Сьюзен Виггз - The Lost and Found Bookshop

“Maybe you’d like to join our book club,” she suggested, scribbling something on the back of a business card. “We meet the first Thursday of every month.”

“Hey, that’s nice of you to ask,” he said. “Unfortunately, all my Thursdays are booked.”

She cocked her head and silently questioned him.

“I play in a band, and Thursdays are practice nights for us.”

“You’re a musician.” She sent him a melting look.

He grinned. “I’ve been accused of worse.”

He was in a band. For some reason, Natalie resented the fact that these flirty women were getting to know him better and more quickly than she had. Then she felt ridiculous for feeling that way. What he did when he wasn’t repairing her shop was none of her business.

“So do you play locally, or . . . ?”

“We do, yeah. The group’s called Trial and Error. I think the next gig is at the Smoke and Fog Tavern.”

“I love going to live music. Maybe we’ll check it out,” the woman said, tapping a note into her phone. With a lingering look at Peach, she smiled, then turned away. She and her friend left with their purchases.

Natalie let out a sigh and started to straighten the table display. Though grateful for the flurry of sales, she reflected that getting a few bucks in the till should not have to be so hard. She glanced at Peach. “Hey, thanks for your help. They almost left empty-handed. That was some quick thinking.”

He went back to feeding some electrical wires through a long tube in the wall. “Glad to be of service.”

“If I could afford you, I’d add you to the staff.”

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “You’re the bookseller, not me.”

“My bookselling skills are rusty,” she admitted. “I need to up my game. I used to be pretty good at it, back when I worked here through high school and summers in college. Never thought I’d be at it again, though. Used to be, we could recommend a book, and the customer would buy it and go home happy. Nowadays, we recommend a book, and they might buy it, just not from us.”

“Because of online sales?”

“And digital downloads. And gigantic volume discounts from the big club stores. It’s hard to compete, day in and day out. And yet, here I am. Crazy, huh?”

He connected the wires to a wall outlet. “I’ve seen crazier.”

“You don’t have to buy the Stacy Kendall if you don’t want.”

“I want. It wasn’t a stunt, Natalie. I like reading and it sounds like a hell of a book. I read all the time growing up, and even more when I was in the service, overseas.”

“In that case, thank you, and you’re getting the employee discount.” She finished with the display on the main table, then put away the Mark Twain book.

She heard Peach’s phone ping. He glanced at a text message, and something about it made his ears turn bright red.

“You got a text from one of the book club women, didn’t you?” she asked.

The ears turned a deeper shade of red.

“Oh my God, I’m right.”

“Don’t you have bookkeeping to do? Or book shelving?” He turned his back and resumed working.

He probably got that a lot, she speculated. Women were drawn to guys who looked like that in a pair of jeans, and who were good at fixing things. And this one played in a band. The trifecta of attractiveness. She wondered how he would respond to the text. Sorry, I’m married ?

She hoped he would. Please don’t be a cheater , she silently urged him. Don’t shatter my illusions about you.

* * *

On the Saturday of the Quill Ransom book signing, the sun shone with the kind of golden clarity that made people fall in love with San Francisco in autumn. Natalie had worked tirelessly to prepare: a poster in the window, a special table display, printed flyers, an email blast, chirpy reminders on social media, a tent sign on the sidewalk in front of the shop. She’d sent out press releases, but the local media hadn’t picked up on anything.

Still, she was optimistic. The book was wonderful, and the author’s past titles had been praised by readers and critics alike. She splurged on a tray of assorted cookies from Sugar and put out a samovar of warm spiced cider. She and Cleo set up folding chairs for the readers and stacked the books on a table decorated with a pretty autumn floral arrangement and a pitcher of water.

When the author arrived, Natalie stood in the doorway and smoothed her hands down her A-line skirt. She didn’t dress with her mother’s colorful flair, but she wanted to look nice for the event.

Quill Ransom appeared to be a kindred spirit. Middle-aged, with intelligent eyes and salon-shiny hair, she greeted Natalie with a warm and friendly smile. “I’ve been looking forward to this,” she said, handing over a small gift bag. “Thank you for having me.”

“Thank you . We love your books, and I know our readers are going to love the new one.”

“Here’s hoping,” said Quill. “I was so sorry to hear about your mother,” she added.

Natalie nodded, acknowledging the condolence as she had so many times in the past few weeks. She showed the author around the shop and set her up at the table.

Quill glanced at the clock. The look was not lost on Natalie. “Things have been a bit slow around here,” she said.

“It’s such a lovely day. People are probably out enjoying the weather.” Quill took a dainty bite of a cookie and checked for crumbs. “Delicious,” she said. “Thanks for going to all this trouble.”

A few customers came in and browsed around. Natalie perked up. “We’re having an author signing today,” she said. “This is Quill Ransom, and she’ll be reading from her new book. Kirkus gave it a starred review.”

“Oh! I was just looking,” said one woman. She eyed the empty chairs. Her gaze skated away from the author.

“Well, let us know if we can help you find something,” Natalie said, wilting.

Cleo pitched in, trying to steer people over. Several helped themselves to cookies and cider. No one took a seat. Natalie nearly drowned in mortification.

Quill was charming as she circulated around the shop, since no one gathered to hear her read. One hesitant reader asked for a signed book. Natalie prayed silently for a dozen more. Even one more.

Her mother’s friend Frieda came in, cheeks bright from the autumn air. “Oh, good, I’m not too late,” she said, giving Natalie a hug. She bustled over to Quill. “You’re one of my favorites. Did I miss the reading?”

Quill laughed. “I think we decided to skip the reading. But I’m happy to sign a book for you.”

“Sign two,” Frieda said. “One for me, and one for my daughter-in-law.”

The author gamely inscribed two books.

“I thought—I really expected a better turnout,” Natalie said. She remembered her mom’s events, readers streaming in to meet the author.

“Don’t feel bad,” Quill said. “I’m a writer. Rejection is my life.”

“I just don’t get it,” Natalie said.

“Oh, I do. This is my thirty-first book. Over the years, I’ve learned to adjust my expectations. Judging by my sales figures, my readers are many, but they do tend to stay away in droves.”

“Your books are fantastic. You’re fantastic. Did I get something wrong in the planning?”

“Nah.” Quill sank her teeth into a chocolate chip cookie, ignoring the crumbs. “Some authors have the X factor, and they draw a crowd. Others just have readers. And frankly, I’d rather have my readers. They’re all home waiting for me to finish my next book. Which—if I’m being perfectly honest—is my favorite place to be.”

“Shoot. I’m really sorry,” Natalie said.