His thigh presses against mine as he unwraps his next taco. “Perfect, now, we need to strategize for soccer practice this afternoon. How can we get Priya to come out of her shell a little?” He’s giddy with excitement. “I just know if we got her to kick that ball, she’d send it two fields over.”
“This is a wild idea,” Theo starts, collecting our trash into the paper bag. “But wecouldwalk over there and look at it.” His head tips toward the vacant storefront I’ve been peeking at through our entire lunch.
I slurp down the last sip of my drink, glancing to those beautiful double doors again. While things are much safer if I stay away from that building, my curiosity is pretty much consuming my brain at this point, and I worry the only way to squash the idea isto go over there. Maybe from a closer distance, it’ll seem ridiculous and irresponsible. Then I can let it go.
“Want to walk over there with me?” The words come barreling out of me, sounding less like a question and more like a threat.
A delighted grin hooks the edge of his mouth. “Thought you’d never ask.”
We walk side by side across the street, my pace so quick that even Theo’s long legs are stretching to keep up. When I step onto the sidewalk in front of the building, though, I pause. Clear my throat. Nerves are suddenly dancing under my skin, but I push through and walk forward to peer in the window.
Through the spot where the paper has peeled away from the glass, I can see what looks like a construction zone. It’s as if someone got halfway through a makeover before leaving everything behind. Paint buckets along one wall, scaffolding with drop cloths hanging over it, some long pieces of lumber in one corner, and about half the floor has been ripped up to reveal the concrete underneath.
It needs a lot of work before it could ever house a business again.
But the thing is—theproblemis—I can immediately see it. As I stare through the dirty glass, I can see what Gramps would’ve dreamt up. Rows of shelves, a seating area in the front by the window, seasonal decorations throughout, a place for community meetups and children’s story times. Any moment Meg Ryan is going to pop into view inside, The Shop Around the Corner fromYou’ve Got Mailcoming to life right before my eyes.
It’s perfect, actually. Frustratingly, thrillingly perfect.
“Dammit,” I whisper, pressure building in my throat.
“What’s wrong?” Theo moves closer.
“This was supposed to make me not want to think about itanymore. The plan was to come over here and prove this is a dumb idea.” I step back and shake my head. “But even though it’s a mess in there... I can see the possibilities.”
He reaches for my hand and gently folds his fingers around mine. “What’s so bad about that?”
I give a sarcastic laugh. “Are you kidding? It’s terrifying!”
“What is?”
“Hoping?” I shrug. “My track record is not great—when things get hard, I quit. I can’t trust my instincts with something like this.”
A sympathetic smile curves his mouth. “What if you weren’t quitting, you were making space to find your true calling?” There’s a roller-coaster dip in my stomach. “It’s not a bad thing to keep searching for what makes you happy. You’re allowed to change your mind.”
My brain is going a hundred miles an hour, trying to rearrange what he’s saying and make it make sense. Iwave toward the building. “How do I know ifthisis the thing?” It’s so tangled up in my grief for Gramps that it’s hard to tell.
“Only you can answer that,” he says, tilting his head. “But the good news is you don’t have to decide right this second. This place has been empty for what, two years? You have time to think about it.”
I turn to look at the faded For Rent sign and the phone number scrawled in black ink. Ican practically hear Gramps’s excited voice in my ears saying,This is it, Fable. This is the one.
Goose bumps rise over the back of my neck. Something clenches in my stomach. An awareness. A rightness that feels impossible to ignore.
What would Millie do?She would think on it, let the idea soak in a little at a time. Weigh the options and assess.
“Okay. I’m going to think about it,” I tell myself out loud.
“Hell yeah!” Theo shouts down the street, pumping a fist in the air. “She’s going to think about it!”
I hide my face behind my hands. “Stop yelling or I’m also going to think about hurting you.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders and steers me toward the hardware store.
When I pull up to the A-frame that evening, I sit in the silent Bronco for longer than necessary, my mind a whirlpool of thoughts. All afternoon, I’ve been hyperfixated on the thought of the bookstore. Ifound myself behind the counter at work googling things like:How to open a bookstore. Do I need a business degree to run a bookstore? Small business loans.Imade a mood board on Pinterest—full of cozy, adorable bookshop vibes. Ijotted down random thoughts in the Notes app on my phone:Also sell puzzles? Dad would be great at story time. Stickers. Sage-green walls? Plants in the front window. Knocks—bookstore cat? Mom can help decorate.
There’s a gentle, swelling excitement in my heart every time I think about it. Not that I know all the answers, but my chest feels like it’s brimming with...something.
Heartburn? Is this the fire-breathing dragon sensation Mia was referring to?
