“Anyway, I best be letting you get on.”
“Wait, Penny.” When she turned back to me, eyebrows raised in question, I hesitated. What I wanted to ask wasn’t really my business, but I couldn’t help my curiosity. “I heard you’re selling this place, is that true?”
Her expression tightened.
“Sorry, not my business.”
Sighing, she turned fully toward me. “It’s all right. Aye, I’ve been thinking about selling it.”
“But why?”
Penny laughed at my nosiness. It wasn’t a happy sound. “Oh, pet, it’s complicated.”
“Do you want to sell it? Is it not financially viable?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I cursed myself. “God, I am nosy.”
This time when she laughed, it sounded genuine. “Aye, you are.” She glanced around at the shop. “The bookstore itself makes enough during the summer months to tide me over for the whole year. It’s the renting it out that really makes the cash, though.”
“Then why sell?”
We locked gazes, hers strangely intense as she replied softly, “Everyone has asked that, and I just tell them that it’s time, but the truth is, I’m not sure. Time for what? My sister lives in Australia, and she thinks I’m wasting what’s left of my life in a small village where I can’t meet anyone. She wants me out there with her. She thinks I can’t move on from Arthur if I stay here. I’m not sure she’s right. But I’m not sure she’s wrong.”
Sympathy ached in my chest as we stood quietly for a moment. Then I asked, “Are you happy here, Penny?”
Her sigh was heavy, weighed down. “With the business, aye. And I love the people, my friends . . . but I think . . .” She trailed off, lowering her gaze.
“You think?”
Her small smile was chagrined. “Maybe I am lonely.” Her eyes widened as soon as the words were out of her mouth, and she suddenly gave a bark of confused laughter. “Now how did I end up telling you that?”
My answering smile was kind. “Because maybe you needed someone to tell.” I stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on Penny’s shoulder. “Follow your gut. I followed mine here and I already know it’s the best decision I’ve made in years.”
* * *
• • •
After lunch I began working on my new display. I moved everything from the top shelves of the front-facing bookcase to the two bottom shelves, and then took out the copies of Shakespeare that Penny had in stock. There were a few more copies of his completed works in the storeroom, so I brought those out too. She had multiple copies of Much Ado About Nothing, which made sense since the store name was clearly inspired by it.
For a while I stared at what I had, trying to figure out what I wanted to do with this display.
Flicking through plays to pull out quotes, I realized that I’d only ever read Much Ado About Nothing once, and before I knew it, I was standing in front of the bookcase, engrossed in the play. I decided Hero was an awesome name for a little girl, but that Shakespeare did her a disservice by matching her with Claudio in the end. Claudio believed the deception of Don John and Borachio, who convinced everyone that Hero had had sex with another guy before her wedding to Claudio. Claudio humiliated her at the altar, her family convinced everyone she died of shock and grief, and when her innocence was finally proven, they forced a devastated Claudio to marry her “cousin,” only for her cousin to be revealed as Hero. And they lived happily ever after.
“Bad call, Will,” I muttered, closing the play. Claudio was undeserving of Hero. He was supposed to love her and yet he believed the deceptions of others over her. And then she was just supposed to be happy she got to marry him in the end? Nope. I preferred the other couple in Much Ado About Nothing: Benedick and Beatrice. They were hilarious together, trading barbs and witticisms, until their friends decided to play matchmaking tricks to get them to admit they were actually in love. Plus, Beatrice was badass. Not only did she banter as well as Benedick, but she was a feminist of her day, not wanting to marry where she didn’t love, or be a pawn in the games of men; furious at Claudio on Hero’s behalf, wishing she weren’t constrained by the trappings of gender so she could avenge Hero like only a man could back then.
The play was all about deception. Hero’s story was actually tragic and yet it had been depicted as a romantic comedy. But I guess that was me thinking as a twenty-first-century woman.
Or maybe I was just too unforgiving?
“Renegades” by X Ambassadors suddenly blasted into the room, jolting me from my musings and my untouched display. The song was my ringtone.