“Yeah.” Mae smiled back. “I like that plan.”
“All right,” Dell said, voice still gruff, but lighter, somehow. “See you soon.”
And then he walked past her into the office, until she heard the back door slam, followed, soon, by the familiar whir of one of his power tools.
She knew exactly what he looked like back there, by now: safety glasses, a light sheen of sweat on his brow. Forearms on display, T-shirt stretched across his wide shoulders. Perhaps a bit of sawdust in his beard.
It didn’t affect her at all.
Mae shook her head, grabbed her bag and her keys. She was still smiling when she locked the front door behind her, turning to walk down Main Street, ready again to say hi.
* * *
Olive Young recognized Mae the minute she walked into This and That.
“Mae Kellerman!” Olive whipped a tea towel she’d been examining onto the massive counter in front of her. “Owner of Greyfin Bay’s new bookstore. Am I right?”
Finally, Mae thought, trying to tamp down the enthusiasm of her grin so as to not appear as manic as she felt.I’ve met one of them.
Olive Young, with her graying hair swept into a bun behind a flowing, floral headwrap, her vintage glasses hanging around her neck on a chain, and a voice so loud and distinctive you could sense her personality within a single sentence, finally filled the void ofquirky townspersonMae had been conditioned to believe existed in small towns through an adulthood of romance novels and Hallmark movies.
Even though Mae, in childhood, had herself lived in a small town, and could only remember a lot of tired people who weren’t very quirky at all.
Still, she was glad to meet Olive.
“You knew my full name,” Mae said. “Impressive.”
Olive navigated around the three-sided counter in the center of the room to reach Mae with a handshake.
“A gal like you moving to town is memorable.” Olive perched the glasses back on her nose to give Mae a better look.
“Actually,” Mae said, still a little high on bookshelf adrenaline, “I don’t really identify as a gal.”
“Ah. Nonbinary, then?”
Mae shrugged. “Whatever you want to call it. I’m good with she or they pronouns.”
Olive flicked herself in the forehead.
“Gotcha. Got it locked away in my noggin now.”
Mae realized, while holding in a laugh, that she recognized Olive’s distinctive accent.
“Olive,” she said, “Are you from?—”
“Jersey?” Olive stood taller, put her hands on her hips. “Sure am.”
“What brought you out here?”
“Oh, you know.” Olive deflated a touch, rolling her eyes and flopping a hand in the air. “A man. Didn’t last forever, but he gave me my babies and this store, so I can’t complain. Are you an East Coast defector, too? Well, not that I should say I’m adefector.” Olive winced, rolling on before Mae had a chance to answer. “Still go back every year around the holidays for a few weeks, but I’m pretty well settled here now, y’know? This place sticks its claws in ya.”
“Yeah. I never lived in Jersey, but I did spend a year in Brooklyn, a long time ago.”
“Well, of course you did.”
“Couldn’t quite afford it, I’m afraid.”
“Of course you couldn’t! And Jersey’s just as bad these days!” Olive threw up a hand. “And the taxes! Out of control, absolutely out of control. Don’t even get me started. Anyway, anyway, come on in, Mae Kellerman.”
