Сьюзен Виггз - The Lost and Found Bookshop

“Dorothy! Welcome to Trevor Dashwood. Your seats are in the VIP section. Front row, kiddo.” Natalie gestured toward the auditorium doors.

“Yay! I can’t wait.” Dorothy looked adorable with her hair in braids, rainbow-colored leggings under a flared skirt, and a shirt with a Janus head on it—an illustration from one of Trevor’s book covers.

Natalie met Peach’s gaze, then quickly looked away, feeling a flush of color in her cheeks. That kiss. She’d lived for days on that damn kiss. That moment in the moon garden had transformed him from an impossibility to a tenuous option. One she wasn’t prepared for.

“Hey,” he said, looking at her over Dorothy’s head.

“Hey,” she said back.

“Pretty impressive event, Natalie.”

“Thanks.”

“Is your granddad here? I miss seeing him.”

She shook her head. “He hasn’t been feeling well lately.”

“Sorry to hear that. Think he’d be up for a visit one of these days?”

“Of course. He’d love to see you.”

“Come on, Dad.” Dorothy tugged at his sleeve. “We’re VIPs. That means very important people. Let’s go!” She towed him toward the rapidly filling auditorium.

Natalie went backstage, where Shelly freshened her makeup and hair. It was surreal that she had a hair-and-makeup person. Shelly had put together her outfit—jeans and white sneakers, a white T-shirt, and a rainbow-colored silk scarf. A kid-friendly look, Shelly had explained. Fun and approachable. It was something Natalie’s mother might have chosen to wear, and she felt like an imposter in it, but she trusted Shelly.

The stage was set with three stools and a small table furnished with water bottles. The backdrop was a folding screen decked with the titles and cover art of Trevor’s books.

As she prepared to go onstage, Natalie’s mouth went dry and her throat tightened. Glancing at the red numbers on a digital countdown clock, she saw that she had exactly one minute to pull herself together. The buzz in the huge room crescendoed. Trevor came up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. “I used to get nervous, too.”

“I’m ridiculous, I know.”

“You’re not. And here’s something else. I used to tell myself it was just a room full of kids. Why would any thinking adult be intimidated by a bunch of kids? That didn’t help, though. An audience of kids is just as tough as an audience of adults. With more squirming.”

“This isn’t helping,” she whispered.

“I know. Nothing helps.” He squeezed her shoulders. “We’re just going to power through it. And by the way, you’re beautiful and I’m excited about dinner tonight.”

“And you,” she said, “are too good to be true.”

He let go of her and gave her a gentle nudge toward the stage. “I’ll remember you said that.”

The stage lights came on and the house lights dimmed, creating a surge of noise from the audience, followed by a collective hush. Natalie flashed on memories of her mother through the years, confidently striding out to the bookstore podium to introduce an honored guest. She’d been so polished, fluid and witty, warming up the crowd. Be like Mom , she told herself, smoothing her hands over the bright scarf.

She thought about the time she’d stood at a podium facing the people at Pinnacle, her chest clammy with the wine her coworker had spilled on her conservative, buttoned-down blouse and blazer. A disaster had happened that day. She was bracing herself for a disaster now.

She took a step forward, and it felt a bit like stepping off a cliff, but somehow her legs carried her to the center of the stage.

“My name is Natalie Harper, and I’m excited about the Flip Side books,” she said. “Who’s with me?”

Applause and hollering. Stomping of feet. She waited for a lull, then said, “I thought so. Thanks for supporting San Francisco’s own homegrown bookstore, the Lost and Found Bookshop.”

Light applause, mostly from adults being polite.

“You’re not here for that,” Natalie acknowledged. “You’re here for America’s favorite author, Trevor Dashwood.”

Heavy applause now.

“Here’s what I know about Trevor. He showed the world that there’s a flip side to everything. Another side to every story. No matter what the situation, Trevor can find the flip side and turn it into a story. His books have won awards. They’ve been published all over the world. But the reason we love him is for the stories he tells. So please welcome Mr. Trevor Dashwood.”

The applause and cheers drowned out everything, even her stage fright. Cameras pointed at her, and bloggers and members of the local press clustered near the front, taking notes. She would probably collapse from relief later, but at the moment, she stood smiling as Trevor strode to the middle of the stage. He was a natural showman, wonderfully at ease, and dressed like the coolest kid on the block, including a baseball cap with a caterpillar logo.

She reached out to shake hands with him. He took her hand, but instead of shaking, he bowed, and then twirled her like a ballroom dancer as the applause continued.

He kept hold of her hand and waited for a break in the noise. “Not so fast,” he said to Natalie. “I want everybody here today to know who this nice lady is. She’s a bookseller. A purveyor of dreams. A writer’s best friend. You see, a bookseller is the link between the stories we tell and the readers we tell them to. Without that, a story has no life outside the writer’s imagination.”

Like a seasoned showman, he doffed his cap and put it on backward. A butterfly on a nylon filament popped out and fluttered around his head. Murmurs of delight rippled through the audience.

“I don’t know about you,” Trevor said, “but when I see someone reading a book I love, I automatically count them as a friend. So if you’re here for my books, you’re among friends. I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up. That was what books were for. Do you know what homeschooling is?” he asked. As lots of hands went up, he said, “I was homeschooled, so for me, going to the bookstore was more than just a shopping trip. It was a safe place to learn, and to do what I love more than anything else—reading.” He gestured at the audience. “You’re doing something good by being here. Not just for me, but for this bookstore that’s been a neighborhood treasure for decades.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him. “That was beautiful.”

He offered a formal bow with a flourish and set aside the trick hat. “Okay, kids. Boring sentimental part’s over. Let’s have some fun!”

Natalie was grateful to leave the stage. She went down a side stairway and slid into the end seat on the front row. “Nice work,” Bertie whispered, leaning toward her.

She swiveled around to check out the packed auditorium. “I keep wishing my mom were here to see this.”

He patted her hand. “Who knows? Maybe she is.”

“Taking over the shop is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I’m loving it anyway.” Natalie bit her lip and focused on the stage. She would never get over her mother not being here. Maybe the point was not to get over it but to live with it. It’s so hard , she said to her mother. And that means you mattered.

Trevor told a funny anecdote about himself, using the flip side theme. The flip side of school is homeschooling. The flip side of being an only child is having a sibling. The flip side of living in the city is living in the wilderness. He painted a charming picture of himself, a boy who grew up apart from the rest of the world, with books as his companions and imagination fueling his speculation about how other kids lived.

“He’s acting,” Bertie whispered after a well-received laugh line.