Page 23 of The Nook for Brooks (Mulligan’s Mill #6)

brOOKS

The Nook had been closed for less than forty-eight hours, and already things were out of place.

A copy of Sense and Sensibility leaned three degrees off-center, a paperback thriller had migrated from Mystery into Biography, and the bell over the door wore a cobweb in the corner.

None of it was catastrophic, but all of it was unacceptable.

I rolled up my sleeves without even thinking about it and went to work. Sense and Sensibility was straightened, the thriller returned, cobweb removed. Within ten minutes the shop looked like itself again. Twenty minutes later and I did too.

The bell chimed.

“Don’t panic,” Cody said, holding up a small brown paper bag. “Your knight in shining armor is here.”

“You got a new plug?”

“Not just any new plug.” He grinned, setting the bag on the counter. “Harry’s best. Solid seal, proper chain, no gargling sound effects.”

I lifted the plug from the bag. Rubber firm, chain weighty, ring properly crimped. “I suppose it will do,” I said.

He laughed jovially. “I’ll take that as a thank you. Now that we’ve solved the problems of the drainage world, what do you say to a picnic lunch tomorrow? Down by the riverside. I’ll bring the blanket. You bring the bossy commentary.”

“Do you even know me? Surely you’ve figured out I don’t do picnics.”

“You do now.” He tapped the plug. “It’s a small price to pay for bath-time serenity, wouldn’t you say?”

“Fine,” I said, surprising both of us. “I’ll do it. But if I see a single ant, I’m not above screaming in public.”

The door chimed again and young Milton, the nerdy teenager, hovered in the doorway, glasses slipping down his nose. It was later in the day than I realized if school was out.

“Milton,” I said. “Come on in.”

He shuffled to the counter. “Hi, Mr. Beresford.” He glanced sideways at Cody, then dropped his eyes to the floor, his fingers fiddling with the strap of his backpack.

“Do you… have anything else on dragons? I read the ones from last time. Twice. I think I’ve read almost everything now.

Except the baby books. I don’t want to read any baby books about dragons.

I want to read about real dragons. I mean, I know dragons aren’t really real. But you know what I mean.”

“I certainly do,” I said. “Wait here.”

I unlocked a display case. On the third shelf was an Edinburgh compendium, limited run, gilt edges, cloth spine, illustrations as rich as stained glass. It wasn’t new. But it was perfect.

I returned to the counter and set it down.

Milton caught his breath, his eyes wide in wonder.

“Gold edges?” Cody whispered, staying out of the boy’s sightline.

“Gilt,” I murmured. “It’s a thing.”

Milton reached slowly for it, then hesitated. “Can I… ?”

“You may. Are your hands clean?”

He held them up. They practically sparkled.

“Excellent.”

He opened to the middle and froze at an intricate illustration of a dragon arched over a river gorge, solemn rather than savage. The facing page traced it through Welsh and Balkan folklore, the footnotes gloriously pedantic.

“This is…” Milton swallowed. “This is the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s a reference work,” I said, neutral.

“It looks kinda pricey,” Cody said. “How much?”

“Enough,” I replied.

Milton lifted his backpack higher. “I can… save up. I’ve started helping Clancy and River out at the ice cream parlor. It’s only a couple of hours a week, but I can put away all my earnings till I’ve got enough.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him he’d be in his fifties by the time he could afford it, so instead I said… “Or you can take it now.”

Both of them stared at me.

“Consider it a gift,” I nodded. “On one condition.”

“I’ll look after it,” Milton blurted. “I swear I will.”

“Two conditions,” I corrected. “Read it. Then tell me which dragon is the most frightening… and how does one defeat him.”

He nodded so hard his glasses slipped. “Yes, Mr. Beresford.”

“You’ll need a slipcase.” I fetched one from the back, slipped the book inside, and handed it over.

“Thank you,” he said, before adding in a voice so humble it was barely audible—“You’re my hero.”

He hugged the book and left with his shoulders an inch higher than when he’d come in.

I stood still and cleared my throat.

Cody leaned on the counter, smiling faintly. “Oh my god. I think you might be my hero too. That was really something.”

I inhaled. “A book like that needs a good home. And Milton needs a book like that. They belong together. I simply did the right thing.”

“Not just the right thing… you did a good thing.”

I felt my cheeks flush and began fussing with the till. “You should go. You’ve got a picnic to plan.”

“Indeed I do. I hope you like bread sticks and camembert cheese. And stuffed olives. And sliced pears. And grapes. Oh, and those juicy little gherkins, whatever they’re called.”

“Cornichons,” I told him. “Just remember the bug spray.”

“You betcha!” He started toward the door then paused. “Brooks?”

“What?”

“That was beautiful, what you just did. Being a hero suits you.”

Then with a chime of the bell he was gone.

The next morning, I unlocked the Nook at nine, turned the sign to Open, and set out the day’s recommendation on the chalkboard under the awning.

STAFF PICK: The Pathfinders —Taboo alert!

Two best friends and cousins fall in love at a secluded cabin by a lake.

Expect a tale with sweet main characters, a swoony local legend, and a steamy forbidden romance that’ll fog up your glasses and get you banned from Aunt Gertrude’s mahjong night.

Fun fact: intimate relations between first cousins is legal in eighteen US states, so stop clutching your pearls and enjoy!

Mrs. Barlow was first through the door, sweeping in and tapping the counter with a manicured finger.

“I need a book of love spells. Proper ones. With candles and chanting.”

I pointed her to the Romance section.

She scowled. “Paperbacks with shirtless men on the cover are not spells.”

“Depends who you ask,” I said.

I short while after that, Mr. Pritchard strode in. “I want a war novel. But not too violent. And not too short, I want to immerse myself in it. And preferably with a happy ending.”

“So… you want a peace novel?” I asked.

He blinked, considered it. “Yes, exactly. But it needs to be a war novel. I want a novel that’s about war… and peace.”

I think I have just the thing, handing him a copy of War and Peace .

His face lit up. “Brilliant. It’s about time someone wrote a book on the subject.”

Minutes later, Mrs. Langley arrived in a cloud of perfume, waving a limp romance paperback like a surrender flag.

“I need something steamier,” she demanded. “Darling, I want scandal. My book club demands it.”

“Did you see today’s recommendation? Spicy taboo romance.”

“What, pray tell, is a taboo romance?”

“Cousins. Sometimes stepsiblings. Sometimes twins and even triplets.”

She gasped, fanning herself dramatically. “Say no more, just give me the book… give me all the books! Now!” She left with an armful of taboo romances, enough to satiate the needs of any respectable book club.

By five minutes to twelve, order had restored itself. That was when Cody appeared.

He leaned in the doorway with a wicker basket and a grin. “Ready, handsome? Prepare to be pampered with my gourmet picnic hamper, which comes complete with sporks, napkins, two blankets to insulate us from the ground, and the all-important bug spray.”

I adjusted the receipts on the counter. “What’s in the basket?”

“Classified. But I promise you’ll approve.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

“I can’t wait. I’ve started living for your judgements… so stern and harsh. I love it.” He winked with a grin and jerked his to the bright day outside. “Now come on, a sunshiny picnic awaits.”