Leah
The paint color she’d chosen was all wrong. Leah stepped back for a better look at the sample she’d brushed onto the wall. When the light hit it, the gray-green hue she’d hoped for looked more like puke. She groaned. The local hardware store had limited options, and she was on a tight budget. Still, she was grateful for the paint and the wall, puke colored or not.
The night Leah saw theFor Rentsign in the window of the old house, she made two calls right from the front steps. The first was to the Realtor. The second was to her father. “I know this is crazy,” she began. “But I want to open a beach bookstore. I found the perfect spot.” Her father had only one question. “What will you call it?”
The name had come to her right there on the steps. “The Sandy Page.”
The idea was the easy part. All night she reviewed her bank statements and crunched the numbers. Between her smallsavings and her even smaller severance package, her idea wasn’t quite financially feasible. Undeterred, she holed up in the cottage and researched. She placed a call to her favorite indie bookstore back in Boston and talked to the owner. Then she worked through the night to create a business plan. The next day, heart pounding, Leah walked through the double doors at the local bank and presented her idea to the small business loan officer. Before they’d even finished reviewing her assets, the loan officer took off his glasses and gave her a sympathetic look. She was too high risk to qualify for a loan.
Crushed, she drove the long way home, avoiding the old captain’s house so she wouldn’t add salt to the wound. When her father called to ask how the bank meeting went, she let it go to voicemail. Moments later, he called again.
“I’m sorry, Dad, but I’m too upset to talk about it right now. The bank denied me.”
“Hang on,” he told her. “I have an idea of my own.”
Long ago her parents had set aside savings for her future wedding. Leah knew it couldn’t have been easy for them, but it was something her mother had insisted on doing. “I want you to use the wedding money to open your store.”
At first Leah had been unable to speak. “What if it fails?” Risking her own money was one thing. Using savings that her mother, now gone, had helped to set aside for a very different purpose felt unthinkable.
“Then at least you know you tried,” her father said. “I’d rather you invest in yourself than some fiancé.” What he said next sealed her decision. “It would have made your mother happy.”
Now, every penny mattered even more. Leah examined the fresh paint from a different angle. Maybe if she cocked her head just so in the right light, it would look less like puke. No such luck.
“Hello?” The front door opened, and a young man poked his head inside. “I’m Brad. The one who called about the job?”
“Yes!” Leah had posted a bookseller position online. “Please come in,” she said, sizing him up.
Brad was dressed smartly in a gingham button-down and tailored chinos. She watched as he navigated the canvas tarps and painting supplies strewn about the floor. “Sorry about the mess.”
Brad surveyed the scene warily. “Uh, I was under the impression this was a bookstore?”
“It will be! Very soon.” Then, seeing the look on his face: “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Well.” He narrowed his eyes at the paint sample on the wall. “I might sayambitious.”
At least he had a sense of humor. “Optimism. I like that.”
Besides the inspector and the plumber, Brad was the first person who’d come inside since she’d met with the Realtor and signed the lease. The house’s owner, Stefan, lived on the West Coast and apparently hadn’t laid eyes on the house in years. It took the Realtor and Leah a few days to convince him that the property was not worth the exorbitant rent he was asking and, in fact, required improvements. In the end, he’d agreed to reduce the rent and cover only necessary repairs: the rest were on her. “I know it looks like a lot, but we had it inspected,” Leahtried to assure Brad. “Aside from a little plumbing hiccup, it just needs a fresh coat of paint. And some new boards on the front steps.”
“And maybe some books?” Brad suggested. He tried the light switch on the wall by the fireplace, but nothing happened.
“Yes, but I’m getting the place for a song!” she added brightly.
The look on Brad’s face was doubtful. “You must have quite the vocals.” He glanced around. “The advertisement said bookseller wanted.”
“I know what you’re thinking. It’s a bookstore without shelves.” Leah sighed as she followed his gaze around the room. “Or stock.”
“Or working light fixtures,” Brad said, his big brown eyes swinging to the dusty old-fashioned schoolhouse pendants hanging from the high ceilings.
Any sense of accomplishment she had over the million little things she’d done in the past week vaporized. It was one thing to apply for the necessary business permits and licenses at town hall, which was a headache in itself. And to clear out the dirt and debris that had accumulated over the years, which was thick as soot; to sweep out cobwebs and mop floors and scrub windows. The smells were mostly gone! The antique pine floors gleamed. But now, standing here with Brad and seeing it through his eyes, she couldn’t deny the facts.
“The thing is, I need to start a job as soon as possible,” Brad said, interrupting her thoughts. “I’m a PhD economics student at BU. I’m only here for the summer, staying at my grandmother’s, and I really need the money for next semester.”
“Oh, you can start right away!” Leah said, pushing back the rising swell of doubt.
“But…”
“I do have a few questions, though,” Leah went on. This was an interview, after all. And Brad had not yet been hired. “Can you paint, Brad?”
