The next day at work, Lucy tried to decide how to reach outto Jep. The most obvious way was to look him up on Snapchat or get his number from someone. But she was too afraid of the lawsuit to do that: her father had made it very clear they could have zero contact. It would have to be through someone else. Or a chance meeting.
She was so distracted by her scheming that she accidentally rang up a thirty-two-dollar book as thirty-two hundred dollars. Brad had to redo the whole transaction on the register. Luckily, he was in an unusually good mood. Lucy wondered if it was the new boyfriend. Brad would never say. For someone who loved to dissect everyone else’s business, he sure was mum about his own. It didn’t matter. Ethan came in almost as much as Mrs. Shipman did lately. Each day Ethan showed up just before lunch, always dressed to impress, and the two went out together. Leah thought it was cute the way they were so shy with each other in front of the rest of them, even though they held hands the second they hit the sidewalk. Mrs. Shipman called it young love. For an old woman, she sure got things.
Mrs. Shipman was back to her daily visits. Lucy was glad she felt better; that one day she came in so breathless and pale was worrying. The energy in the store felt different with her around. Brad could be so fussy and proper in one breath and then teasing and snarky the next. Leah was all over the place, fretting over spreadsheets and paint colors. Mrs. Shipman was kind of like the mother bird they all hadn’t known they needed. If the bookstore was a nest in a tall tree on a windy day, when she was around their perch felt steadier.
Lucy liked that Luke was back, too. Just that morning heshowed up to install the red cubbies in the studio space. But then Leah was acting all strange. She was probably nervous because they had their first knitting night that evening and the room wasn’t ready yet. That was the story with everything at the Sandy Page, but at least it kept things interesting.
“Lucy, dear, would you give me a hand?” Mrs. Shipman was struggling to carry a basket of yarn, a bag of knitting supplies slung over each shoulder like a pack mule.
“Let me take that,” Lucy said, relieving her of the big basket. It teemed with balls of yarn, in all kinds of interesting colors. When she set it down in the studio, she couldn’t help but run her hands across the fibers.
“They just beg to be touched, don’t they?”
Mrs. Shipman was blinking at her through her glasses, which Lucy realized in that moment were the same coral red as the new cubbies Luke was drilling noisily into the wall.
“Sorry, ladies. This is the last one,” Luke promised.
Dust rose around them, but Mrs. Shipman didn’t even seem to notice. “Here, honey,” she shouted over the drill. “Feel this one. It’s alpaca wool. Isn’t it lovely?”
She held out a ball of yarn the color of amethyst. When Lucy held it against her skin, it was soft as a kitten.
“I don’t suppose you knit, do you?” she asked.
Lucy shook her head. “No, but my mom used to. She made us sweaters as kids.”
“You and your sister?”
At the mention of Ella, Lucy decided she should probably get back to the storefront to man the register. But something aboutMrs. Shipman made talking about her sister less dangerous. “Yes. My mom knit us matching green ponchos one year. And a lot of sweaters and hats.”
Mrs. Shipman’s eyes twinkled behind her glasses. “Weren’t you both lucky, wrapped up in your mother’s love.” The way she said it made a warm feeling come over Lucy. Her mind drifted back to her second grade classroom, to the cotton candy–pink sweater she liked to wear to school. A brown rail fence ran across the front and a tiny white lamb sat in the corner. Just thinking of her pink lamb sweater Lucy could almost feel the wool collar brush against her chin.
“Are you going to teach people to knit sweaters?” Lucy asked. She was suddenly in less of a rush to get back to the register.
“Goodness, no. That’s advanced work. Tonight I’ll start with a basic knit stitch.” She sized up Lucy, as if guessing her height and weight. “Would you like to learn?”
“Oh, I’m not so good at crafts.”
“Nonsense.” Mrs. Shipman waved a hand. “Knitting is an art, and art is for all.”
“Art is for all,” Luke boomed, coming to stand behind them. He gestured to the cubbies, which were firmly installed against the far wall. Leah had painted the room in Dove White and the coral cubbies looked like a little sea reef set in the corner. “Finished and ready for your knitting supplies, Mrs. S,” he said.
“My word!” Mrs. Shipman turned to admire his work. Lucy had to admit with the high ceilings and natural light, the bright cubbies just worked. “Where is Leah?Leah,” she called, hurrying to the French doors that led into her office. “Hurry!”
Lucy had never heard anyone tell Leah to hurry anywhere in her own store, but Mrs. Shipman had such a nice way about it, hurry she did. As did Brad. Even Ethan, who must have just returned from lunch with him, popped his head in the doorway.
“Well, well, well. The knitting lab is finis,” Brad said. “Let the games begin!”
They all looked at Leah who stood in the doorway, arms crossed uncertainly against her chest. Especially Luke, who seemed to be holding his breath. Was she upset with the outcome?
Leah swiped at a corner of her eye and then Lucy understood. “They’re beautiful,” she said. “Just beautiful.”
Lucy half expected Leah to hug Luke, like she always did when he solved a problem or fixed something broken. Which was pretty much all the time. But this time she went to the cubbies instead and bent down beside them like one would a small child, running her hands lovingly across their tops. This seemed to be enough for Luke, whose entire posture relaxed at the sight of it. “Are they to your liking then?” he asked.
“Better,” she said. “Thank you.”
And then it was all hands on deck. The big table Leah had brought from her own house was moved from its storage spot in the old kitchen to the middle of the gleaming floors in the new studio. Brad and Lucy collected various chairs from around the house to sit around it. Even Ethan rolled up his sleeves, helping Luke haul in a rocking chair (you can never have too many reading seats in a bookstore! Leah insisted) that Lucy had never seen before.
“That’s a gift, from my house,” Mrs. Shipman explained, proudly. All faces turned in her direction. “I asked Luke to help me deliver it. I figure if I have a comfy chair here I’ll feel more at home when I teach my classes.”
