She hung up soon after that. To be honest, I didn’t open until nine, but if she’d dropped off the journals during the evening hours, then that probably meant she worked a nine-to-five job. I told myself I gave her an earlier time to make things easier, but if I were truly honest with myself, I’d say it had more to do with my wanting to see her again than anything else.
With my mind worlds away, I finished dinner without tasting a bite. My thoughts were on the lovely woman who walked into my shop a week before and the journals she’d kept over the years. She spoke fondly of the one behind the journals, and yet, there was a great sadness there as well, one of which I couldn’t ignore.
Maybe it was because I was still working through my own loss, but a big part of me wanted to help her navigate the turbulent waters of whatever she was going through. Seeing as she was cleaning out her mother’s things, I had a feeling her loss was a recent one. If I couldn’t find a good place for her books, the least I could do was be there as a friend.
Opening up at eight in the morning was a lot harder than I remembered. With the sky being as heavy and overcast as it was, getting out of bed was a challenge. Still, with the promise of seeing Cass again, I managed to make myself somewhat presentable before heading into the shop. Granted, I probably
should’ve grabbed something to eat on the way in because by ten o’ clock, I was starved.
Between Cass’ visit and my growling stomach, focusing on work was close to impossible. After updating the inventory and pricing some new books that had come in, I was still lagging behind. I should’ve been done with unpacking the new shipments by now, but each time I looked at them, all I could think abou
t was Cass and her journals.
I’m not usually one to obsess over things, especially ones I don’t understand, but for whatever reason, my mind refused to let it go. My sister would’ve laughed in my face, and to be honest, I was doing the same exact thing. Work came first.
There was no getting around it. If I didn’t make the shop as presentable as possible, it could mean losing a sale. So, after a hard self-talk, I busied myself with things that didn’t need my attention like washing the front window.
I’d washed it the other day. There was no dust on the windowsill and no fingerprints on the glass. I cleaned it anyway, using it as an excuse to look up and down the street for anyone with red hair. Very few people walked the streets, and none of them came inside the shop.
My heart dropped. The harder I fought to keep the shop up and running, the harder things became. In the winter, I excused the slow business because of the cold. In the spring, I blamed it on the rain. When summer came around, I insisted it was because folks had gone on vacation and were out of town.
But now, with the cold season being as bitter as the last…
“Maybe it’s me,” I said, turning away from the front window once I was through.
My sister would never say it to my face but she’d probably agree. I was fighting to hold on to an idea from a previous lifetime. Like it or not, I’d eventually have to upgrade and move on with everyone else, but as I looked around the shop at all of the physical copies on the shelves that no one else had the desire to open, I knew I couldn’t give up. Not yet.
There were other people out there like me who loved the smell of a good book and the feeling of paper and ink under their fingertips, I just hadn’t found them yet.
“Hello?”
Nestled in the children’s section, I was almost finished putting a new selection of books out on one of the tables when the same voice I’d heard on the phone the night before reached my ears. At first, I thought I was imagining things, but as soon as she rounded the corner, I knew the voice belonged to her.
Unlike her last visit, her face was clearly visible, her scarf pulled away from her lips so it hung loosely around her neck.
With no hat to speak of, her hair went all the way down to the middle of her back, the long red tresses full of waves and curls.
“I can’t believe it,” I said, getting to my feet. “You’re Cassidy Blake.” Writer. Singer. She’d done it all. I knew she sounded familiar, but I never thought I’d have a celebrity inside my shop let alone one who clearly used to live in the area. “I didn’t know you were from Bakerdale.”
She passed me a small smile, then ran a hand through her hair, pushing it away from her eyes. “It’s been a long time,”
she admitted, her voice tighter than usual.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized, composing myself before my fangirling got the better of me. “It just came as a surprise.”
According to what I’d read about her, she rarely went out in public. If she did, she went incognito, which was exactly what she’d done the week before.
“I prefer to be treated like a human being whenever possible. Folks aren’t themselves around me unless I’m in hiding.” She lowered her voice even though we were the only ones inside my shop. “It also gives me a break from my manager, which I desperately need.”
“Well, thank goodness for that. We all need a break sometimes.”
She nodded in agreement, but her smile from before was no longer there. “I left the box of books on the front counter. I
hope that’s okay.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” I said, taking one last look at my handiwork before walking toward the front of the shop again.
“I like to rotate books whenever I can. The bears had been on display long enough.”