Page 44 of The Sandy Page Bookshop

Leah

What she probably needed was a mental health day, but instead she was hosting the café’s grand opening. The problem was, no one was feeling particularly grand.

“I think you should aim for a soft opening,” Brad suggested flatly, back at her house.

He was lounging on the couch in gym shorts and a frayed T-shirt, two things she would never have believed Brad owned, except for the fact he’d worn them two days in a row.

Since his grandmother had kicked him out, Brad had slid into a despair that was at odds with everything Leah knew about him.

When not working, he ate junk food, took long naps, and binge-watched Netflix.

The only sign of old Brad came through the walls late at night when Ethan called.

They talked for hours on the phone. “Or you could just open the café with no hoopla, and let word get out organically.” She could tell that was Brad’s preference.

Leah wasn’t in the mood for hoopla, either, but after all the hard work and investment, she couldn’t just give up now.

Greg’s call begging to get back together had haunted her.

That, and Luke. Despite the fact the café depended on him finishing the job, having him back at the shop had been unbearable.

All evidence pointed to him becoming involved with Holly Houston.

And that depressed her. It made her wonder if she’d missed out on something she didn’t know she’d needed.

It made her wonder if feeling anything about Luke and Holly was just a rebound response to Greg; Greg and his ridiculous claims of love returned.

What Leah wanted to yell back at him was, Where did it go in the first place?

As if love could take a holiday, or get misplaced like keys, or run away like a dog.

(In that vein, she wondered: Where did Rebekah go?)

Despite her conflicted mood, the café needed to open.

A soft opening sounded nice, like a gentle landing, a down comforter.

She settled for a midweek date, set the time for three o’clock and posted an announcement online.

When that felt uninspired, she hung up a few flyers in the store window.

It was hardly a publicity campaign, but it was what she could manage.

Luckily, Brad came back to life as the opening loomed, but they weren’t quite on the same page with aesthetics.

“It’s very French bistro, I’ll give you that,” he said, scrutinizing the room.

“But dear God, not one more red tchotchke.” He snatched a ceramic lobster saltshaker off a table. “It’s like a crustacean invasion.”

“They’re accessories,” Leah told him. “They’re part of my coastal New England color palette.”

“Which is starting to feel more like a Midwestern Fourth of July.”

After rounding up the better part of her red decor and shoving it in the closet, Brad got to work rearranging the tables she’d just finished positioning.

Leah waited until he was done before rescuing her red tchotchkes from the closet and dragging the tables back into their original places.

Together they experimented with the newly delivered espresso machine, which intimidated her but delighted him.

They set up the coffee carafes and stocked the fridge with dairy and oat milks, whipping cream, and simple syrups.

Orders were finalized for the baked goods.

By midweek it was time to open to the public.

Coastal Grains made their first fresh bakery delivery.

As soon as Lucy arranged the goods in the display case, it began to feel like a café.

There were cheese Danish, croissants, bagels, and blueberry muffins.

For heartier fare, Leah had decided to add puff pastries of spinach and cheddar, and ham and Gruyère to their order.

Their lower Cape coffee vendor, Sacred Grounds, suggested they start with a breakfast blend, a dark roast, and an espresso, all fair trade and organic, roasted in micro-batches for the freshest grounds.

Coffees could be ordered hot, cold brew, or iced.

Menus were printed on thick sand-colored cardstock with little navy seashells embossed at the borders.

Lucy and Brad took turns writing out a store menu on an oversized chalkboard Leah had discovered at a schoolhouse auction. They were ready.

There would be no ribbon cutting, but Eudora suggested they keep the tarp over the entrance to the kitchen. “Nothing like a little mystery,” she said.

Just before three o’clock people started trickling in, and when a small group had amassed Leah gathered everyone by the tarped doorway.

There were about twenty guests, most of them faces she recognized as story time and studio regulars.

A few were new. A few were neighbors, like Willet Smith.

Seeing all of them renewed her spirits, reminding her why she was doing this.

“I want to thank each and every one of you for being here and being part of the Sandy Page family,” she said, in welcome.

A round of applause and murmurs of approval reverberated through the group.

“For those of you who’ve been with us since opening day, I guess you could say a lot has happened.

What began as a new bookstore in an old house has taken on a life of its own.

” As she spoke, a few stragglers joined.

Leah was heartened to see Luke among them.

When he caught her eye, he smiled. “From books to a community art studio, and today, to our little corner café, my wish is that all of you find something here that makes you feel at home.” Leah turned to Brad, who was standing to the side. “Shall we?”

With a flourish, Brad whisked the tarp away revealing the sparkling café space behind it. Lucy waved from behind the display counter inside. People clapped. The little crowd surged forward, and Leah found herself swept to the side in its wake.

A warm hand reached out and steadied her. “Congratulations,” Luke said. He was dressed up in a crisp white linen shirt and freshly shaven.

“Thanks for coming,” Leah said. “And for all of this.” She turned, taking it all in. “It’s incredible.”

“It sure is. You and your crazy ideas.” He was shaking his head, but the way he looked at her made her feel like all of it was worth doing, even if she wasn’t quite sure how it would turn out.

Eudora waved to them from the café counter. “Come in and enjoy! You two earned it.”

It reminded Leah of something she’d set aside. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come today, but I wanted to give you this.” Leah retrieved a small plate from the framed window Luke had enlarged between the kitchen and the shop and held it out to him.

“For me?” He lifted the red napkin to find a ham and Gruyère pastry, still warm.

“I wanted you to be the first person served.” She could feel herself start to choke up, but she pulled herself together.

Luke took a big bite of the pastry, closing his eyes with pleasure. “Damn that’s good. Thank you.” Watching him enjoy the food, surrounded by the buzz of customers, Leah felt something inside her shift. After a week when nothing felt right, this small moment did.

It gave her an idea. “I know it’s last minute, but is there any chance you might want to…” Leah was going with her gut and about to ask him to meet her for a drink that evening, when someone called Luke’s name from the front of the shop.

They both turned to see Holly Houston. “I was waiting for you outside.”

Leah’s stomach dropped. The nice outfit and the fresh shave hadn’t been for the opening, after all. Luke already had plans. He turned to her now. “Holly, you remember Leah?”

“Hi,” she said, glancing around. “Cute store.”

“Thank you,” Leah said. “And welcome to the café opening.”

Holly was dressed in a white summer dress, her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. She leaned against Luke. “We should go. I don’t want to be late.”

Luke looked apologetically at Leah. “Congratulations, again. Glad I made it.”

“Me, too,” Leah told him.

He began to pop the rest of the pastry in his mouth when Holly noticed. “Don’t ruin your appetite. We’ve got reservations.” Then she pecked him on the cheek. “I’ll wait outside.”

“Right.” For an awkward moment Luke stood there, looking around for a trash can.

“Let me,” Leah said. Before he could object, she took the plate from his hands. “Holly’s waiting.”

Leah watched them leave, as Holly slipped her arm into his and as Luke held the door for her on the way out. “How is it?” Brad came up beside her, looking at Luke’s half-eaten pastry.

“I don’t know. It wasn’t mine.”

It was a success and it was over. Leah should’ve felt pleased, but by the time she locked up it was seven-thirty and what she was feeling was restless and frustrated.

All evening, customers came up to her commenting on how wonderful it was to have a café in the bookshop, how nice it was to bring their grandchildren to story time, their friends to a Paint and Sip.

While Leah registered these interactions as the gifts they were, they just didn’t make it to her heart.

Between Luke and Holly’s burgeoning relationship, and Greg’s request to get back together, Leah felt like the punching bag at her old gym; swinging between blows and forever chained in place. She needed a reprieve.

Instead of going home, she decided to take a walk.

At the corner of Main Street she took a hard left into the thick of the village and the tourists.

She passed the residence of a children’s author, whose tidy little roadside barn boasted a set of transom windows, each one filled with curiosities and old toys, a wooden sign that read IMAGINE affixed over its sliding doors.

The night was still young. It was good to lose herself in the crowd; the long line outside Buffy’s Ice Cream shop, the couples holding hands, the late shoppers with their bags.

When she got to the doors of the Chatham Squire, she went in.