The first thing I notice is that the building is obviously well-maintained. There’s not a stain on the ceiling or even a crack in the paint. This shop has to be over a hundred years old, so someone has taken real trouble to keep it in good order.
But it’s as vanilla as an insurance office. The floor is covered in flat commercial carpet in a depressingly faded blue. The bookshelves are all lined up without anything to differentiate between the sections other than yellowed index cards that look like they were labeled with an actual typewriter, possibly shortly after the typewriter was invented.
I can work with it, though, I remind myself happily. I have almost no budget, but I’ve got imagination and energy. And this place has plenty of space and some beautiful woodwork—good bones, as my dad would say.
And just like that, I’m feeling good about the move again.
I’m examining the sparse stock, which puts this place maybe half a step above an airport kiosk when Mrs. Perkins clears her throat.
“Sorry,” I say, jogging back to her.
“Do you want to see the apartment?” she asks.
“Of course,” I reply.
She marches to the back and opens a door to a staircase. I trail after her, up the dimly lit steps to twounadorned doors opposite each other, where she sifts through keys again before finally landing on the right one.
“Here you go,” she says, pushing open one of the doors.
Inside is a simple but surprisingly pretty apartment about half the size of the shop downstairs. And it’s furnished, as promised, which sends a warm flood of relief through my chest.
“Bedroom, kitchen, sitting room,” she says, needlessly pointing as she does. It’s kind of a funny apartment tour, since the whole thing is one room.
But I don’t mind a bit. I love the whitewashed brick walls, and there’s a window and a sliding door along the back that I’m assuming goes out to a balcony. It’s too dark out to see much out there now except lights from the street.
“Bathroom’s there, obviously,” she says, pointing to two wooden doors against the left side wall behind the kitchen. “And the closet’s beside it.”
“Great,” I tell her enthusiastically. “I really like it.”
“The other door off the landing is just storage for the shop,” she tells me. “There’s a back room downstairs too. There are a lot of books and other junk in both. It all belonged to your aunt, so it’s yours now.”
“Okay,” I say, trying not to wince at her lumping the books in the junk category. “Thank you.”
“Here are the keys,” she tells me with a smile, holding them out. “Congratulations, Taylor. And Ihope you’ll come to love Angel Mountain as much as I do.”
I lift my hand and feel a jolt of satisfaction when their weight lands on my palm. It’s such a solid thing to hold these keys and know that the bookshop is mine to run.
But one thing is still bugging me.
“You said that thing before,” I venture. “About the landlord? What did you mean?”
“You don’t have to worry about him,” Mrs. Perkins says firmly. “He’s a grump, but he’s using a management company. So I’m the only one you have to call if you need something. I’ll be here to help in a jiffy, or I’ll send someone who can.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding slowly. That makes sense, I guess. And if the landlord isn’t the friendly type, then it’s nice that I won’t have to deal with him directly.
“Really,” she says, leaning in slightly. “I shouldn’t have opened my big mouth, Taylor. Your Aunt Jessie did just fine here, and I know you will too.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Perkins,” I say. “I really appreciate you meeting me here so late. I hope you’ll come by when I do my big opening. Can I text you?”
“Of course, sweetheart,” she says, looking pleased. “I’ll see you then. But if you need anything before that, just holler. Oh, and I put a few things in the fridge for you, just to say welcome home.”
“Wow, thank you,” I tell her, immensely gratefulthat I don’t have to shop for dinner after the long drive here.
“I’ll turn off the lights and lock up on my way out,” she tells me. “I keep a spare on my ring, so if you ever get locked out, I’m your girl.”
“That’s really nice of you,” I tell her.
“Oh, I do that for all my management clients,” she says. “It’s my pleasure.”
