Page 13 of The Nook for Brooks (Mulligan’s Mill #6)

brOOKS

The first thing I did that morning was evict the sunflowers from my quill vase.

Flowers belonged in a bookstore about as much as a marching band did in a monastery.

I rescued the quills, restored them to their rightful place, and banished the sunflowers to a bucket I kept in case the roof ever leaked, which on the occasion of a summer storm it sometimes did, given the age of the building.

With order restored, I went about my daily work, cataloging, categorizing, and placing orders for new novels and reprinted classics.

By ten a.m. the usual parade had begun.

First came Mrs. Kettleman, demanding to know why the cookbook she’d purchased last week hadn’t magically improved her husband’s omelets.

I suggested that perhaps the issue lay with the chef, not the book.

She gave me an indignant glare and declared she’d never be shopping in my store again…

before placing an order for Martha Stewart’s new book.

A few minutes later, Mr. Delaney wanted a refund on a mystery novel because he’d guessed the killer correctly. I told him he should be pleased with his sleuthing skills. Grumpily he told me two things died in that story—the victim and the art of surprise.

A little later, Mrs. Hutchins tried to return a poetry collection because “half the poems don’t even rhyme.” I told her that was free verse. She sniffed and said, “No it wasn’t. It was twelve ninety-five… and not worth a single penny of it!”

At eleven, I heard the distant rumble of thunder.

A moment later, Aunt Bea made her entrance—gliding through the door in a bright yellow raincoat and shiny black knee-length boots.

Over one shoulder she held a rainbow-colored umbrella, twirling it like a dance partner.

I couldn’t decide if she was about to break into “ Singin’ in the Rain ” or launch straight into “ It’s Raining Men. ”

“Brooks, darling, the temperature is rising, and the thermometer is getting loooooow!”

“I think you mean barometer.”

“Oh, enough boring science talk,” she said, snapping her umbrella shut and strutting toward the counter, her boots squeaking.

“All I know is, it’s hot outside and something’s about to break.

I knew a storm was coming. I felt it in my waters, somewhere between my spleen and my inner left thigh.

But enough of a body’s uncanny ability to prophesy the weather.

I’ve come to check you for structural damage. ”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you get home all right last night? No broken ankles, no broken ribs, no broken hearts.”

Ah… I figured where this was going. “Bea, I’m fine.”

“Really? Because you left the bar last night like a runaway bride.

“I left like someone who knows when enough is enough,” I said.

Bea tilted her head. “Enough of what, darling? Good company, great conversation, and a man who looks at you like you’re the prize behind door number three? Brooks… baby cakes… the two of you were laughing together. He made you laugh . Do you know what that’s called?”

“An illegal pour of vodka?”

“No, darling, that’s called having fun.”

“I own a bookstore,” I pointed out. “You know me. My idea of fun is putting things in alphabetical order and a cup of tea at three.”

Bea rolled her eyes so hard I thought she might sprain an optic nerve. “Putting things in alphabetical order doesn’t make you laugh until your cheeks turn pink.”

“I laughed till my cheeks turned pink?”

“Mm-hmmmm. Until the moment he tickled you, then up went the wall like a drawbridge in a medieval siege.”

“He didn’t tickle me. He startled me.”

Bea smirked. “Cherub, startled is when you see a mouse. This was you enjoying yourself until you suddenly remembered you weren’t supposed to.”

“I didn’t ‘suddenly remember’ anything,” I said, stacking a row of new hardcovers with unnecessary precision. “I simply prefer not to be prodded like a circus bear held captive in a cage.”

“Oh, you were held captive all right. I saw the look in your eyes, you were hanging on his every word.”

I gave a defensive shrug. “He’s… vaguely interesting.”

“Vaguely?” She started drumming her fingers together like a villain.

“Okay, more than vaguely. He was… mildly interesting.”

“Mildly? Darling, he’s not a Mexican salsa.”

“Okay, okay. So, he was engaging… and witty… and…”

“You can say it, sugar-pie. There’s nobody here but me and the ghosts of a thousand dead authors.”

“Okay, yes. I enjoyed his company. He was… fun. Are you happy now?”

“Darling, I’m always happy, even when I’m being nasty.

Especially when I’m being nasty. The question is…

are you ready to be happy? Are you ready to put yourself out there, to take on a little adventure?

You could use some excitement in your life, my book-loving Brooks. Are you ready to go find it?”

I inhaled deeply.

Felt the courage rise inside me.

Then said, “No. I don’t think I am.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous! Of course you are. Brooks Beresford, it’s time to pull up your socks and put on your big-boy bow tie. This is your big chance. The universe is dangling a big, juicy, undoubtedly well-hung carrot in front of your face. It’s up to you to reach out and grab it!”

“Okay! Okay! You’re right. Maybe I should. Maybe I will.”

“Honey, there’s no ‘maybe’ about it. If you don’t go after that boy now, you may never get a second shot. It’s not every day a tall, smart, sexy hunk walks in that door.”

At that moment, the bell above the door chimed.

Bea and I both turned—

To see rickety-legged Old Walt standing there with another medical mystery in his hands. “Boy oh boy, this one really went into detail! That reminds me, did I ever tell you about my botched catheter insertion?”

I looked Bea square in the eye. “I really do need to get out more.”

As Bea shuffled Old Walt off down the street, her arm in his as he divulged a history of stomach-turning surgeries, I flipped the Open sign on the door to Closed and hurried along the sidewalk to Benji and Bastian’s BnB.

I needed to apologize to Cody for fleeing the bar the night before.

Not only that… I wanted to see him.

The air was thick, hot, unsettled. Clouds were gathering above Mulligan’s Mill, pressing down from the sky, adding to the weight of my anxiety.

I quickened my pace toward the BnB. My fingers twitched at my bow tie—tightened it, straightened it, smoothed it out—then fluttered uselessly at my cuffs. Apologizing was not my strong suit. I needed a script.

“Good afternoon, Cody. I need to inform you that I regret my hasty departure last—”

No, too formal.

“Hi there. Sorry about running off last night. I think the cocktail of vodka and you went to my head.”

No! Way too honest.

“Would you care for a complimentary bookmark as compensation for my poor behavior?”

That’s just ridiculous.

I groaned aloud, earning a curious glance from Mrs. Cloverfield as she tottered past with her shopping.

“Lovely weather,” she remarked.

“There’s a storm coming,” I snapped. Then, catching myself—“At least… that’s what I’ve been told.”

The clouds grumbled overhead, proving Bea’s inner thigh to be a more accurate meteorologist than the National Weather Service.

I lengthened my stride. The sooner I reached the BnB, the better.

By the time I reached the BnB, the first drops of rain had begun to fall, splatting against my shoulders and collar. There weren’t many, just a few random fat drops; a warning from a darkening sky about to open.

Somewhere out beyond the trees, thunder rolled.

I hurried up the steps of the BnB.

Inside, the front room was alive with activity.

Benji was tugging hard at a stained glass window, trying to hook the latch, while Bastian balanced on a chair to pull across a curtain that had snagged on the railing.

They moved around each other with practiced ease, their voices overlapping as they worked to prep the BnB for the unexpected summer storm.

Bastian wobbled slightly on the chair when he saw me. “Brooks, hi. Everything okay? Do you need help locking down for the storm?”

“No, the Nook will be fine.” Even as the words left my lips, I wondered whether or not I’d closed the upstairs windows. For a few tense moments I fought the urge to race back and check before hurriedly saying, “Is Cody here? I need to speak with him.”

Benji turned from his window, cheeks flushed from the effort. “He’s not. I’m afraid he went for a hike this morning. He wanted to see the old mill and the falls. We had no idea there was a storm coming, otherwise we never would have suggested it. We just hope he’s okay.”

“Babe, he’ll be fine,” Bastian said, jumping down from the chair. “He’s from Australia. I think he can handle a storm.”

“You’re right,” Benji nodded, before turning to me with a look of horror on his face. “Did you know they have killer jellyfish?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have time to think about anything but Cody.

My breath was already tight in my chest, my bow tie suddenly strangling me.

The rain was spitting harder against the glass, thunder closer now, and all I could see in my mind was Cody alone in the woods, compass in hand, the sky splitting open above him.

“I’m going after him,” I said.

They both stared at me uncertainly.

“You?” Bastian asked.

“In the rain?” Benji added.

“Yes me… in the rain,” I asserted as courageously as I could.

“But what about the lightning?” Bastian asked now. “A tree could get struck and fall on you. Or there could be a flash flood and you’ll get swept down the river. What if there’s a rockslide or a mudslide? Not to mention the fact that your clothes will get absolutely soaked!”

“Which is why I’m going. Any of those things could happen to Cody.”

Benji winced as though he hated to offend me, before saying, “Yes but… he’s not you.”

My shoulders stiffened. “What exactly are you saying?”

“Well, Cody strikes me as being pretty resourceful.”

“And resilient,” Bastian added.

“Tough as nails.”

“Strong as an ox.”

“Quick on his feet.”

“Smart as a fox.”

I stood there, eyes wide. “And I’m none of those things?” I asked petulantly.

They didn’t answer.

My shoulders slumped as I realized—“I’m none of those things.”

For a moment I thought about slinking back to the bookstore, hiding from the storm, closing the shutters and locking the doors and hoping that Cody made it back okay.

Benji and Bastian obviously saw the look of defeat in my eyes and hurried up to me, each putting a hand on my shoulder. I would normally shrug off such a forward gesture, but at the time I found it not only encouraging, but comforting.

“Why don’t we call Sheriff Gates?” Bastian suggested. “He might be able to send out a search party.”

But I shook my head. “It’s just a summer storm. It’s not the end of the world. We don’t need the sheriff. I can do this, I know my way to the old mill. I can find him on my own.”

“Are you sure?” Benji asked.

I heard Bea’s words echo through my head.

I needed a little adventure.

I could use some excitement in my life.

My shoulders rose. My chest puffed. I smiled at Benji and Bastian. “You bet I’m sure. I’m ready to go out there and find him, no matter what.”

With that I hurried to the door…

Just as the rain started pelting down.

For one moment I paused… then turned back and asked, “You don’t happen to have an umbrella I could borrow?”