Page 45 of The Sandy Page Bookshop

At the narrow bar by the front windows, Leah grabbed a stool and ordered her favorite summer drink, a Painkiller.

How apropos, she thought. The tropical concoction went down too easily; she ordered another.

The barstools faced the street, proffering up the perfect Americana view of the boutiques and galleries across the way, the sidewalk strollers, the window boxes teeming with flowers.

The restaurant was noisy, filled with sunburned families and mouthwatering aromas.

This time when the bartender inquired, she ordered a half dozen oysters, a bowl of New England clam chowder, and another Painkiller.

Chatham is heaven, she thought, stirring her clam chowder.

How lucky she was to be here. How lucky she was to have her little shop, despite the constant grind.

Between courses and cocktails, however, she found her resolve wavering.

Soon the season would end, and the summer bustle would wrap up.

The sidewalks would still. Almost all the shops and galleries closed down for the winter, and the village became a bit of a ghost town.

No doubt it would impact revenue at the Sandy Page, which was barely a fledgling.

Brad would go back to school, and Lucy, too.

She pictured herself and Eudora sitting in the empty shop with Alfred the dog.

She might have to take up knitting. Winter would be lonely and long. What if the shop faltered?

When the bartender came by to offer the check, she asked for another drink. And a basket of bread. Why not?

She’d resolved to keep her phone off for the night, but as the Painkiller’s initial buzz handed the reins over to a fresh wave of despair she pulled it from her bag. Greg had texted, again. Leah, we can do this. Think of the life we planned. It’s still ours for the taking.

For the taking . Hadn’t he taken from her, when she was at her lowest?

Greg had always been a stand-up guy, a loyal partner.

She even believed that Greg hadn’t sought out Rebekah; she was just a piece of his past who happened to reappear when times were tough.

The fact Leah wrestled with most was that when things got ugly for her, Greg hadn’t been gutsy enough to see her through. He hadn’t been there for her.

Still, she could not deny the years they had together; they were good years.

They had a secure future, even without her old job at Morgan.

Boston afforded them cultural stimulation that the sleepy Cape could not: theater, museums, restaurants, Fenway.

What had she done since returning to Chatham except slave away in the bookstore?

Here she had no friends, no personal life outside of work.

However, to even consider Greg’s request meant to consider letting go of the Sandy Page.

Questions spiraled through her head. Was she willing to walk away from everything she’d just begun?

No, Greg would have to come to her, at least at first. That thought gave her further pause; did that mean she was considering Greg’s offer? Leah took another swallow of her drink.

As it always did, the Squire got busier as the evening went on.

The empty stools around her had filled. Surrounded by the commotion of families in the restaurant and patrons at the bar, Leah was still alone.

It made her wonder. It made her worry. She pushed the unfinished cocktail away from her.

She needed to go home. The long walk back to her car at the shop would sober her up, she figured.

When she stood, the bar swayed sharply in front of her.

Leah sat back down hard. She’d had more to drink than she’d realized, those damn Painkillers.

To her mortification, the bartender leaned in.

“Would you like me to call an Uber?” he asked gently.

She could feel her cheeks flush. “My friend is coming,” she said, forcing a smile. She texted Brad to please come get her. When she looked up, a tall glass of water and more bread sat before her. “Thanks,” she said, feeling sheepish.

When she’d finished the water, and still didn’t feel any better, she checked her phone.

Brad had not replied. If anything, she felt woozier than before—how she’d like a straw to suck out the last two drinks as quickly as she’d sucked them down.

When she called Brad it went straight to voicemail.

She’d have to get an Uber. But first, she needed to use the bathroom.

Leah took one look at the line of little kids outside the restaurant restroom and cut through to the tavern, on the other side.

It took all her concentration not to wobble.

Live music met her in the dark hallway between the two establishments, and the crowd shifted instantly from parents holding toddler hands to college-age kids gripping pints of beer.

Once upon a time, she used to be part of this crowd.

It was louder and the noise denser over here, but at least the restroom line was short.

On her way out, a young woman bumped against her and almost knocked Leah down.

“Sorry!” the girl said, reaching out. It was embarrassing, but it was nothing compared to the shame she felt when she looked up.

Coming out of the other restroom at the same time was Luke. He’d seen the whole thing.

“Leah. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, but her slurred words were obvious even to her ears. She needed to get out of there.

“Are you here alone?” he asked.

Leah propped herself against the wall, hoping to appear less drunk. Clearly it had the opposite effect. “What makes you think I’m alone?” she asked, glancing past him for any sign of Holly Houston. She didn’t like the implication. She liked even less that he likely was not.

At least Luke looked appropriately reprimanded. “Nothing. I’m only asking because I want to make sure you get home safe.”

“Who says I’m going home?” It had been so long since she’d been in this bad shape, she’d forgotten how stubborn it made her.

Luke glanced behind him and sighed like he was between a rock and a hard place.

“Looking for someone?” Leah asked. Somewhere in that crowd Holly Houston was standing alone with two drinks.

“Do me a favor.” Luke placed both hands on her shoulders. “Stay here, be quiet, and don’t move, alright?”

Leah did not appreciate being told what to do, but she was in no condition to do otherwise. Luke disappeared into the thick of the tavern crowd. A moment later, he returned, looking grim.

“Trouble in paradise?”

Luke ignored the cheeky comment and grabbed her hand. “Let’s go.”

“Wait. Where are we going?”

“Home.” His grip was strong and warm, and she felt her insolence give way. She allowed Luke to lead her back down the narrow hallway and out through the restaurant to the sidewalk. As soon as they hit the fresh air outside, Leah felt steadier.

“Where’s your car?” he asked, glancing up and down Main Street.

“Back at the shop.”

“Good. It can stay there until tomorrow. I’ll drive you.” Luke seemed intent on getting her home, and suddenly she didn’t want his help. He was on a date. He would probably be coming right back here to finish it. And she did not want to think about how his date would end.

“Look, I can get an Uber,” she told him, straightening. “Brad is back at the house, so I can call him, too.”

This got his attention. “Brad is at your place?”

“He’s staying with me now. His grandmother asked him to leave.”

“That’s really nice of you,” he said.

“I’m a nice girl.” The words were out of her mouth before her brain could catch them.

Luke’s eyes crinkled with laughter. “I know you are. It’s another reason I’d feel better driving you home, myself. C’mon, I’m parked up by the church.”

The church was at the opposite end of Main Street. Leah trailed behind Luke on the sidewalk. Several times he stopped so she could catch up. Finally, after she bumped against a passerby, he wrapped an arm around her waist and they walked together.

“Sorry it’s so far. Town was crowded tonight.”

“I don’t mind,” she said. In truth, she wished he’d parked a mile away, or ten.

Pressed against Luke’s side like that, the alcohol humming through her veins and all her predicaments with it, Leah felt time slow.

They passed the chamber of commerce booth where she worked one summer in college; past Yankee Ingenuity, her father’s favorite shop of curiosities; the Eldredge Library where her mother used to take her as a child.

She had so many memories here, and Luke was among them.

When they finally reached his truck, he held the door for her and helped her in. Suddenly Leah was so tired, her eyelids so heavy.

“I’m just going to rest my head a little,” she said, curling up on the bench seat.

“You do that.” Luke climbed into the driver’s side and started the engine.

As they rolled down Main Street, Leah lay very still, her head resting next to Luke’s thigh.

From that position she could see the signs and awnings of the buildings they passed, the gentle glow of the streetlamps, and Luke’s strong jaw, set in concentration.

Her eyes fluttered with fatigue, but she fought it: she didn’t want to miss any of it.

And then a thought jerked her out of her reverie.

“Are you going back after you drop me off?”

“Back where?”

“The Squire. Isn’t Holly waiting for you?”

Luke put on the indicator and she felt herself slide gently against him as they made the wide turn around the rotary. “Not tonight.”

Leah almost felt bad for him. “Is she upset you left with me?”

“Holly will be fine,” he said, finally.

Leah thought about that. “Holly is lucky.” Had she said it aloud, or just thought it? Luke didn’t say a word. Maybe it was just a thought. Maybe she should close her eyes and give in.

The sky grew dark as they left Main Street behind.

When they turned again, up Old Queen Anne, Leah knew she was almost home.

The scenery from where she lay became treetops and leafy branches, silhouetted against sky.

Her eyelids grew pleasantly heavy. So, too, did the warm hand she realized was resting on her head.

When she woke up the next morning, Leah was safe in her bed, the blankets pulled up to her chin, her clothes from the night before still on. There was a piece of paper folded on her bedside table. Leah squinted at it in the early light.

She reached for it. Good night Leah Powell.