I press my lips together, deciding not to react. Instead, I take a slow breath, letting the conversation continue around me.
But when I glance up, and Ford’s eyes meet mine across the table, there’s no challenge in them. There’s no apology either. But something in his expression tells me maybe he wishes he’d said it differently, a sense of resignation.
And for a moment, I wonder if his doubt isn’t about the bookstore at all.
Maybe it’s about me.
17
Stormy
"You bought this place?" Missy asks, her voice sharp with disbelief as she points to the building we're driving towards.
She glances at me; confusion etched across her features.
"Hmm," I murmur, studying the structure carefully as we approach. Something isn't right.
The drive up was everything I’d imagined. We passed fields of nothing but grass and grazing animals, the occasional barn dotted here and there, slouched in the distance like they’d grown tired of standing. As we got closer to town, the trees grew taller and more frequent, looming over the road like quiet sentinels. Then came the shops and buildings, the kind you’d expect in a small-town romance novel. All different shapes and sizes, with chipped paint, crooked signs, and a kind of charm that felt worn-in and real.
Missy watches me as I rummage through my bag, searching for the documents detailing my purchase. I flip through the pages until I land onthe one with photos of the place. My eyes flick between the image in my hand and the rundown building before me.
This can't be it.
I hold the paper up against the windshield, comparing the two. The structure is the same, no doubt about it. A small, white, single storey building with an angled roof, its silhouette faintly reminiscent of an old church. But where the photo shows a neatly painted facade, inviting and well-maintained, with narrow windows, covering almost the entire edge of the building, the reality is anything but. The building in front of me is a wreck. Weathered, neglected, abandoned for far longer than the paperwork suggests. The windows, once beautiful and divided into patchworks of delicate glass squares, like something out of an old fairytale, gave the building in the photo a warm, old-world charm. Now, some panes are shattered, with jagged edges catching the light like broken promises, while others are clouded with years of grime and dust, their surfaces streaked and dulled by rain and neglect. Weeds grow from the walls, creeping through cracks in the glass, stretching across the ground outside, as though nature has quietly begun to reclaim what was left behind.
"Looks like it," I mutter, exchanging a worried look with Missy.
The place sits tucked away down a quaint cul-de-sac in a quiet corner of the town, bordered by tall trees that sway gently in the breeze. The building is secluded but still close enough to be part of the community. According to the documents, it was once a bustling community centre. But judging by the state of it, "once" was a very long time ago.
A car is parked right outside, and a man leans against it, clearly waiting for us. Missy pulls up beside him, and we step out, both glaring at the building as if it's personally offended us.
"Ah, there she is!" the seller calls out, his tone overly cheerful as he straightens up. "Welcome to your new investment!"
I stare at him, then back at the crumbling structure. My stomach sinks.
"This isn't what I bought," I say flatly, holding up the page with the pristine photo. "This looks nothing like the place you advertised."
His grin falters for a second before he quickly recovers, waving off my concern with a chuckle.
"Ah, well, pictures can be a little ... optimistic, can't they?" He shrugs. "Bit of wear and tear, sure, but nothing a little elbow grease won’t fix."
Missy scoffs beside me.
"A little? This place looks like it hasn’t been touched in years."
I turn back to the seller, my frustration bubbling.
"You misrepresented it. The listing said it was in good condition. This isn’t even close."
His expression shifts, his pleasant facade cracking as irritation creeps in.
"Look," he sighs, checking his watch impatiently. "The sale’s gone through. Nothing I can do about it now.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he’s already moving, reaching into his pocket.
"I’ve got another appointment to get to," he continues dismissively, pulling out a set of keys and holding them out. "So, here … it's all yours."
"Unbelievable," I mutter under my breath, taking the keys from his grasp.
