Page 34 of The Sandy Page Bookshop

Leah

It was mid-July and as much as she was afraid to say it out loud, things were going better than she’d dreamed possible at the Sandy Page. The same could not be said for her personal life.

Despite her suspicion and fear that Greg and Rebekah would get together in her absence, the confirmation of it had been an ugly blow.

It left her feeling played for a fool. Worse, it left her angry at herself for ever doubting her intuition.

Fortunately the shop demanded all her time and energy, leaving her little time to dwell.

As she’d known he would, Luke went above and beyond to help her unveil her studio space for their first knitting night.

Leah was tickled by the crowd that gathered: a far cry from a Taylor Swift–size audience, but she’d take it.

And Eudora had surprised her—not only had she shown up and led the group as smartly and surely as only an educator can, but there had been little sign of her nerves.

A bonus was Eudora’s art-teacher friend, Marcia, who joined them, also agreed to lead the paint and sip that was next on Leah’s radar.

Of course it all came with a cost, which she kept reminding herself was part of a small business: you had to invest in yourself.

It was easy to say and getting harder to do.

“You have to charge if you’re going to run events that cost you,” Brad advised, the next morning. They were rearranging the armchairs by the windows and setting up a small table of local authors between them.

“I did some research. I think twenty dollars a head for the Paint and Sip is fair,” Leah said.

“No, you forgot to include the wine.”

“That is including wine,” Leah said exasperated.

Brad made a face like he’d tasted poison. “ What are you serving these poor people?”

“Don’t be a snob.”

“Twenty dollars wouldn’t even cover the bottle of wine I brought to Ethan’s last night.”

Leah ignored the comment but seized upon the topic. “Speaking of, how are things going?”

“Too well. He leaves on Saturday.” Brad flopped into one of the chairs.

“You’re spending a lot of time together. Have you met his family?”

“I kind of had to, since they’re all staying in the same rental.

And it’s not like I can bring him to my place.

” He glanced out the window at a little girl and her mother walking their Doodle by.

“It was weird meeting his parents and sister so soon, but they’re really nice. They asked me to stay for dinner.”

“Brad! Things are cruising along.” She was happy for him. Ethan seemed like a stand-up guy, and the fact he’d introduced Brad to his family, despite the rental, was a big deal. “That’s great!”

“It would be, but there’s the matter of my vovó.

” His whole expression changed at the mention of his grandmother.

Leah liked Maria; she was so generous and supportive of the shop.

And her pastries were to die for. But even in their limited interactions Leah could sense a strict traditionalism about her.

In the handful of visits she’d made to the shop she was quick to rein Brad in if he made a joke, scowled at the teenage girls in their crop tops who sashayed through the shop, and made a poo-pooing noise in her throat when she read the back jacket of one of their bestselling romance novels.

“Where does she think you are when you’re with Ethan?” Leah asked.

“I have no choice but to lie. I tell her I’m working late, or that I’m having dinner with you.”

“Me? Give me a heads-up before you do that next time. She’s in here sometimes, and I might screw up.”

“That’s the least of my problems.” He sank into the depths of the armchair looking suddenly like a small child. “I’m living a lie. Going back and forth, hiding things from her. I’m finally having fun and have met someone like she wants me to do, but I can’t tell her about any of it.”

“It must be exhausting.” Leah sat down on the arm of the chair. “Use me as an excuse anytime. If she asks, I’ll tell her I need you to work overtime.” A thought came to her. “And if you and Ethan want a place to hang out or cook a nice dinner together, use my place.”

Brad brightened. “Really? He’s done so much for me, I would like that.”

“Anytime.” It was nothing for her to hang out at the shop for a few hours if Brad wanted to make a romantic meal for Ethan. At least someone had a personal life that summer.

Her thoughts turned to Luke. They’d not talked at all since last Friday night at Harding’s Beach, except briefly about work.

He’d finally dropped a bill off; it was not lost on her that he handed it to Lucy and left before Leah even realized he was in the shop.

She couldn’t blame him—he was giving her the space she’d said she needed.

What she was not prepared for was just how much she missed the camaraderie and the company.

It would have been easy to drop a check in the mail, but she had another idea.

Luke lived out by Oyster Pond, a saltwater tidal pond connected to the sound by a river.

Homes in that part of town were known for their water frontage and private docks, coveted for their deep water access to Stage Harbor and Nantucket Sound.

Growing up, it was an area shared by both summer people and locals whose homes had been in their families for generations.

These days, gone were the modest cottages as well as the locals; Oyster Pond was primarily inhabited by wealthy summer families and their powerboats.

As she turned off Route 28 and up Barn Hill Road, Leah had to wonder how Luke had managed to snag a place up there.

She slowed, admiring the grand summer houses with their seashell driveways and stately facades. Tucked among them was an unremarkable driveway that sloped down toward the river and a stand of trees. Leah read the number on the mailbox and turned down it.

At the bottom, flanked by cedar trees and hydrangea bushes, sat a tidy two-story cedar shingled house.

Already she could see the flicker of light reflecting off the water through the front windows.

It was not nearly the biggest house along the bluff nor the showiest, but it was Cape Cod perfection perched along a grassy knoll with a view of Nantucket Sound.

Luke’s pickup was parked in the driveway.

Leah was halfway to the front door when the loud hum of a table saw came from the back, so she followed a stone path along the side of the house.

As soon as she rounded the corner the lawn opened up to a sparkling vista.

Leah drew a breath. Here the yard was wide and lush with a hint of wildness about it, bordered on one side by a pair of Adirondack chairs and on the other by an old gray boathouse.

Below the swath of carefully shorn yard the property spilled down to the river, the lush greens giving way to the wheat-gold of estuary grasses.

A long narrow bridge stretched from the base of the yard to a tiny dock where a Sunfish was tied off.

Summer cottages towered on the bluff across the way.

Shielding her eyes from the sun, Leah followed the sightline of the river to the sound and beyond.

“God, Luke,” she whispered to herself. “You’ve landed yourself a slice of heaven. ”

The sound of barking filled the air and Leah spun around to see Scout romping toward her from the boathouse.

As she bent to rub Scout’s ears, she got a better look at the building.

The cedar shakes were weathered to a silver patina by time and the salt air.

A set of double doors hung open at the front.

The sound of the saw stopped, and a moment later Luke appeared in the doorway.

He squinted in her direction, then lifted a hand in greeting. “I guess you found me.”

“Luke!” Leah held out her arm to the view. “This place. It’s unbelievable.”

“Sorry I didn’t hear you.” He nodded to the boathouse. “I was working. What brings you by?”

“I brought you something.” Leah walked over, the golden light of late day spilling across the grass at such an angle everything seemed to shimmer. She handed him the envelope with the check.

“You didn’t have to come all the way out here for this.”

“It wasn’t that far.” Leah shifted uncomfortably. Was that code for he didn’t want her here? “You more than earned it.”

He tucked the envelope in his back pocket without opening it. “How’d the studio night go?” he asked.

“Really well. I couldn’t have pulled it off without your help. Thank you, again, Luke.”

“I’m glad it worked out.” Luke’s jeans and shirt were sprinkled in a film of sawdust that took on a golden hue in the sun. Leah noticed a fleck of dust on his cheek and without thinking she reached out to brush it away.

“Sorry,” she said, laughing shyly. “You had a speck of sawdust on your cheek.”

“Kind of comes with the territory.” At least he was smiling.

“So, can I see what you’re working on? Since I came all the way out here .”

Luke hesitated, as if he were weighing options, but gave in. “Alright. Follow me.”

A sign hung over the door, not unlike the one he’d made for her shop: Saltwater Woodworks . “So you operate your business out of this old boathouse?” she asked. It was large enough to house two midsize Boston Whalers, she guessed.

“I have everything I need here.” The boathouse interior was an open-space workshop smelling pleasantly of freshly cut wood.

The floor was a basic concrete slab and the walls were rough-hewn wood, not unlike an old New England barn.

Heavy workbenches ran along the walls. In the corner sat a squat cast-iron stove, which she imagined heated the place in winter.

There were table saws and sanders as well as all kinds of industrial woodworking machinery Leah did not recognize.

“Wow, Santa’s workshop has got nothing on this place.” She stopped by a large machine holding a delicate piece of turned wood. “What’s this?”

“That’s a lathe,” Luke said. “I use it to create custom architectural pieces like pedestals, columns, drawer pulls, that kind of thing.” He adjusted the mechanism and removed the sculpted piece of wood, handing it to her.

“You made this with that machine?” The symmetry and ornamentation were intricate.

“That’s a column. I’m installing it at the base of a cupboard in a kitchen, so it looks like a built-in piece of furniture.”

Leah rolled the smooth wood piece in her hands, appreciating the weight and design. She lifted it to her nose. “I love the smell of fresh-cut wood. It makes me think of new beginnings.”

Luke said nothing, but for the first time since the night at the beach his eyes twinkled appreciatively.

Luke explained things as Leah took her time moving through the workshop, running her hand across a plank of dark wood: “That’s cherry.

” Squinting at a set of drawings tacked to a wall: “Design layout for a kitchen.” Tracing the swirling pattern of a honey-colored tabletop: “That’s bird’s-eye maple. ”

“It’s so beautiful,” she said, leaning in. “It reminds me of the pattern at the edge of the shoreline. You know the way the waves swirl the sand around?”

Luke nodded reverently. She was speaking his language. “Like ripples.”

“This is a pretty special place,” she told him, when she finished her little self-guided tour.

It was an immersion in color, texture, and pattern.

Standing in the boathouse with the doors thrown open to the elements, Leah could feel the connection to Luke and his work, and talking about it with him made her feel a glimmer of connection between them once more.

“Luke, about last Friday night,” she began, gently, “I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings.”

His eyes swung to hers. “Leah. There’s no need to revisit it.”

It was obvious he did not want to discuss it, but she was keen to explain herself because the strange formality between them wasn’t what she’d intended.

“I know I asked for space, but suddenly there’s so much of it.” When he didn’t say anything, she went on, “You used to be around all the time at the shop, and now you’re not. I guess I miss the friendship.”

“Jobs like that require people to work closely. There’s a beginning and an end.” He paused. “Kind of like one of your books.”

Leah appreciated the analogy, even though it made her feel a little sad.

“The job is done now,” he added. She understood his meaning. Luke was setting boundaries of his own, just as she had. Fair enough. She should go and leave him to his work.

When she got to the doorway, she turned and looked back. “So we’re still friends, even after what happened Friday?”

Luke shook his head, a small laugh playing at the corners of his mouth. “We are still friends. Come on, it was just a kiss.”

Just? She looked out at the water, freshly stung.

“Hey,” he said. She sensed an olive branch being extended. “You still planning to go to the reunion?”

She wasn’t, at least not anymore. “Not sure,” she said, leaving the door open.

“I think it’ll be fun. You should go.” You should go. Not, You should come with me. Still, it was something.

“It’s this Friday?” she asked. She really did not want to go. But maybe it would give them a chance to find their footing.

“Friday night at the Wequassett Golf Club. Do you have the details?” he asked.

“Text them to me, and I’ll think about it.

” Smiling, she bent to say goodbye to Scout and started back across the yard.

The late-day sunlight was bouncing off the water, a million little refractions of hope on a midsummer evening.

Leah could feel Luke’s eyes on her back as she walked.

She’d come to deliver a check she could barely afford to write, but at least she was leaving with more than she’d come with.