Page 9 of The Sandy Page Bookshop

Leah

The paint color she’d chosen was all wrong.

Leah stepped back for a better look at the sample she’d brushed onto the wall.

When the light hit it, the gray-green hue she’d hoped for looked more like puke.

She groaned. The local hardware store had limited options, and she was on a tight budget.

Still, she was grateful for the paint and the wall, puke colored or not.

The night Leah saw the For Rent sign in the window of the old house, she made two calls right from the front steps.

The first was to the Realtor. The second was to her father.

“I know this is crazy,” she began. “But I want to open a beach bookstore. I found the perfect spot.” Her father had only one question. “What will you call it?”

The name had come to her right there on the steps. “The Sandy Page.”

The idea was the easy part. All night she reviewed her bank statements and crunched the numbers.

Between her small savings and her even smaller severance package, her idea wasn’t quite financially feasible.

Undeterred, she holed up in the cottage and researched.

She placed a call to her favorite indie bookstore back in Boston and talked to the owner.

Then she worked through the night to create a business plan.

The next day, heart pounding, Leah walked through the double doors at the local bank and presented her idea to the small business loan officer.

Before they’d even finished reviewing her assets, the loan officer took off his glasses and gave her a sympathetic look.

She was too high risk to qualify for a loan.

Crushed, she drove the long way home, avoiding the old captain’s house so she wouldn’t add salt to the wound. When her father called to ask how the bank meeting went, she let it go to voicemail. Moments later, he called again.

“I’m sorry, Dad, but I’m too upset to talk about it right now. The bank denied me.”

“Hang on,” he told her. “I have an idea of my own.”

Long ago her parents had set aside savings for her future wedding. Leah knew it couldn’t have been easy for them, but it was something her mother had insisted on doing. “I want you to use the wedding money to open your store.”

At first Leah had been unable to speak. “What if it fails?” Risking her own money was one thing. Using savings that her mother, now gone, had helped to set aside for a very different purpose felt unthinkable.

“Then at least you know you tried,” her father said. “I’d rather you invest in yourself than some fiancé.” What he said next sealed her decision. “It would have made your mother happy.”

Now, every penny mattered even more. Leah examined the fresh paint from a different angle. Maybe if she cocked her head just so in the right light, it would look less like puke. No such luck.

“Hello?” The front door opened, and a young man poked his head inside. “I’m Brad. The one who called about the job?”

“Yes!” Leah had posted a bookseller position online. “Please come in,” she said, sizing him up.

Brad was dressed smartly in a gingham button-down and tailored chinos. She watched as he navigated the canvas tarps and painting supplies strewn about the floor. “Sorry about the mess.”

Brad surveyed the scene warily. “Uh, I was under the impression this was a bookstore?”

“It will be! Very soon.” Then, seeing the look on his face: “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Well.” He narrowed his eyes at the paint sample on the wall. “I might say ambitious .”

At least he had a sense of humor. “Optimism. I like that.”

Besides the inspector and the plumber, Brad was the first person who’d come inside since she’d met with the Realtor and signed the lease.

The house’s owner, Stefan, lived on the West Coast and apparently hadn’t laid eyes on the house in years.

It took the Realtor and Leah a few days to convince him that the property was not worth the exorbitant rent he was asking and, in fact, required improvements.

In the end, he’d agreed to reduce the rent and cover only necessary repairs: the rest were on her.

“I know it looks like a lot, but we had it inspected,” Leah tried to assure Brad.

“Aside from a little plumbing hiccup, it just needs a fresh coat of paint. And some new boards on the front steps.”

“And maybe some books?” Brad suggested. He tried the light switch on the wall by the fireplace, but nothing happened.

“Yes, but I’m getting the place for a song!” she added brightly.

The look on Brad’s face was doubtful. “You must have quite the vocals.” He glanced around. “The advertisement said bookseller wanted.”

“I know what you’re thinking. It’s a bookstore without shelves.” Leah sighed as she followed his gaze around the room. “Or stock.”

“Or working light fixtures,” Brad said, his big brown eyes swinging to the dusty old-fashioned schoolhouse pendants hanging from the high ceilings.

Any sense of accomplishment she had over the million little things she’d done in the past week vaporized.

It was one thing to apply for the necessary business permits and licenses at town hall, which was a headache in itself.

And to clear out the dirt and debris that had accumulated over the years, which was thick as soot; to sweep out cobwebs and mop floors and scrub windows.

The smells were mostly gone! The antique pine floors gleamed.

But now, standing here with Brad and seeing it through his eyes, she couldn’t deny the facts.

“The thing is, I need to start a job as soon as possible,” Brad said, interrupting her thoughts. “I’m a PhD economics student at BU. I’m only here for the summer, staying at my grandmother’s, and I really need the money for next semester.”

“Oh, you can start right away!” Leah said, pushing back the rising swell of doubt.

“But…”

“I do have a few questions, though,” Leah went on. This was an interview, after all. And Brad had not yet been hired. “Can you paint, Brad?”

Brad squinted at her. “Paint? I took a watercolor class at school…”

“No matter. Can you clean? Carry boxes? Do office work?”

He glanced around in confusion. “Is there an office I’m missing?”

“Here’s the thing, Brad. You need money for school, right? You’re in a pinch if you don’t start earning soon.”

“Correct.”

“Turns out, I’m in a bit of a pinch, too. You see, I used to have a job in publishing back in Boston.” Here her voice faltered, but she pressed on. “And I used to be engaged. Then things kind of fell apart. As in, blew up.” A small crazy laugh escaped her. “And I lost all of it.”

Brad was staring at her like he was watching a car wreck unfold, but she kept going.

“So, here I am back home, like you, this summer. Only, unlike you, I don’t have another place to be this fall.” Leah held up her arms. “This is it. This store is it for me.”

“Wow, that’s a lot…”

“It is a lot,” Leah agreed. “I’ve got some money to get this place going. But it’s become clear to me that it’s going to take more than that.”

To her relief, Brad had not yet run away.

“What I need now are hands. And heart.”

Brad shifted uncomfortably, saying nothing. He was either on board or off, but at least he knew what he was getting into.

“So, last interview question: Have you got that in you, Brad? Because that’s all I really need to know.”

By the end of the day, they’d made three trips to the hardware store.

Brad, who’d somehow managed to stay completely crisp and clean, had assembled a rough office desk out of two sawhorses and a sheet of plywood, and was sitting on an overturned bucket staring at his laptop.

“The internet guy is coming out in two days.”

“Two days?”

“Best I could do. I begged. Said you were elderly and living here alone with no phone service.”

“Brad!”

He threw her a look. “Still want to open in two weeks?”

Leah kept her mouth shut.

“I’ve scanned Facebook Marketplace. With your budget this is what you’re looking at for furniture.” He turned his laptop screen in her direction.

“A purple couch?” She leaned closer, for a better look. “What is that stain on the cushion?”

Brad closed his eyes. “Something I will not be sitting on.”

“Okay, scrap the couch for now. What else have you got?”

Luckily he’d found a handful of better options. “Now, none of this matches, but you said you wanted that homespun mismatch aesthetic… What did you call it?”

“Eclectic.”

Brad made a small face. “Check.”

Ignoring this, Leah scrolled through the options he’d found.

“Not bad. Look, this cute red pedestal table could go right in front, for new releases and beach reads! And the low pine table could go in the back for the kids’ section.

” There were assorted chairs for reading, a Victorian settee in emerald velvet, and an antique sideboard. “What’s that for?”

“I was thinking that could be the checkout counter. It’s wide and deep, and it’s got that beautiful scrollwork on the legs that people will see when they first come in.” He gestured toward the ceiling. “It complements the trim and molding, I think.”

Leah looked at him with new appreciation. “You’ve got an eye for this. Bravo.”

For the first time all day, Brad appeared to relax. “I do what I can.”

For the next two days they taped, tarped, and primed the walls. It took some effort for Brad to dig up “old clothes” to wear to work. “You say you’re on a student budget,” she teased, “but you don’t dress like it!”

“Sale racks,” he said, matter-of-factly dusting the front of his button-down. “Conscious consumerism.”

Between paint coats drying, they measured and planned the store layout, hit salvage stores and trolled yard sale listings.

Up in the attic they discovered an old oil painting in a gilded frame and hauled it downstairs.

When they dusted it off, the faces of five young women appeared, each one dressed in period clothing. All had matching auburn hair.

“Creepy,” Brad said.