Сьюзен Виггз - The Lost and Found Bookshop

Natalie finally understood why she hadn’t been able to be all in with Trevor. It wasn’t her bad judgment about guys. It was her instincts, telling her—shouting at her—to pay attention. She should have listened to herself. She’d been right to hold back from Trevor, even if she didn’t understand why.

“Were you ever going to level with me?” she asked, not bothering to soften the edge of anger in her voice.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I like to think I would have, eventually.”

She thought about him as a little boy, and the deplorable mother, and the anger subsided. “For what it’s worth, it wouldn’t have mattered.”

“You’re sweet.” His smile was fleeting. “And I kind of love you.”

That brought her up short. Was he Trevor Dashwood or Tyrell Denton? A practiced liar. A man damaged by a terrible mother. Natalie vacillated between compassion and irritation. “I love what you’ve done with your life. You turned it into something really beautiful.”

“But . . .” Over the rim of his glass, he sent her a knowing look.

“But I’m not what you’re looking for.” Her throat felt raw as she scraped the truth from deep inside. “I guess you could say I’ve been acting, too. Acting like someone who knows how to have a relationship, who knows what she wants. And the fact is, I don’t. And that sucks for me, because you’re pretty wonderful,” she said. “I’ll never forget what you did for me and Grandy.”

“Shit,” he said.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” He rattled the ice cubes in his glass.

“Everybody in the world thinks I’m an idiot, because you’re fantastic.”

“I’m a fraud,” he said.

No wonder he flipped everything in his books. “What would America’s favorite author do? Come up with the flip side, right? Write down ten things you really, really like. Can you do that?”

“One way or other, I’ve been rewriting my own story in every book I write.”

“You did something incredible with your life, and I’m sure you’re doing the best you can for your mother, and you deserve everything and more.”

“You know,” he said, “as breakup talks go, this one is pretty damn kind.”

“A kind breakup? That sounds like a flip side story.”

“You’re a good person, Natalie.” He offered a sweet, sad smile. “Promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“When that rare first edition of the bird book magically appears, make sure I’m the first one you call.”

24

Natalie returned from a meeting with the private lending firm in a state of utter defeat. Even the sight of customers milling around the shop didn’t boost her spirits. Bertie was doing a dramatic reading of The Book with No Pictures to a group of delighted toddlers. Cleo was at the counter, working on her latest play. She took one look at Natalie’s face and motioned her into the office.

“Tell me,” she said.

Natalie took a long breath. “It’s bad. The principal on the loan is huge, and Mom was in arrears for more than three years. The amount they want on the payment plan is way out of our reach, even now that our revenues are up a bit. And then there’s the tax situation . . .”

“Aw, shoot. I’m sorry.”

“I’m out of options. Grandy got lost yesterday on the way to the senior center, and he panicked. It could have been bad. He could have walked in front of a car, or . . . He needs a higher level of care, and that’s my number one priority. Oh God. He’s going to freak out when I tell him we have to sell.”

“He’s going to tell you no. Then what?”

She blinked back tears. “I’d have to take him to court. Assume guardianship. I don’t know if I can do that, Cleo. I don’t know if I have it in me to take that from him.”

“Man. This is really hard, Natalie. I wish there was something I could do.”

Natalie looked at Cleo, the friend she’d known all her life. “You’re doing it.” She offered a tremulous smile. “Guess I picked the wrong time to dump my bazillionaire boyfriend.” She’d filled Cleo and Bertie in on the Trevor/Tyrell situation, and the drama gave them something to talk about for days.

“I bet he’d love a second chance,” Cleo suggested.

“I would never. Do you hear yourself right now?”

“I’m grasping at straws.”

Through the open door, Natalie saw a customer approaching the counter, two cranky-looking kids tugging at her coat and whining. “I’ll go,” she said. “I could use the distraction.” She eased into bookselling mode, which now felt as natural to her as breathing. Despite her troubles, she managed to summon a smile as she greeted the customer. “Can I help you find . . .” She paused, studying the woman’s face. “Kayla?” She was sure it was Kayla Cramer, her girlhood nemesis.

“Hi, Natalie. It’s good to see you. We just moved back to the area, so I thought—”

“Mo-om,” said the little boy. “I’m hungry.”

“Me too,” the little girl chimed in. “I want cockporn.”

“We’ll get popcorn on the way home,” Kayla said, her cheeks turning red. She looked haggard and heavy, her lips thin with exasperation.

“Have a bookmark, you two,” Natalie said, handing them out. “There’s a maze you can do on the back. Now, let me finish helping your mom. She picked out some totally amazing books for you.”

The kids stopped whining and regarded her bashfully.

“How’ve you been?” Kayla asked Natalie. “Gosh, it’s been a million years. Are you married now? Kids? We’ll have to catch up.”

“Single, no kids, one cat, one grandfather,” Natalie said.

“Mom, I need a pen to do my maze,” said the boy.

“I need a pen, too, Mom,” said his sister.

“And this one’s for me,” Kayla said, impulsively adding a novel to the stack.

“Good choice,” said Natalie. “ Mrs. Everything was one of my favorites last year. I hope you like it.”

“I’m going to dive right in as soon as I get these monsters to bed. A book and a glass of wine are the perfect antidote for a nasty winter night.” She looked around the shop. “I always envied you, living here,” she said. “Surrounded by all these books.”

The kids started whining again and tugging her toward the door. “Stay single,” she admonished. “Trust me, you’ll live longer.”

Years ago, Natalie had pictured Kayla Cramer living some kind of fabulous, carefree life. And apparently Kayla had envied her. Natalie remembered one of her mother’s favorite quotes from Anaïs Nin’s memoir, which had a permanent spot on the w.o.w. shelf: “We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are.”

A few minutes later, Dorothy Gallagher came in on a swirl of cold wind. Her cheeks were bright red, and she smiled as she pushed back her hood.

Natalie’s pulse raced with anticipation. If Dorothy was here, that meant Peach wasn’t far behind. Maybe he’d stop in to pick her up. Down, girl.

“Hi there, kiddo,” she said to the little girl. “Nice to see you.”

“Hiya.” Dorothy unzipped her jacket. “I need a birthday present. Whitney Gaines from my class invited me to her party.”

“What sort of book do you think she would like?”

Dorothy gave a dainty sniff. “Probably no book at all, unless it’s about trying on clothes and having a boyfriend. That’s all she and her friends care about. The only reason she invited me is that the teacher has a rule that you have to invite the whole class or you can’t pass out your invitations at school.” Dorothy attended an ultraexclusive private school called The Enclave—her mother’s choice, according to Peach. It was known for its sky-high tuition, its STEM program for girls—and its veiled but undeniable snobbery.