Page 1
Chapter One
Ruby
Isift my fingers through the pile of past due notices with a lump in my throat.
Sip and Flip is officially going under.
I’ve barely opened the doors to my bookstore with the cozy tea lounge, and the overdue bills are going to turn off the lights. My dream is dashed before it was ever fully realized. The demise of my quaint little shop isn’t for lack of style and warmth and selection. Really, my downfall started with a giant water main break on the street in front of the shop, which shut down the entire block for my opening week. Then a leak from the tenant upstairs caused half of my inventory to be damaged.
Sip and Flip never had a chance.
Coming out from behind the counter, I gaze across the street toward the ocean on the other side. People are leaving the beach, silhouetted in the orange California sunset. Maybe a tiny tea shop with little book nooks was wrong for this tourist destination? This is far from the first time I’ve wondered if I setup shop in the wrong place. Who has time to get lost in the stacks with their kids in tow? Or sandy from the beach? If I was selling ice cream or keepsakes, would I have done better?
Maybe.
But that’s not my dream.
I begin to turn back into the darkened shop, prepared to lock up for one of the very last times, when I notice two women in their late twenties hustling toward me from across the street. They spy me through the glass door and wave.
“Are you closed?” one of them, a redhead, calls.
A little caught off guard, I still hold the door open with a welcoming smile. “Come on in. I can stay open as long as you need.”
“Thank you,” says the second woman, a tall brunette. “We are in desperate need of some reading material.”
“You’ve come to the right place,” I murmur, trying not to stare at their incredible purses. To say nothing of their Italian leather, luxury brand shoes. It’s not unusual to come across wealthy tourists in this town, but these women appear to be another level of affluent. “If you need any recommendations, let me know.”
The redhead sends me a blithe smile, then does a double take. “Hey. Why do you look so familiar?”
I rear back a little. “I don’t know. Have you shopped here before? This is my store.”
“No, we’re vacationing from the east coast,” she murmurs, staring at me for another beat before shaking herself, continuing to saunter through by the bestseller shelf. “And let me tell you, it is not going well.”
“Vacation from hell,” the tall brunette agrees. “The blame goes squarely on our husbands. They won’t evenspeakto each other. We had to spend the day on opposite ends of the beach.”
“Why won’t they speak to each other?” I ask.
The redhead drops her head back on a dramatic groan. “It’s complicated.”
Her friend snorts. “You can say that again.”
I don’t want to pry or ask about anything too personal, so I slide back behind the counter and busy myself with the bookmark stand.
“Tell her the story,” encourages the redhead. “It’s not like we’re in a hurry to get back to those dickheads.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” mutters the tall brunette, who approaches the counter twisting a Cartier bracelet around her wrist. “Buckle up, blondie. I bet you’ve never heard anything like this before,” she begins. “We have been best friends all our lives. Our dream was to marry, have babies and do everything together, including grow old. Simple, right? Well, our husbands had other plans.”
Her red-haired friend picks up where she left off. “We met our husbands during sophomore year at Yale.”
My chin pops up.
Yale.
Iwent to Yale, three thousand miles away in Connecticut. What a coincidence.
But I don’t want to interrupt, so I hold my tongue.
“They were best friends since childhood, like us. My husband is an artist who works with metal. Her husband played football and now works in the corporate sector. They’re very different men, but they were inseparable. In other words, perfect for our purposes. We had it all planned out. Snatch up these men, have pretty babies and raise them together while the men go golf and make money or whatever. Well. It wasn’t to be.”
Ruby
Isift my fingers through the pile of past due notices with a lump in my throat.
Sip and Flip is officially going under.
I’ve barely opened the doors to my bookstore with the cozy tea lounge, and the overdue bills are going to turn off the lights. My dream is dashed before it was ever fully realized. The demise of my quaint little shop isn’t for lack of style and warmth and selection. Really, my downfall started with a giant water main break on the street in front of the shop, which shut down the entire block for my opening week. Then a leak from the tenant upstairs caused half of my inventory to be damaged.
Sip and Flip never had a chance.
Coming out from behind the counter, I gaze across the street toward the ocean on the other side. People are leaving the beach, silhouetted in the orange California sunset. Maybe a tiny tea shop with little book nooks was wrong for this tourist destination? This is far from the first time I’ve wondered if I setup shop in the wrong place. Who has time to get lost in the stacks with their kids in tow? Or sandy from the beach? If I was selling ice cream or keepsakes, would I have done better?
Maybe.
But that’s not my dream.
I begin to turn back into the darkened shop, prepared to lock up for one of the very last times, when I notice two women in their late twenties hustling toward me from across the street. They spy me through the glass door and wave.
“Are you closed?” one of them, a redhead, calls.
A little caught off guard, I still hold the door open with a welcoming smile. “Come on in. I can stay open as long as you need.”
“Thank you,” says the second woman, a tall brunette. “We are in desperate need of some reading material.”
“You’ve come to the right place,” I murmur, trying not to stare at their incredible purses. To say nothing of their Italian leather, luxury brand shoes. It’s not unusual to come across wealthy tourists in this town, but these women appear to be another level of affluent. “If you need any recommendations, let me know.”
The redhead sends me a blithe smile, then does a double take. “Hey. Why do you look so familiar?”
I rear back a little. “I don’t know. Have you shopped here before? This is my store.”
“No, we’re vacationing from the east coast,” she murmurs, staring at me for another beat before shaking herself, continuing to saunter through by the bestseller shelf. “And let me tell you, it is not going well.”
“Vacation from hell,” the tall brunette agrees. “The blame goes squarely on our husbands. They won’t evenspeakto each other. We had to spend the day on opposite ends of the beach.”
“Why won’t they speak to each other?” I ask.
The redhead drops her head back on a dramatic groan. “It’s complicated.”
Her friend snorts. “You can say that again.”
I don’t want to pry or ask about anything too personal, so I slide back behind the counter and busy myself with the bookmark stand.
“Tell her the story,” encourages the redhead. “It’s not like we’re in a hurry to get back to those dickheads.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” mutters the tall brunette, who approaches the counter twisting a Cartier bracelet around her wrist. “Buckle up, blondie. I bet you’ve never heard anything like this before,” she begins. “We have been best friends all our lives. Our dream was to marry, have babies and do everything together, including grow old. Simple, right? Well, our husbands had other plans.”
Her red-haired friend picks up where she left off. “We met our husbands during sophomore year at Yale.”
My chin pops up.
Yale.
Iwent to Yale, three thousand miles away in Connecticut. What a coincidence.
But I don’t want to interrupt, so I hold my tongue.
“They were best friends since childhood, like us. My husband is an artist who works with metal. Her husband played football and now works in the corporate sector. They’re very different men, but they were inseparable. In other words, perfect for our purposes. We had it all planned out. Snatch up these men, have pretty babies and raise them together while the men go golf and make money or whatever. Well. It wasn’t to be.”