Applause interrupts us, signaling the end of Mr. Johnson’s set and also cueing Zac to bring another tribute to the stage. He takes the mic and easily addresses the room, no anxiety at all, just him chatting with the people. If I was up there, I’d have heart failure. I can get on stage long enough to introduce the evening and the host, but that’s it. I love being excited; I’m just not a fan of being a central part of it, if you know what I mean.
Zac calls the next act up to the mic, a newbie here named Bex Madden who’s holding her guitar in one hand as she settles in behind the mic to sing a few songs. She only started coming two weeks ago and I’m glad she did—she’s a crowd-pleaser for sure. Her voice is smooth and angelic; someone compared her to a softer version of Adele, which I found interesting.
As Bex strums the first few chords, I look around, and after checking the time and a peek at who is left on the list, figure I can do some work to get ready for closing. Because of the noise ordinance, we can’t be here after eleven at night, which is fine with me. I need to be home and asleep by eleven-thirty if I can help it. A lady needs eight hours of solid rest after a busy day like I’ve had.
Pages and Prose is small but mighty. The interior is lined with five rows of shelves, each overflowing with books of all genres, from classic literature to contemporary bestsellers. When I was shopping to outfit the store, I picked out shelves made of dark wood, giving the bookstore a rustic and timeless feel. Soft lighting, turned down low for the open mic night, usually casts a gentle glow over the rows of books, creating a cozy ambiance that invites readers to explore.
The stage area is surrounded by comfy seating, including plush armchairs and sofas, where customers can relax andenjoy the performances. About six months ago, I added a small cafe area, where you can sit and enjoy a cup of coffee or tea while flipping through the pages of a new book. The walls are adorned with artwork from local artists, adding to the charm and character of the space. I really wanted this to be a retreat for book lovers, but also a place for locals to come and feel creative.
I make my way down one of the rows, straightening shelves and reordering books that I find out of place. Bex sings about heartbreak, but it’s so poetic that I get lost in the melody…as do the other patrons, evidenced by their singing along. She’s only been here a few times and she’s already getting groupies. I love that for her.
I quickly go down a second row, find some kids books stuffed into the YA section, and round the end cap to head to the back of the store and put them away. It’s where I’ve set up a small children’s area with a little table and chairs and a toy box. It’s the perfect spot for worn-out moms to come and let their kids play while they shop. I even pull babysitting some days, so they can have a cup of coffee and a time-out.
It’s when I get to the back of the store I notice a shadowy figure out of the corner of my eye. A slight figure, with a baseball hat pulled down low across their face and wearing an oversized sweatshirt, stands with their back to the room, shoulders hunched. Clapping fills the air around me as I freeze in place, staying close to the shelves so as not to disturb the stranger. My stomach flips in horror as I watch this person take a book off the shelf and, as they whip their head from left to right, lift their T-shirt and stuff it inside their pants, laying their shirt back down on top of it.
No. Way. A shoplifter? In my store? I feel the heat of indignation rising up inside of me as I walk over and, without even thinking, grab theirwrist.
“Hey,” the young man cries out in surprise. “What’s that for?”
Grasping the bottom of his shirt, I tug it up, revealing the book held in place against the young man’s body by the elastic of his pants.
“To find out why you’re trying to borrow that.”
As the applause around us dies down, I hear Zac’s voice on the mic as he introduces the next act. Clyde Paulson and his puppets. That’s going to be interesting with a splash of creepy.
The kid rolls his eyes. “I’m not borrowing it. Duh.”
So I roll mine, too. “You obviously don’t understand when someone is using sarcasm as a deflector.” I pull the book from his pants and give the elastic of his super-tight sweats an extra tug, allowing it to snap back with athwackagainst his skin.
“Ow.” Dark eyes look into mine. “What was that for?”
“Gee, I just don’t know,” I say, shaking my head and tucking the book under my arm. I have never had to deal with this before. I don’t know what I’m going to do with this kid, I just know I have to do something. The only thing I can think to do is to take the boy to the counter. I’m in shock. “Come with me.”
In that split second, this rogue criminal makes a decision. Flicking his eyes toward the exit on the other side of the room, he looks back at me. Surely he’s not considering running? With all of these people around? However, as I let my eyes sweep the room again, everyone is focused on Clyde as he takes to the small stage, even Zac. I start to call out for some help, but movement pulls my attention back to the kid. His eyes shift downward, then to mine once more. We’re both seeing his way out at the same time, and my stomach flips anxiously. I hate this.
“Nah, lady. I’m out,” he snarls as he takesoff running, barreling toward the door.
No. Way.
To get to the door, he has to make his way through the crowd, which he does almost expertly. I’m on his heels, trying to at least reach out and grab him. I didn’t even want to punish him, just ask why he needed to steal.
Now, it’s about not letting him get away.
He’s like a ballerina, moving with grace avoiding bodies as they stand up or chairs as they’re scooted backwards. Me? I’m a bull in a China shop. Stopped and blocked each step. By the time I open my mouth to yell for help, he’s pushed the door open, bringing in a big ole’ blast of warm summer night air, and he’s out on the sidewalk. No good. By the time I reach him, he’ll have all of Sweetkiss Creek to use as his hiding spot.
I burst out the door behind him, not sure what I’ll find when I get out there myself, and I hear someone behind me. A quick glance over my shoulder tells me Zac is on my heels.
On the side of the main street, I pause, catch my breath, and look around.
“What’s going on?” Zac asks, halting beside me.
I open my mouth to answer, but someone nearby interrupts.
“What’s wrong, guys?”
Spinning on my heel, I’m super surprised, and really low-key happy, to find Levi standing in front of me—and there’s a certain rug rat tucked under his arm. Like he’s delivering me a present.
My hero.
