s in.”
Mona laughed. “Yeah. Adrian’s helping her with some work, but the shop’s still open.”
“I don’t need a hard hat?” Vivien shot a glance toward the doorway and pressed her hand against her chest in dramatic fashion.
Mona laughed. “I think you’ll be fine.”
“Perfect. The last thing I need today is hat hair.”
“Right? That’s the worst.”
Vivien picked up an upside-down bookmark from the display on the counter and placed it back right side up. “I really appreciate you letting me use the bookstore. Thank you.”
“Well, I’m glad I can help. Let me grab those scripts for you.”
Mona returned moments later and handed off the small box of scripts.
Vivien walked over to the new shop, Essentially Ella’s, which resided in the former parlor of the old house. Instead of the earthy smell of clay from the last resident—potter Liza Beaumont, now Young—the lively scents of lemon and rosemary filled the space.
It looked less like a construction zone than it sounded. Ella’s boyfriend, Adrian Vassos, stood running a power drill while Ella held a shelf in place, her blonde hair up in a ponytail.
Vivien waited for a pause in the noise before interjecting, “Hello?”
The pair turned in unison and Ella smiled. “Hi. Don’t mind us, just a little shopkeeping.”
“This looks fantastic.” Vivien admired a nearby display of organic products. “By the way, I’m in love with the shampoo I picked up last month.”
Ella smiled, her blue eyes bright with appreciation. “Thank you, Vivie. What brings you by today?” She released the shelf now mounted on the wall and wiped her hands, leaving a trail of sawdust on her jeans.
“Mona said I could pick up the spare front door key from you. We’re going to hold auditions here at the bookstore tomorrow.”
Ella swatted the dust from her jeans. “Sure. I heard something happened with the playhouse.” She walked toward the counter with the cash register. “That’s really unfortunate.”
Vivien frowned at the memory of Gordy’s steaming, red face. “It is. My friend Boone and I have been looking for a new location.”
Adrian set down his drill, his eyebrows raised. “Boone Buckam? Helping with a play?”
Vivie turned her attention to Adrian. “Yes. You know him?”
“A bit. We’re both from Kellogg. I may have been stopped by him in his professional capacity a time or two.”
“Oh, is that so?” Vivien gave Ella a conspiratorial wink and put a hand on her hip.
“He does like cars. I think he just wanted to check out the Porsche.” He set his level on the shelf and took a step over to check the bubbles. “I’m sure I wasn’t speeding.”
“Right.”
“Here’s the key.” Ella dropped it into Vivien’s hand. “I’m thinking I may show up and audition too.”
“That would be incredible. I’d love to have you.” She turned back to Adrian. “What about you? There’s a great male lead that could use a guy like you.” She sized up the man, who looked rather Deep Haven-y in his jeans, flannel work shirt, and Lowa boots.
“Oh, no, not me.” Adrian pulled a hair band from his pocket, gathered his long, dark hair off his face, and wrapped the band into place.
“It’s not too late to change your mind. You can think about it overnight.”
“No, really.”
“Well, you should probably fill me in on all the need-to-know stats of Detective Buckam.”
Adrian paused. “He’s got a few years on me, but you know—” He gestured at the space around him. “Even Kellogg, despite being bigger than Deep Haven, still has a small-town gossip network. Boone was a regular feature.”
Yes, she knew exactly. And she’d bet Mr. Vassos knew more helpful nuggets than he realized. Adrian’s words confirmed her guess that Boone was likely in his mid-thirties.
She put a hand on her hip and smiled. “So, what’s his story? He seems a little lost without his job.” She thought of his offer to help her with the play. Obviously, he was desperate for something to do. “It’s like the man has never actually taken a vacation in his life. And, you know, he’s not married.” Which still seemed like a very curious detail, even if she had used it to her advantage at Fish Pic.
Adrian picked up his measuring tape and marked off increments on the wall. “I know he had a high school sweetheart named PJ. Something happened their senior year and she left town.”
Well, how very interesting. “Do you know what happened?”
Adrian set down the measuring tape. “Well…”
Vivien clasped her hands together. Gave her best look of earnestness. “It’s okay. You can tell me. I’m just—worried about him.” She looked around the empty shop and gestured toward Ella and herself. “This is just between us.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Vivie.”
“It’s for his own good.”
Adrian blew out a breath. “The way I heard it, sh
e got into trouble. They burned down a building at the country club my dad belonged to.”
“They burned down a building?” Oh my. But there was not a single chance on earth that Mr. Law and Order would have burned down a building. “No way. That can’t be right.”
Adrian shrugged. “It’s what I heard. My dad was pretty upset about it at the time. And Boone’s dad was the director of the country club, so…you can imagine…”
“Are we talking arson? Did anyone go to jail?”
“Whoa. Slow down, High Speed. It was apparently accidental. She came back to town ten years later and he put a letter in the paper claiming responsibility for the fire, but that’s all I know.”
“So, she came back to town?” There was an unexpected little plot twist.
“Yeah. But she ended up with someone else.” Adrian grabbed his water bottle and took a drink. “Poor guy. I heard she even turned down Boone’s marriage proposal. PJ moved on, but it seems like the guy’s been stuck.”
Ouch. What kind of madness must have consumed a woman who would turn down a marriage proposal from Mr. Blue Eyes? Of course, if she was the real troublemaker—and Vivien had zero doubt that she wasn’t—then she didn’t belong with Boone anyway.
“You don’t say.” Vivien rubbed the dull ache in her chest. No wonder he was still single. He was nursing a broken heart. And yet, this PJ woman was clearly no good for him. No good at all. Had he not figured that out yet?
Vivien did the quick math, clarity striking her brighter than a spotlight. Detective Buckam was in need of a relationship rescue. A little summer romance to heal his heart and the great outdoors to heal his body. Someone without drama. Without baggage.
Definitely not her. Ree was right. She had said she was done dating. She had no room in her life for any romance or the risks that came with it. Besides, she’d learned the hard way it was never good to mix work and romance. She was done letting history repeat itself.
She flipped through her mental Rolodex of eligible women. Not just any woman would do for Boone. He had health issues to take into consideration. A sordid past with a questionable troublemaker.
And then, a brilliant epiphany. The best-made match possible. Yes.
Bethany Strauss.
Beth, who worked in the library and had likely shelved multiple books in the wrong location while they were hanging flyers because she could hardly keep her eyes off Boone. Beth, who also happened to be her coworker at Wild Harbor Trading Post, and by the way who also taught kayaking. Beth—petite, mousy, kind, and utterly boring. Well, unexciting. In the best of ways, of course.
Yes, yes, yes. Beth was exactly the right person for Boone.
Vivien waved the key. “Thank you both, very much. You’ve been incredibly helpful.” She embraced Ella. “By the way, I absolutely love your pink Converse. I have a pair of leopard-print ones buried in my closet somewhere. I need to pull those out.”
“Oh. Thanks.” Ella laughed with surprise. “You should. Those would totally suit you.”
“You guys are the best.”
“Sounds like we’ll see you tomorrow night,” Adrian said.
“I look forward to it!”
Vivien walked out, a lightness in her steps. The birds were singing. The sun was shining.
Commence Operation Summer Love.
Chapter 5
Apprehension curled up Boone’s spine. Oh, this counseling appointment would be fun. Not only had his bookmark not budged in the four days he’d been in Deep Haven, but he also had to prove to Rachelle Newman that he took his health—and his career—seriously.
He was fine, thank you very much.
In fact, he’d even jumped in with Caleb and Seb to run drills at football practice Tuesday evening. Worked with the quarterback, the backups, and receivers. Okay, so he hadn’t meant to lecture them, but he could tell they were seeing themselves as underdogs. They were setting themselves up for failure in their minds before they even faced their first game.
So, he’d given them a little pep talk. And maybe, just maybe, it would sink in a little. Shift their thinking.
He parked his car outside the counseling office—a one-story, mustard-yellow ranch converted to commercial space.
His phone buzzed and he pulled it from his pocket. “Hey, Dad.”
“Hi. I saw Steve Landry golfing at the club last night. Thought I’d give Kellogg’s next police chief a call and see how his vacation is going.” He suspected his dad stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of his country club office, staring out across the green. Probably wearing his usual tan trousers and polo shirt, the latter stretched tight against his girth.
No pressure there. Of course he’d call it a vacation. He wouldn’t want to admit the truth of it to anyone—that his so-called son was anything less than the poster boy of perfection. Okay, so Boone had maybe called it a vacation too, to save face.
“I’m doing fine.”
“I always knew you’d work your way to the top. It looks like they’ve already got it posted and it closes in two weeks.” His voice swelled with pride.
Maybe as police chief, Boone would finally be worthy to be called the son of Roger Buckam. Being in his thirties, it shouldn’t matter anymore, but…well, old hopes were hard to shake.
Caleb’s words from Sunday nudged him in the cool morning air. I’ve learned you have to embrace the life you have, not the one you expected you’d have—or the one others expect you to have.
“Thanks for letting me know.” He could probably use the library’s computers to complete and submit his application.
“You bet. I’ve got to get going. Need to find maintenance to look into a gopher issue near the ninth hole. Take care.”
“You too.” Boone hung up and mentally added the library to his to-do list for the day.
The door chimed when he entered and he sat down on the couch in the front room. A woman with gray hair swept into a pile on top of her head came down the hallway. She wore bright white walking shoes with her gray trousers and light blue button-up like she’d just returned from a power walk.
She smiled, her brown eyes bright. There was no mistaking the family resemblance between her and the chief, though. She extended a hand. “You must be Daniel.”
“Ms. Newman.” He stood and shook her hand. “Please, call me Boone.”
She nodded. “You can call me Rachelle. Come on back.” She led him down the hall, past several other offices to the last room, flipped the With Patient sign on the door, and pulled it closed behind her.
Patient? He wasn’t a patient.
He should turn around and walk right back out. Except, his job—his future—depended on this. And more than anything, he wanted to get back to his life that’d nearly been derailed.
So, he’d do all the things. And he’d do them well.
The space was simply appointed with two overstuffed armchairs on either side of an end table taking up half the space. The table held a large vase of fresh black-eyed Susans and Shasta daisies. A box of tissues sat juxtaposed to the bright blooms. The other half of the office was anchored by an imposing wood desk. Ms. Newman grabbed a file from its tidy surface, took a seat in the far armchair, and gestured for him to sit in the matching one.
“So, how has your morning been?”
“Good.” He smiled. Convincing. “Went for an early run.”
“That’s great to hear.” She smiled, soft and kind. “You’ve been in town a few days now. How has that been?”
“I think it’s gone well.” He shifted in his seat. “I enjoyed the car show.” Hopefully Ms. Newman hadn’t seen him in the car show.
“I was wondering if that was you with Vivien Calhoun.”
Oops. No joy there. He rubbed his palms down his thighs. “A new friend.”
“New friends are good.” She angled a look at him. “That’s a beautiful Mustang you’ve got. Steve had mentioned it to me.”
“Thank you.” Cars he could talk about all day. “As long as I baby
her, she does well.”
“Did you restore the car yourself?”
“I did.”
“Very nice.” She cleared her throat and he knew the pleasantries were over. No more car talk. Time to dig in, emotionally eviscerate him. “Let’s talk about what brings you to Deep Haven. The information I have is that there was a situation involving an elderly woman.”
Situation. “She was murdered.” He leaned forward, clasped his hands together in front of himself. “I was arresting the suspect and he resisted.” He paused. Rachelle said nothing, as if waiting for more. “I was hit with an excessive force lawsuit.” He sat back in his chair. “I was cleared of any wrongdoing by an independent investigation and the civil lawsuit was withdrawn when the video evidence was made public.”
“Do you feel like you made the right choices?”
“Yes. I followed my training. And the fact that the murderer would try to accuse me made me—” He stopped speaking, unable to keep the steel out of his voice. “Angry.” Oh, and there he went, painting himself like a madman.
“Angry?”
“Justifiably so.”
“Law enforcement is a high-stress job. Do you have techniques to decompress? To manage your anger—whether it’s justified or not?”
He remained silent, stilled by a realization. She was treating him like a patient.
“Boone?”
He shifted in the chair. “It used to be working on my car.”
“And since the car’s been restored?”
He looked up at her. “I put my energy into work, where it should be. To be the absolute best.”
She nodded, as if his answer didn’t surprise her. “What is it that tells you that perfection is the only acceptable result?”
“I don’t know.” He rubbed his palms together. “It has its rewards. Rewards are good.” People didn’t die.
She gave him a slow nod. “What would happen if you let things go sometimes?”
He lifted a shoulder.
“Sometimes we use perfectionism as a means to control how we are perceived in the world. By others, by ourselves. Do you feel like you need to control your life?”
Then Came You Page 8