No wonder she jingles when she walks. She’s probably got a hundred keys in that giant pocketbook.
I walk her downstairs anyway, and lock the door behind her before turning to wander the shop.
It’s late, and I should unpack and try to relax, but the shelves are calling.
My Aunt Jessie ran this place until about six months ago, when she finally decided it was time to fully retire. Jessie never had a husband or kids, and when she quit teaching, she decided to take over the local bookshop for a little while. She said it was just something to keep busy, and to supplement her pension.
Looking around, worry starts to seep in again. I’m not sure that there’s enough profit to be made with a place like this to actually support a person.
But maybe that’s only because of how she was doing it. This is a bookshop with empty shelves. Aunt Jessie was a mystery fan, so that section is pretty full. The rest of the selection is cursory at best.
But that was Jessie through and through. Sheworked hard as a teacher, and when she was finished, she said she was going to do what she wanted to do, the way she wanted to do it.
This shop is perfect evidence that she fulfilled her wish. And I’m happy thinking of her off exploring Europe now, her own way.
Meanwhile, I’ll just have to turn this place into the kind of shop that people want to visit all the time and linger.
I pull out my phone and make a quick list of everything I want to get done tomorrow, which mostly consists of taking inventory, dusting and cleaning, and trying to figure out how to gussy the place up without blowing my small budget on decor.
Heading from the back rows up to the front to flip off the lights again, I pass one of the side windows and find myself pausing.
My hand touches the cold glass automatically as I take in the hazy glow of moonlight on the Christmas trees in the lot next door. It’s like a painting, serene and somehow lonely.
But that’s silly of course. Christmas tree lots aren’t lonely. I’m just tired and hungry and yes, maybe also a little bit worried.
Shaking my head at my own nonsense, I hurry upstairs to see what Mrs. Perkins left in the fridge. After something to eat and a good night’s sleep, I’ll be ready to tackle whatever I need to do tomorrow.
The apartment looks even cozier the second time Ienter. Kicking off my shoes, I stretch a little and then pad into the kitchen to check out the fridge.
I don’t know what I’m expecting to find in there—maybe just a few grocery items or some lunch meat for a sandwich.
Instead, I find myself looking at a casserole dish and a foil-wrapped triangle, along with a quart of milk. And there’s a brand-new bag of ground coffee on the counter next to an older model coffee maker that I sincerely hope still works.
“Yes,” I moan happily, pulling my bounty out of the fridge and laying it out on the counter. Whatever is in that dish and foil, I’m betting it’s homemade.
And when I lift the lid off the casserole dish and find baked macaroni and cheese topped with bits of bacon and chives, it’s all I can do to microwave it instead of wolfing it down cold over the sink.
Inside the foil is a fragrant slice of apple pie with a cinnamon crumble on top that makes my mouth water.
I put the pie back in the fridge with the milk, and dish out an oversized mug of casserole to put in the microwave. As much as I want to scarf down both right now, I should save the pie for breakfast.
As the apartment fills with the savory scent of my dinner, I quickly freshen up and change into my favorite flannel pajamas.
A few minutes later, I’m curled up in the armchair by the window with a steaming mug of mac and cheesecupped in my hands. The other buildings on this block of Celestial Lane are all visible because they’re outlined in Christmas lights, and I try to remember which one is which from my drive in.
As I’m admiring the festive sight of the cheery little town, snow begins to fall.
I’ve got this. Whatever happens tomorrow, I’m ready to start on the next chapter of my life.
2
TAYLOR
The next morning, I wake up to soft light streaming through the windows. As soon as I sit up, I fall madly in love with my new apartment.
The decor looked a bit white-on-white-on-white last night, but now that it’s lit up by the sun, it’s just like a fluffy summer cloud.
And when I get out of bed, a view over the whole town is basically at my feet out those sliding glass doors that lead to the tiny Juliet balcony.
