Page 2 of By the Book

Wren slides over into Stevie’s abandoned chair beside me and props her chin in her hand. “Speaking of the roast,” she starts, tilting her head at me.

I can feel the smile bloom across my face. My older brother, Wes, has been gone for nine months as a part of a Doctors Without Borders alternative program. “I’m so excited for Wes to be home. But oh gosh, our parents have gone over the top. I’m surprised they aren’t trying to get Fitzy to host a parade in his honor.”

“Ruth and Howard Taylor have impeccable taste, I’m sure it would have been an amazing parade. I’d be there with bells on.”

“I forgot who I was talking to.” I roll my eyes. “You wanted to celebrate when we got a stoplight down by the harbor.”

“And that would havealsobeen amazing,” she shrugs. “Is there anything I can do to help with the party?”

“Just keep me company and don’t let me spend all night making pleasantries with my dad’s work associates.”

“Done. Obviously,” she replies, studying the latte before her. “Do you think Nessa will top this off for me to go?”

“If she’s smart, she won’t.” I sip at my own rich pumpkin drink and check my watch. My shop is only a block down the street, but Wren has a drive to the next town over for the inn she manages. “Ready?”

Rising, we don our scarves and coats to head out into the brisk autumn morning. Vanessa is busy helping another customer, making it significantly easier for me to steer Wren away from the counter and straight towards the door.

“How long is Wes home for?” she asks, pulling on the handle and leading the way out.

“I’m not sure. Hopefully longer than the last few times. We all miss him, but it’s really getting to Dad, I think.” I don’t share why our father is struggling with Wes’s absence, I haven’t been able to share it with anyone. She nods rather than pressing for more details. That’s the thing about our friendship, it’s supportive without conditions. Same with Stevie and Poppy.

Stepping onto the brick sidewalk, our boots click in unison as we walk. Every so often, one of us catches an especially crisp leaf with a satisfying crunch sound. But other than that, we walk in silence like many mornings, years of comfortable quiet between us.

I stop in front of a brick storefront with an olive-green stained door and a matching olive-green sign that readsThe Open Bookin brass lettering. The large potted mums on either side of the door are the first signs of fall décor. And they’re perfect. There is also an antique brass fox for a handle on the door—I found the sly ornament a year before opening the shop and held onto it with hope. That hope paid off.

“Let me know if anything comes up before the roast? I’m happy to swing by early,” Wren offers as a black cat bounds across the street towards us. He doesn’t belong to me, it’s quite the opposite actually. Catsby acts as if my shop belongs to him. He appeared not long after opening day, opting to spend his days with me but always disappearing back into the night whenever I try to take him home.

“I will, thanks,” I say, waving goodbye and unlocking the door to my shop. Holding it open, I wait for Catsby to lead the way inside. He stops at the bowls I keep for him at the entrance while I continue into the open space that acts as a lobby of sorts. In it sits a row of vintage wooden tables pressed up against the windows, piled high with books that I know will catch people’s attention. As they come in, the hope is to draw them deeper into the store, towards the floor to ceiling wooden shelves.

Peppering the display tables are white ceramic vases overflowing with the fresh flowers Stevie brings me from her shop. I reach out and adjust the stems, a smile on my face. The arrangements always perfectly compliment the muted Persian rugs covering aged hardwood floors, the perks of having a friend with an impeccable eye for detail.

Stepping around the track ladders running down the outer facing shelves, I move behind my carved wood checkout counter. The sprawling windows provide ample daylight on brighter days. But with the heavy cloud coverage today, I flip on the light switch behind the counter. Black dome pendant lights illuminating overhead.

I pull my own copy of the new book club selection from my office beside the checkout and collect my coffee cup. Novel and latte in hand, I move to the corner of the shop where I have floral upholstered seating for visitors. Settling in, I take a sip of pumpkin spice and open the book for the first time, a satisfying crackle sounding from the hardcover’s spine.

Brushing my black curls over my shoulders to better see the pages before me, I wait for Catsby to claim his spot in the chair with me. With him comfortable, I bring my focus to the first page. And I’m happily ensconced when the chime above the door rings out.

“Reading on the job again, Sis?”

Wes stands in the doorway, a familiar crooked grin forming across his deep bronze face.

With a squeal, I abandon my post and rush to meet him in the center of the shop. He catches me in an embrace, and we sway side to side. Everything feels right when Wes is home, my little world here is complete.

“You’reearly. We were supposed to pick you up at the airport, I even let Wren make me a sign,” I pout.

“I thought a surprise would be more fun,” he replies, turning to take in the shop. “You actually did it. The place looks great, V.”

“Thanks, yeah you haven’t really seen it fully up and running. Have you?”

It’s odd that someone so close to me could be so behind on my milestones. Growing up, Wes had made it his duty to watch over me, support me, and protect me. He was there to pick me up a town over after Poppy and I tried alcohol for the first time. He was there when my boyfriend cheated on me days before my birthday in college. And when the time came, he was there to move me to New York. It was the moving home Wes missed.

“I was surprised when you decided to settle in Foxport. You always talked about a different life. But this shop is so you. It’s perfect.”

“It might not be what I planned, but I think it turned out well too.”

He had meant it as a compliment, but a weight settles in my gut, nonetheless. Wes is right, this wasn’t my plan. And assomeone returning from Guatemala, he knows a thing or two about following through.

We had talked about adventures together all our lives. Wes chose to go. But when the time came, I couldn’t bring myself to do the same.

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