My mother’s voice pipes up in my head.
You can’t forget to eat, Taylor. Anything you do on an empty belly won’t be done right.
I guess I’ve always been hyper-focused whensomething captures my interest. But I’ll definitely stop and get some lunch today.
I’m already outside before I remember that Roan is probably out here too. For some reason, I have the urge to check my reflection in the shop window, even though I know the way I look is the last thing Roan Connelly cares about.
I spot him right away, talking with an older couple. The woman is waving her arms around, like she’s describing how big a tree she wants.
Roan has this gentle smile on his face that I haven’t seen before. The hard angle of his jaw isn’t as steely as usual and his eyes are crinkled at the edges.
Of course, when he catches me looking his face tightens up again. But he waves once, which I guess is progress.
The lady looks over her shoulder and smiles at me, and I wave back at both of them before hurrying along the sidewalk in the direction of the library.
Focus, Taylor. Get the shop ready, get your ducks in a row, and stop thinking about your neighbor.
The village of Angel Mountain is still sleepy at this hour. The library opens at eight, but a lot of the storefronts I’m passing have signs that say they won’t be open until nine or ten.
It’s an eclectic mix of old-fashioned shops selling basic odds and ends, and sleek-looking boutiques full of modern-looking furniture and high-end ski clothing. I guess that’s to be expected in the Poconos.
I pass the small Lenni Lenape Museum, wishing I could stop in, but that doesn’t open for a few hours. Maybe if I finish up early today I’ll treat myself to a trip to check out this interesting spot with its Native American art and artifacts.
One of the shops has a big display of those cute little Christmas animals I’ve always loved—Foster’s Figurines. I see they’ve added some new designs this year of gingerbread families, and I also learn from the sign that they’re made right here in Angel Mountain. Yet another spot for me to check out when I have time.
At last, I reach the library. It’s a massive brick Victorian that looks more like a mansion than a public building, which makes me wonder if it used to be someone’s home at some point.
I push open the heavy wooden door to find a surprisingly sun-drenched lobby. The ceiling goes up three stories, with a bookshelf-lined balcony around the second floor. A massive front-facing window starts on that balcony and stretches to the top of what would have been the third floor if this were a house.
“Striking, isn’t it?” a woman’s voice floats to me across the large space. “I mean, it’s not as impressive as the one in midtown Manhattan, but we’ve got good light here.”
“How did you guess?” I ask as I approach the lady wearing blue-rimmed glasses with a beaded chain dangling from them.
“Oh, it was too easy,” the lady laughs. “I don’t knowyou, and you’re about my daughter’s age, so you have to be an out-of-towner. Plus, that coat isn’t up to the job up here in the mountains.”
“Wow,” I say. “And how did you know I was from New York?”
“That part was just a lucky guess,” she says, smiling. “What can I help you with today?”
“Well, for starters, I’d love to get a card,” I begin. “But I also have an ulterior motive. I’m reopening the bookshop in town, and I’d love to get to know what the locals like to read.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” the lady says, coming out from behind the desk. “You’re Jessie’s niece. I’m Maureen Chalfont.”
She pulls me into a hard hug before I can even acknowledge her name.
“Your aunt is a very special lady,” she tells me, pulling back to look me right in the eyes from behind her spectacles. “I miss her, but I’m glad she’s having her big adventure at last. She deserves it.”
“She does,” I agree, instantly feeling an instant connection with Maureen Chalfont.
“Now, I probably don’t have to tell you that she opened that shop mostly as an excuse to be in town socializing,” Maureen continues with a knowing smile. “I’m glad to hear you’re interested in stocking it properly.”
That much is true. My aunt certainly never thought of the shop as a way to make money.
“I’m looking forward to it,” I tell her honestly.
“She says you’re a real book lover,” Maureen says kindly.
Which tells me that she knows exactly what happened with me in New York.
