Page 3 of Love Walked In

“The problem with Amazon is that it’s purely transactional,” she began.

“We’ve ended up in this terrible alienated place where everyone’s an individual consumer, and we’ve forgotten how to be with other people.

But indie bookstores can be community hubs, the place people come to buy a book and linger for a while, talk, maybe buy a cup of coffee as well as more books than they planned to.

And we can do stuff for our neighbors. We run storytelling hours for little kids, we collect used books for our nearest food bank to give away, and we run a big book festival every May to raise money for this amazing free creative writing workshop for local teenagers.

We’re a business, but we try to be a force for good, too. ”

“Sounds to me like you’d rather run a charity,” my father sneered. I didn’t like his tone, but I still agreed with him.

“Seriously?” Mari snapped. “OK, let me put it in blunt terms. You need repeat customers. You need customers, period. And right this second, I can see why you don’t have any.

You have apathetic employees, out-of-date stock, and shelves covered in dust.” She shook her hands emphatically. “It feels dead down there.”

Judith gasped slightly, and I swallowed hard, again and again, my eyes finding my shoes so Mari wouldn’t see my hurt.

Mari’s face was suddenly stricken, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry. That was a thoughtless thing to say. I know you guys lost someone recently.”

Judith shook her head. “Thank you for your apology, Mari. And yes, we miss Alexander dearly. But we have to carry on without him, don’t we?” She stared at me, but I could only bring myself to nod.

“I know you love this place,” Mari said gently. “The way I see it, my job is to help you remember exactly why, and to figure out how we can get other people to love it too.”

“That sounds good to me,” Judith said. “David? Leo?”

My father shook his head, a grimace twisting his face.

“My father loved it, but he shared that with Leo. Not me.” He grabbed his coat and his briefcase.

“This place could close tomorrow, as far as I’m concerned.

I wouldn’t mourn it.” He stalked past Mari, not responding to her “Nice to meet you,” and the office door slammed shut behind him.

“Wow, tell us how you really feel,” Mari muttered at the closed door. She turned around and looked at us. “Do you two want to sell, or close? Because you don’t need me for that. I’m in the business of keeping stores open, not shutting them down.”

“No,” I said, the denial coming from deep inside me, the place where missing my grandfather hurt the most. “Never.”

Mari nodded. “Well, that’s something. What about you, Judith?”

Judith reached for my hand and squeezed it. “I want whatever Leo wants.” A burst of affection filled me, and I squeezed back.

“And can David decide anything unilaterally?” Mari asked.

“No,” I answered. “Alexander left him forty-five percent of the store, and the same to me. Judith holds ten percent.”

“My widow’s portion,” Judith said wryly.

Mari rubbed her eyes. “Wow, old-school, OK. Even though David hates this place?”

Judith shook her head. “I suppose Alexander hoped he’d return to the shop if he knew he had a say in its future.”

“So much for hope,” I muttered. Dad and Alexander were both too bullish to make for an easy reconciliation. It was simply easier to go along with what Alexander wanted, because he had almost always been right.

“All right, well, now I know I need to be working with the two of you,” Mari said with forced cheer.

But Judith shook her head. “I’m not involved in the day-to-day operations of the shop.” She held up her stick. “I’m afraid my arthritis can’t handle all the standing and the up-and-down stairs. But I trust you and Leo will work together for the good of the business.”

I folded my lips together at that bit of emotional manipulation.

I knew that Mari wasn’t just a young, bright-eyed bookseller.

She was our Han Solo, the brash heroine swaggering in to save the day.

I knew we needed someone like her. I just wished with everything I had that we didn’t need her .

My nerves were already on edge from her color and energy and confidence and she’d only been here for twenty bloody minutes.

“Of course we will,” Mari said, a hint of a question in her tone.

She raised her chestnut eyebrows at me, and I couldn’t help but take her skeptical expression in.

She had a long, full nose and a mouth that was borderline too large.

A mouth made for smiling, whether joyfully or mockingly.

Her hazel eyes danced with specks of forest green and rich deep brown, and I thought for a moment of a wood nymph out of a Pre-Raphaelite painting.

That’s what she would look like with her hair down, sweetly chaotic and not a little bit sensual.

I just barely resisted the urge to smack myself across the face. It had been forever since I’d been touched, let alone attempted to have sex with anyone, and there was no reason for me to lose any sense of self-discipline now. “Certainly,” I said to Judith.

Mari rubbed her eyes again. “This is going to be a fun challenge, but it’s going to have to wait until tomorrow. I’ve been awake for twenty-four hours, and I feel like someone’s been pushing my Off button for the past twenty minutes.” Her wide mouth stretched in an enormous yawn.

“Oh, of course,” Judith instantly said. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner? You must be exhausted from the journey.”

Mari’s smile was strained. “No problem. But if you could point me in the general direction of where I’m staying?”

“Leo can show you,” Judith said, gesturing to me. “You’re just upstairs in the garret.” She smiled. “It’s where the family lived when they first moved to London from Berlin. I hope you find it comfortable.”

“I’m easy,” Mari said. “As long as it has somewhere I can be horizontal and unconscious, I’ll be happy.” She shouldered her rucksack, grabbed her puffer and jumper, and raised her chin at me. “After you.”

As we climbed up the last narrow flight of stairs, Mari’s massive pack bumping against the walls, hurt and fear snarled up inside me.

She’d pressed on the bruise that wouldn’t heal, the feeling that I’d left the shop to crum ble.

But I couldn’t bear to touch what Alexander had left behind.

My grandfather had been gone for eight months, but I felt his warm, charismatic spirit in the walls, on the shelves, on every step of the staircase.

I couldn’t let her change things. I wouldn’t.