that seemed to plague me.
I rested my head against the back of the sofa, recalling the conversation with Gerald. “I had a lovely gentleman call and offer me his wife’s book collection for my reading room. She’s passed on…” My voice broke as I thought of Gloria.
Missy eyed me for a moment and said softly, “Must be a mighty fine collection all right — only the best go into that room.”
The reading room was my own personal library. It was filled with books that meant something to me, or that had changed the way I viewed the world. Anyone could sit in there and read, but the books weren’t for sale. Now, though, I’d take those volumes home and Gloria’s books would take pride of place.
“Yes,” I said. “It’s time for a shake-up. I thought I might rearrange the shop, maybe organize a weekend away or something. I just feel like…change.”
Missy arched an eyebrow, and stopped her furious scissoring. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Did you just say you’d rearrange the shop?”
“I did.”
“And the C word? Change? What’s brought this on? I know you, and change isn’t in your vocabulary.”
I laughed at Missy’s reaction. Change was so alien to me, it was almost another language. I was a staunch fan of the ‘if it’s not broke — don’t fix it’ mentality. Missy ran her hands through her client’s hair, fluffing it up. “I’ll just blow-dry Lettie’s hair, and then we can have a proper girl chat — what do you say?”
Lettie piped up, “Don’t mind me, gals. I’m enjoying this.”
Missy threw her head back and hooted. “I’m sure you are, Miss Lettie. Shame I’m about to drown out any conversation with this little beauty.” She winked at me and pulled out a hairdryer. The whooshing sound prevented us from talking, so I walked out back and made a pot of tea. When I returned Lettie was gone and Missy was sweeping up piles of golden-blond hair from around the chair.
She rested the broom against the mirror and said, “What’s this really about?”
I poured tea in two dainty but mismatched cups, and handed one to Missy.
“The gentleman who called told me the most incredible story about his wife, and their relationship…and seeing Lil and Damon every morning, kissing like their life depends upon it, I just feel a little lost. Dormant. Maybe nothing happens to me because I don’t try hard enough.” The words fell from my lips before I could edit them.
Missy clucked her tongue. “Oh, Sarah, you don’t need to try. You’re perfect just the way you are, and the quicker you see that, the better.” She sashayed over to me and joined me on the sofa. “I think broadening your horizons is a great idea but don’t go changing who you are.”
“I won’t,” I promised. “It’s time for this little bookworm to scramble from the pages for a few days, at least.”
Missy leaned in to hug me. “Who knows? Maybe you won’t need to. Maybe change will blow in on the wind under the guise of a six-foot-tall, dark, and handsome stranger.”
“You romantic, you,” I said, and rested my head on her shoulder.
***
Later that day, I was finishing an order for a client who collected old comics, when Mary-Rose, a regular, walked in. She worked down the street a way, selling aromatic candles, and beautiful bath products.
“You literally smell like peaches, Mary-Rose,” I said.
“I’ve just made a batch of peaches and cream bath bombs. The whole shop smells divine!”
Mary-Rose made everything from scratch using natural products; often the scent would meld its way down the street, having us scurry up to see what concoction she’d made this time. “I’m still in love with the marshmallow bath bombs. They make my whole house smell gorgeous for days after. You’re an alchemist.”
Mary-Rose grinned. “That’s what I keep telling Paul, but will he listen? No!”
Paul was Mary-Rose’s husband, who originally told her it was preposterous opening up a bath shop in Ashford. That she’d go broke before the first week was out. But she hadn’t. It seemed the townsfolk of Ashford adored her products, and what girl didn’t like smelling as if she’d just bathed in a tub of peaches?
“Paul will work it out eventually, once you’re sunning yourself in Spain, a holiday paid with the profits!”
“Wouldn’t that be something?” she said longingly before shaking her head. “Must not think of Spain. I’ll get the worst hankering for tapas and I’m not likely to find them around here, unless I get Lil to expressly cater them for me. Now, I’m looking for a book.”
“What kind of book?” I moved around the counter.
Mary-Rose scratched her chin. “It’s got a red cover.”
I tried to keep the grin off my face. “A red cover, right. Do you know the title?”
“Hmm, no.”
“The author? Or genre?”
Mary-Rose crossed her arms, and gazed around the shop. “Well, no…I think it might be classed as romance, but it could also be family saga.”
It never ceased to amaze me when customers enquired about a book they wanted purely based on the color of the cover. As though there were only a few books in all the world with a red cover, and it was just a matter of narrowing it down.
“Family saga, well, let’s start there,” I said. “Come down the back, Mary-Rose. I think I have just the book you’re after.”
I’m sure the books rustled in anticipation, and somehow we found the mysterious red-covered volume Mary-Rose was searching for. That was the inexplicable magic books held over us mere mortals.
***
After a long night at the kitchen table poring over the paperwork for the bookshop, I’d eventually given up, and gone to bed with a regency romance. Debonair heroes were just what the doctor ordered, and I’d ended up finishing the book just as midnight struck.
I’d fallen into a restless sleep, dreaming about my life and how to make the bookshop a little more successful. Words flashed through my mind, until I plucked a couple from my dream. Book blogging. It couldn’t hurt to start a blog, discussing my love of books, and what the bookshop had in stock. Maybe I’d review books as I read them. Start discussions on the latest trends, including the popularity of the eBook. I knew there were a lot of books being published that were only in digital format, and, being a voracious reader, I didn’t want to miss out purely because they weren’t in paper form. Either way, a daily blog post could only help the bookshop, and who knew what might come of it? Energized, I got up in the pre-dawn darkness and dressed for another day at the bookshop.
***
“Book blogging?” Missy cried. “That’s about the greatest thing I’ve ever heard of! I follow a bunch of lifestyle blogs, and they’re great! I can’t believe we haven’t thought of this before.” Her forehead furrowed. “At any rate, it’s not too
