Page 21 of The Sandy Page Bookshop

Luke glanced around what must have been an old parlor room in the captain’s house.

The ceilings were high with formal dentil trim molding, as in the storefront, but the room was smaller and cozier.

An exposed brick chimney ran up the center, typical of historic homes.

“What’s the plan for in here?” he asked warily.

“A knitting room.”

“Knitting?”

“And crafts. And maybe also painting.” She spun around, the edges of her white dress flowing alluringly. Luke kept his eyes on hers. “Ultimately, I’d like it to be a studio.”

“For you?” he asked, confused.

“No, silly. For customers. We’ve got all this incredible space that I pay rent for.

And the summer crowds will thin out soon.

So I was thinking it would be great to turn this into a community gathering space and host some events that go year round.

I think tourists and locals alike would come to a Paint and Sip. ”

Luke was not about to ask what a Paint and Sip was. He was already flummoxed. She’d barely been open a week, and she was already expanding. “Aren’t you already working round the clock?”

“Yes, so I may as well offer things in these other rooms while I’m here. Build on the business.”

Luke did not suggest that the business was too new to build on, that this would probably necessitate more management and therefore require more hires, which would, of course, affect her bottom line.

It was not his business, figuratively or literally.

But the thought of his unpaid bill did flash briefly in mind.

“How soon are you thinking of doing all that?”

“Right away. It would only require some paint and cleanup, I think. Unless you find something wrong in here.”

A brief inspection of the room found no other issues. “It looks sound for what you have in mind. Is that all you need my help with?”

“I have a huge oak dining table in my dad’s basement. It was my grandfather’s. It’s solid and dented and dinged already, so it would be a great gathering space. I figure all I need is that and some chairs, for people to gather and create together.”

Luke still couldn’t tell what his part would be. “You want me to restore it?”

“No, I like it old. Shows character. As for you, I would love some kind of organizational cubbies for storing art supplies, baskets of wool, that sort of stuff. And maybe a rack to dry canvases on.”

“Do you knit?” He was curious now where all this was coming from. “Or paint?”

“No.” Leah shook her head, as though this was all beside the point. “But I know someone who does. She’s in here all the time, but she seems lonely. You know her, too.”

After a beat it hit him. “Eudora Shipman?” When she nodded, Luke laughed. “She agreed to help you open a knitting room?”

“It’s not just for knitting. And no… not yet, anyway.”

“There is no way,” Luke said. “Eudora is a lovely person, but she will never do that. Not for you or for me.”

Leah made a face like he’d spat in her food. “You’re wrong. Remember how caring she was in high school? Everyone went to see her with their problems, even the kids who didn’t have her as a counselor.”

“Eudora has changed since then,” Luke explained.

Leah wasn’t around when Eudora left the high school.

She probably had no awareness of the news stories about the high school student who tried to kill herself because of bullying.

Or Eudora’s involvement in the trial thereafter.

“She doesn’t get out very much these days. ”

“What do you mean? She’s been in here every day.”

There was no way what Leah was saying could be true. “Are you sure you have the right person? You didn’t recognize her at first, you told me yourself.”

“Well, I do now. And she’s here every day. With her little white dog, Alfred.”

He couldn’t believe it. Over the years he’d worked with her, Eudora never left her house except to walk her dog.

It all became clear one day when he was at the Chatham Market.

Luke had stopped in for a sandwich and got to chatting with the owner, Mike.

When Mike asked if he was done for the day, Luke said not nearly—he was, in fact, headed to Eudora’s house next.

At which, Mike piped right up—said he was short-staffed and asked if Luke wouldn’t mind dropping off a couple bags of her groceries.

“She doesn’t come in anymore.” He confided that he still delivered groceries to Eudora each week, even though he’d ended the delivery service after Covid.

“She’s the only one I’d do it for,” Mike said sadly.

It dawned on Luke that Eudora must be suffering from some kind of agoraphobia or anxiety.

“I can’t believe she’s been coming here,” he told Leah now.

“Why?”

It wasn’t his place to say. “She’s kind of kept to herself since her husband died,” he said. “And you’re right. I do think she’s lonely.”

“So can you help with the studio space?” Leah asked. Her voice was hopeful in a way he found hard to turn down, just as the look on her face was.

If Leah’s bookstore had gotten Eudora out of the house, he would not stand in the way. “I have to finish a closet job in Ridgevale, but I can swing by tomorrow to take measurements.”

His breath caught in his chest when Leah threw her arms around his neck. It was the second time she’d hugged him, the first being the night he surprised her with the Sandy Page sign out front. The vanilla notes of her shampoo filled his nostrils, just as they had the last time.

Leah pulled away, turning her face up brightly to his. For a fleeting foolish second Luke wondered if they might kiss. But of course not. “You’re the best,” she said, holding out her hand instead.

Luke stared at the check she held out to him. “It’s nowhere near all of it, but it’s a start. The Realtor finally got through to Stefan, the owner. He agreed to cover the work on the steps and the overhang out front. As you predicted, the shelves are on me.”

“I can’t,” he began, holding up his hands. “You just opened, and I know the expenses of a small business at the start.”

But she insisted. “If you don’t take it, no knitting room.” He laughed at that.

“Not exactly a threat.”

She shrugged. “Until you accept payment, I can’t work with you. I’ll have to hire someone else.”

Luke did not say that that was a threat. Instead he thanked her and accepted the check. When their hands brushed, he tried not to let it get to him. But the whole ride home his fingertips tingled.