“Look,” Lynda whispered, pointing to the wooden floorboards. “The third step still creaks.” She deliberately stepped on it again, and the familiar groan echoed through the shop. “Remember how we used to skip it when we were trying to sneak inside? If Mrs. Henderson had caught us, we would have been sent back to camp.”
Isabel smiled, memories of their teenage adventures flooding back. “She probably knew we were here the whole time.”
Mrs. Henderson walked out of the workroom carrying a towering stack of books. With her silver hair elegantly swept back and her reading glasses dangling from a beaded chain, it was as if the last two years hadn’t existed.
When she saw Isabel and Lynda, she smiled and left the books on the front counter. “I wondered when you two would be arriving. Kathleen told me about the reunion.”
“It’s good to see you, Mrs. Henderson.” Isabel’s voice caught as she was pulled into a warm embrace.
Mrs. Henderson sighed. “I don’t know how many times I’ve said you can call me Margaret.”
Lynda hugged her. “But we like calling you Mrs. Henderson. You made a big impression on us when we were teenagers.”
“At least I’m grateful for that.” Mrs. Henderson’s eyes rested on Isabel. “How are you doing?”
The unexpected question brought a lump to Isabel’s throat. Until now, she thought she was doing okay. But Mrs. Henderson’s genuine concern made Isabel wonder if she’d ever be the same person she used to be.
“I’m better than I have been,” Isabel told her. “The first year was the hardest, but it’s getting easier now.”
Mrs. Henderson nodded. “I’m glad. I was worried when you didn’t come back to Sapphire Bay for Christmas last year.”
“I didn’t want to risk getting snowed in like the last time I was here.” Isabel wondered if Mrs. Henderson would see through her half-truth. Shehadbeen worried about the weather, but that wasn’t the entire reason.
Being here without her husband would have torn her heart in two all over again. So she’d stayed home, listened to Christmas Carols, and joined a friend for lunch.
As if sensing the sadness growing inside Isabel, Lynda touched her arm. “Look at the stained glass window above the front door. The bookstore hasn’t changed at all.”
Mrs. Henderson smiled. “Most things are exactly the same—including the carved message under your favorite window seat.”
Isabel’s cheeks flushed. “You knew about that?”
“I knew about everything you girls did in here.” Mrs. Henderson winked. “The initials, the secret notes tucked into the Jane Austen novels, the chocolate bar wrappers hidden behindthe encyclopedias. You weren’t nearly as careful as you thought you were.”
Lynda sighed. “Spending time in your bookstore was the highlight of our summers together.”
Mrs. Henderson smiled. “You were good girls who grew into beautiful women. Do you want to see the window seat where you loved sitting together?”
The two friends nodded as they made their way to the bay window overlooking Main Street. As they settled onto the worn cushions, Isabel ran her fingers along the underside of the wooden table. She smiled when she felt the rough-carved initials of their first and last names, followed by the words, “Friends forever.”
“We were so young,” Lynda murmured. “Remember when Susan carved our names into the table? She said it would make us blood sisters for the rest of our lives.”
“And Kathleen kept watch by the travel section,” Isabel added, smiling at the memory. “She was convinced we’d be banned from the bookstore if we got caught.”
Mrs. Henderson settled into the chair across from them. “I used to call the staff at the summer camp to let them know where you were. Goodness knows what would have happened if they didn’t know where you’d gone.”
Isabel’s eyes widened. “I always wondered why no one came looking for us.”
“Well, now you know,” Mrs. Henderson said with a twinkle in her eyes. “Over the years, I’ve had a number of runaway teenagers do the same thing. It doesn’t bother me as long as they’re safe and the camp knows where they are. Did you know I’ve been thinking about retiring?”
Isabel nodded. “Kathleen told us. I can’t imagine you not being here.”
“I’m getting too old to run a second-hand bookstore,” Mrs. Henderson said softly. “As much as I love this place, I’ll be eighty-nine soon. It’s time to sit on my front veranda and let the world pass me by.”
“But the store—” Isabel began.
“Needs someone who loves it as much as I do,” Mrs. Henderson told them. “Someone who understands its magic, who remembers what it’s like to find yourself in these pages. I’ve had offers, of course. Developers want to turn it into a coffee shop or boutique. But I’ve been waiting for the right person to come along.”
Lynda squeezed Isabel’s hand. They both knew what this place had meant to them over the years—not just during their carefree teenage days, but in the harder times too.
