Page 16 of The Sandy Page Bookshop

Leah

It was opening day. Leah was up before the sun had even risen, staring out the window at the pink dusting of sunrise peeking over the edge of the horizon. All signs were pointing to exactly the kind of day she’d hoped for: sun-filled, blue sky, the perfect Cape summer day.

It still seemed impossible that she’d pulled it off. Even after they’d stayed late putting the finishing touches on the interior and filling the flowerpots by the door last night. Even after Luke had surprised her with one final job.

It was late, and he’d found her in the office, posting her last grand opening announcement online. “I have a little something for you,” he’d said, somewhat sheepishly.

“For me?” Leah had looked up from her laptop.

It was still a wonder to her that the man filling her doorframe in faded jeans and his Saltwater Woodworks T-shirt was the same bucktoothed kid who’d run around the backyard with her brother, James, all those years ago.

For the life of her she could not remember the name of the nice older woman who’d stopped by to hand her the scrap of paper with Luke’s name and number scribbled across it, but Leah wanted to thank her.

Not that she’d called him; Leah had been too stubborn.

And not that any of it had clicked with her at the time: the woman had not included Luke’s last name, and Leah had always remembered him as Lucas .

Never mind that Leah had not even recognized him when he still managed to show up.

That fact still made her blush with embarrassment.

Now the whole thing seemed serendipitous, a kind of small-town magical realism she read about in romance novels.

Despite all of it, somehow Luke Nickerson had found her anyway.

When she thought back to their childhood, Luke had been a skinny, shy kid Leah pretty much ignored, except to yell at her brother and him to keep it down when they played late-night video games.

Or to ask him to move his bike when he left it lying in the driveway behind her car.

Long gone was that scraggly kid she’d caught more than once staring at her across a bowl of Cheerios at the kitchen table the morning after he and James had a sleepover—who blushed each time she made eye contact.

No, the man standing in her doorway now was broad shouldered and compelling, his ease as sure as the humorous glint in his blue eyes.

It was Leah who now felt a little unsettled every time she looked at him.

After Luke had swung by the shop to offer his help, she’d called her brother, James. “You won’t believe who came by the other day.”

“No kidding,” James had said, when she told him. “His business is pretty successful. Did you know Architectural Digest did a piece on a kitchen reno he did for one of the Shore Road houses?”

“I had no idea,” Leah replied in wonder.

Since he began working with her, Luke had come in and gotten straight to work each day, saying little about his business or his life, even when she inquired.

In fact, he’d made the store such a priority the past week that she assumed the other jobs he’d mentioned had slowed down.

“He said summer was his busy season, but he makes it seem like he’s basically a handyman. ”

James had laughed. “Yeah, a handyman none of us could ever afford. I’m surprised he has time to give you. Our old friend Scott just inherited his parents’ house and wanted to update it. Apparently, Luke is so booked out he can’t even start until next year.”

“He’s been here every day,” she told her brother, wondering how that was possible.

True to his word, Luke had finished the shelves, often coming in at odd times.

One morning he showed up looking exhausted with several freshly sanded and painted units, ready to be installed.

“Did you stay up late to finish those?” she’d pressed.

She didn’t believe him when he shook his head, no.

“Sounds like he’s doing you quite a favor,” James said.

Leah’s mind flashed back to the “agreement” they’d struck.

Luke had assured her they’d work something out, insisting he was happy to wait until she had some dependable revenue coming in.

Leah had insisted he at least provide an estimate before starting.

Despite some initial balking, he’d finally handed her a figure that even she knew was too low.

Now she realized with chagrin that he was practically working for her for free.

She’d have to find a way to pay him back. At least one thing was sure: Luke Nickerson wasn’t going anywhere. He was as local as the haul that came off the fishing boats each morning at Chatham Fish Pier.

The clincher was the little something he wanted to show her the night before.

Leah had braced herself, assuming he’d found something dire.

Like when he’d shored up the front steps, and found the frame wasn’t up to code.

Or when he’d had to replace the wood over the entryway since the water stains had proven to be dry rot.

When she followed him outside Brad was waiting, too, a goofy look on his face.

“What’s going on?” Leah asked, immediately suspicious.

Luke pointed overhead. Leah’s eyes swung skyward and she gasped. A beautiful wooden sign hung over the door, the lettering etched in gold trim.

THE SANDY PAGE BOOKSHOP

Leah gasped. “Luke! When did you find the time?”

“It’s nothing,” he said, already waving away the fuss she was making.

“It’s not nothing!” She could not believe how beautiful it was, both the gesture and the craftsmanship.

His eyes crinkled shyly. “You can’t have a shop without a sign.”

“Thank you,” she managed, pulling him in for a hug. Standing on the sidewalk between Brad and Luke, Leah felt for the first time like everything might actually be okay.

Now, leaning against her kitchen sink, she could still recall Luke’s scent of pine and soap and something else… freshly cut wood, she realized. She smiled wistfully. But there was no time to think about Luke or anything else this morning. It was opening day!

On the drive to work Leah ticked off the remaining to-do items on her list. Brad was picking up flowers. Lucy would finish hanging twinkle lights in the children’s area. Doors would open at noon.

For the past two weeks she’d basically taken up residence in the store.

Her days began early and ended late. There was setup and display, final book orders to be inventoried and stocked.

Training for Lucy and Brad. An interview with the local paper.

Development of her website and social media platforms, which had quickly been designated to Brad; he had a knack for these things and the patience she did not.

There was a debate over whether or not to serve coffee.

Lucy didn’t drink it. Brad thought coffee would draw customers but worried the retail space was crowded with Leah’s flea-market finds; Leah didn’t want spills on her merchandise but was determined to find a use for the vintage Formica table she’d snuck into the shop when Brad wasn’t looking.

(They both won. There would be a trial run of a Cape Cod French roast on the red table.) Leah had spent so much time out of the house that her refrigerator was empty, her laundry basket spilled over.

But it would all have to wait. Today was the day.

At that early hour the street was quiet, and the captain’s house was still and dark.

Leah paused on the threshold, imagining she was a new customer walking through the door for the first time.

The smell of fresh paint lent that sense of new-beginnings promise.

Inside the doorway a colorful collection of beach reads greeted customers on the antique pedestal table like a bouquet.

She flicked on the wall switch and the schoolhouse lanterns cast a dreamy glow over the store.

Leah smiled, a welling of pride rising up within her.

Luke’s floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined the walls, teeming with crisp hardcovers and trade paperbacks.

Throughout, carefully curated display tables stood like clusters of guests at a dinner party; each one held a different genre: thrillers, romance, new releases.

A pair of love-worn leather armchairs she’d found in a moving sale were set up in front of a window, just inviting readers to sit down.

Over the fireplace, the portrait of the Harding sisters hung, each red-haired young woman gazing back at her. “Big day today, girls!” she told them.

Leah strolled quietly between the book displays, running her hands over the sleek covers.

There were small personal touches everywhere: on a stand-alone shelf housing cookbooks, her mother’s old cast-iron skillet hung from a nail on the end.

By the self-help books, a tiny table of assorted tea tins and handmade mugs commissioned from a local ceramicist in Sandwich.

In the back corner, where a tall, spinning wire rack held local history books, two old wooden buoys were strung from the top.

Curating these small local finds had taken time, but they told a story.

From the day she’d seen the For Rent sign in the window of the captain’s house, Leah had wanted this place to share its own story.

It was the perfect backdrop for her vision, and she’d worked hard to create a space humming with the town’s seaside culture and history.

Now it was time to open its doors to Chatham.

Minutes before ten, Brad sailed through the front door, a bag of his grandmother’s breakfast pastries tucked under his arm. He found Leah in the old dining room in the back, which they’d set up as a temporary office space. “Figured you were running on fumes,” he said, handing the pastries over.

Leah shook her head “You’ve got to stop.”

“Try telling that to my grandmother. Pushing food is what she does.”