Page 17 of The Sandy Page Bookshop

“Well, she’s a little too good at it,” Leah said, before scarfing down a buttery breakfast roll.

Lucy Hart strolled in at eleven, her expression set in its usual serious fashion.

Leah still was not sure what to make of the girl.

So far she’d shown up on time and seemed game for whatever strange job she was handed.

She trimmed the front hedges under the hot sun without complaint, mopped floors, and hauled furniture.

She was also living up to her last name.

When they caught mice in the catch-and-release traps Leah had insisted on, Lucy named each one and spoke to it gently before releasing it outside.

When they shelved incoming stock, Leah noticed she handled each book like it was a delicate piece of art.

But thanks to the occasional scratching and rattling noises heard overhead, Lucy balked at going upstairs.

“You sure this old house isn’t haunted?”

Brad had done the sign of the cross and looked up at the ceiling. “Racoons in the attic,” he whispered, though it was not clear if that was reassurance or a prayer.

But there was something about Lucy that Leah could not put her finger on. An air of sadness that seemed to follow her from room to room. When Leah asked about her family, Lucy had paled. “I have a sister,” she’d said, “but she’s away.” It was clear she did not want to say more.

Now, as Lucy finished touches on the children’s area, Leah joined her.

“The kids are going to love this, Lucy. Thank you.” It was true.

There were tiny chairs around a white table with a play tea set, a stack of picture books in the middle.

Lucy had arranged two stuffed frogs on the classics shelf, right next to the Frog and Toad and Wind in the Willows series.

Ten minutes before the doors opened, Brad ran the vacuum one last time.

The bakery delivered the pastries and Leah arranged a neat platter by the coffee.

The three of them looked around the room and then at each other.

“Five minutes,” Leah said, glancing nervously toward the door. “I think I may pass out.”

“Please don’t,” Brad said.

“Whatever happens today,” Leah said, trying to sound like the calm leader they all needed, “just remember two things: smile. And offer to help customers find what they need. We want everyone to feel welcome.

“Okay, stack of hands.” Leah motioned them to huddle and stuck her hand in the middle. Brad and Lucy stared at her, expressions blank. “Haven’t you guys been on a sports team?”

Brad adjusted his bow tie, which Leah was touched to see he’d worn to work that day. “The debate team.”

“Lucy?”

She shook her head. “Dance class.”

“I have a better idea.” Brad disappeared in the back and returned with three champagne flutes.

“Where did these come from?” Leah asked.

“Borrowed from my grandmother.” He set them carefully on the cash register counter, along with a bottle of sparkling cider. “I could use the real stuff, but it’s a workday, so…”

Brad uncorked the bottle with a festive pop and passed the glasses around. “To Leah, our intrepid bookseller,” he said, raising his glass.

“To the Sandy Page,” Lucy added, smiling brightly for the first time since she’d been hired.

When she tugged the doors open at noon, Leah walked outside.

There wasn’t a single soul waiting. Across the way, cars were pulling into Lighthouse Beach parking lot but as they emptied the passengers made off in the opposite direction, toward the view finders.

On the front sidewalk a woman with a stroller and two kids pushed by, without even glancing up. A cyclist raced past on the street.

Brad appeared at Leah’s elbow. “Oh dear.”

“It’s okay,” she said, feeling anything but okay. “We advertised. We have signs in the window. People will come.”

But for the first eternal hour no one did. Finally, someone appeared in the doorway. All three of them leapt to attention. “Welcome to the Sandy Page!” Leah said, rushing to greet him.

The man looked around. “Do you have a restroom?”

By one o’clock, only two potential customers had shown up. Both browsed the shop and exclaimed how lovely it was, but neither bought a single book. Leah deflated.

“It’s only the first day,” Brad said.

Both he and Lucy seemed eager to find something to do, but Leah couldn’t think of a thing. Pacing the old creaky floorboards was driving her crazy. “I’ll be right back,” she said.

Outside the weather was as perfect as the sunrise that morning had promised.

For the life of her, Leah couldn’t understand why no one was showing up.

After the local newspaper write-up and the online marketing they’d done, she’d expected a line at the door.

At least a handful of people on the sidewalk.

Feeling low, she crossed the street to the Lighthouse Beach parking lot.

There were certainly plenty of people here, enjoying the view and taking photos.

Some were making their way down the long staircase to the sandy stretch of beach.

Leah was tempted to approach them, to point out the store, invite them to come check it out—but it felt like a desperate move and she was too embarrassed.

Instead she joined the view seekers, like any other tourist. Looking out over Chatham Bay, Leah wondered if she’d made a terrible mistake.

Coming home was one thing. Dumping all her savings into a historic old house she didn’t own and trying to start up a small business was another.

Maybe she’d been too distraught from the loss of her publishing job and the breakup of her engagement to think clearly.

Maybe she’d lost her mind. Her father would be calling that night asking how it went. James would be, too.

For the first time in days, Leah checked her phone for missed calls.

She knew what she was looking for, even if she was ashamed to admit it.

To help her move on, Leah had blocked Greg’s calls.

Prior to that, they’d talked a few times: he called about a coat he’d found in the closet that he would ship.

Then he’d texted asking for her forwarding address.

Just the other morning, Google had about done her in when a series of photo memories popped up on her phone.

They were of a trip the two had taken to Hawaii.

One in particular, of them sipping pina coladas on the beach, had gotten to her.

It was the same beach they’d talked about returning to for their honeymoon.

It sent her spiraling back to what could have been and wondering if he was seeing Rebekah .

When she checked her phone, there was not a single message or missed call from Greg.

Leah jammed the phone in her back pocket.

Why did it matter? A clean break was for the best. Her life was here now.

She turned and stared across the street at the old captain’s house.

My bookstore , she reminded herself. This was her job now, this was her home now.

Jaw set, she stalked back across the street and pounded up the front steps, so strong from Luke’s repairs that there was nary a creak nor a give.

She pulled the front door open roughly, about to call Brad and Lucy out, to brainstorm a better publicity effort when she stopped in her tracks.

There were people! Not a crowd, but a handful. A small grateful laugh escaped her.

Lucy was in the back children’s area, kneeling by the table with two little boys and a girl, while their mother scanned the picture book selections.

Two older women surveyed the new fiction table.

On one of the leather armchairs by the window a man was bent over a book, lost in reading.

At the counter, Brad was about to check someone out.

Just then he saw her, waving her over excitedly. “Leah! You do the honors.”

“Honors?” she asked.

Brad nodded toward the woman at the cash register. “Our first official sale.”

Tears sprang to her eyes as Leah understood. “Oh!” She smiled at the woman, who was holding three paperbacks, and hurried over to her. “Yes, of course.”

“I just love what you’ve done here,” the woman said, handing the titles over. “This house has always caught my eye, the architecture is just so different from everything else in town, you know?”

“Greek Revival,” Brad said, as if he’d designed it himself.

“It was looking so sad and run down. And now it’s home to a bookstore!”

“I’m so glad you came in today,” Leah said.

“So am I,” the woman said. “And I get to be the first customer!” She reached for a tin of mints, and grabbed a seashell-printed bookmark by the register. “I’ll take these, too.”

When the woman handed over her credit card, Lucy called over from the children’s section.

“Wait!” Lucy held up her phone. “Want me to take a photo?”

She did want that. Unable to speak, Leah managed a nod. Their first customer leaned in smiling and Leah followed suit.

“Smile!” Lucy said.

By the end of the day, Leah and Brad sprawled on the armchairs. “Why am I so exhausted?” Brad asked. “It wasn’t like it was Filene’s Basement Annual wedding dress sale.”

“How do you know about that?” Leah asked, unable to hide her smile. “That was way ahead of your time.”

Brad shrugged nonchalantly. “The stuff of fashion lore.”

“We’re tired because of the last two weeks,” Leah said, rubbing her neck. “And the hype. And the worry.”

“Well, it was a solid start, I think. Word will get out. Foot traffic will steer our way.”

Leah appreciated Brad’s enthusiasm. She glanced to the back, where Lucy was tidying up.

“Alright, you two. Home you go. We get to do this all over again tomorrow.”

As she was locking up, her phone dinged. Probably her dad checking in to see how the big day went. She pulled her phone out of her pocket. To her delight it wasn’t her dad.

Hope today was all you wanted it to be! Sorry I couldn’t make it over- got stuck on this job.

It was Luke. The fact that he’d thought to reach out buoyed her spirits. Day was great, she texted. Thank you for all you did to make it possible.

There was a long pause before he replied. Then, Okay if I swing by tomorrow? Want to check the paint on that last shelf. It wasn’t quite dry.

Leah sat down on the top step. The paint was fine, long dried and set. It was a little sticky, she lied. May need a touch up.