Mae Kellerman and Becks Holloway had dreamed of opening a bookstore together when they were young and in love. But Mae hadn’t talked to Becks in over twenty years. Or, more accurately, Becks hadn’t talked to Mae. Maybe Becks wouldn’t care for the fact that Mae was, of all things, pursuing their old dream, without her.
Or, again, more accurately—Becks most likely wouldn’t care at all.
But there were other people who would.
Mae shook her head. Attempted to calm the fluttering in her chest.
“Would you look at that, Jesus,” she tried.
And just as immediately, she felt him. His smile, that day in the hospital. The shake of his head back at her.
It was possible Greyfin Bay—something in the ocean air—made Mae a suddenly spiritual person.
Try again, he said.That wasn’t what I told you.
She took a deep, shaky breath.
“Would you look at that, Mae Kellerman,” she whispered.
Jesus thumped her on the back.
She stepped up to the porch, removed the key from her pocket, and stepped inside.
She walked to the center of the room. Placed the Chinese money plant in its pretty teal planter next to her feet. Let the overpacked tote bags on her shoulders slide to the floorboards.
There was a lot to do.
Her car was packed to the very brim with things to unload, including cleaning supplies and a new air mattress. She needed to go grocery shopping. She needed to double check that her website and social media, which Vik had helped her design but which she’d felt cautious about launching before actually acquiring the keys, were ready to go. She needed to do…so many things.
But first…
Mae closed her eyes. Made herself forget Dell McCleary: his assessing brown eyes, his thick, tanned forearms full of sandy hair.
His ownership of this building.
Mae let herself sink into the bubble of hope Jesus Herrera-Baptiste had spent his whole life living in. She turned, and she looked, and she let herself believe this was hers.
It would never be Powell’s, but the room was big, large enough for bookshelves and tables and a reading area in the corner. She walked toward the door, feeling along the wall until she located the light switch. Even though she wasn’t certain Dell had called the electric company yet, another reason why she wanted to be solely in charge of?—
The light flicked on, and Mae twirled back toward the room.
A gorgeous, dusty light fixture of dangling glass filled the room with a golden glow. The walls were painted a shade of mauve that Mae couldn’t tell, at first glance in proper lighting, whether she hated or weirdly loved.
But it was the floor Mae took in now, the slightly uneven planks of hardwood that shone faintly in the light. Like the walls, Mae could see the ghosts of the storefront’s former occupants: where rugs must have been; the criss-crossing scratches of dogs’ nails where they hadn’t. Mae slipped off her sneakers, ran her socked toes along every abandoned inch.
She’d learned about 12 Main Street’s former life as a pet store through her texting with Liv. And what a delightful thing to learn. A place where animals had felt at home felt like a place books would be at home, too.
She decided she rather liked the scratches in the wood. They added character. And sure, the floor did seem to sort ofswoopdownward here, but Mae found herself enjoying that, too: a fun little surprise for her feet.
And then there was the best thing of all, the thing she had only glimpsed through the window last time: a massive, elegant counter built into the back of the room. Mae ran a finger along the dust. Stepped behind it, picturing the extra merchandise that could fit in all its drawers and cubby holes. She’d read up on all the farmers’ markets that existed within a hundred mile radius, made a list of local vendors who might want to sell their wares in the shop. There was one in Lincoln City that ran through September. Maybe she’d stop by tomorrow, pick up some fresh flowers to put on this counter. She’d be the only one to see them, for now, but as one of her personal heroes, Miley Cyrus, had taught her, she could buy herself flowers.
She peeked into the tiny bathroom, the office, both a tangle of abandoned shelving; she inspected the main room from each corner.
It was only slowly filling in, what it would end up actually looking like. She knew it would be hard. Not only because of whatever harsh realities the inspectors she’d scheduled would tell her this week; not just because she still had a world of knowledge to learn about running a small business. But because it would be hers, and Jesus’s, and Steve’s, and it would be loudly queer in this sleepy small town on the coast where people might not want her—her fat queer body or her fat queer ideas.
I want you to trust the world again.
Mae closed her eyes and opened them, over and over again.
