Page 1 of To Fall or Not to Fall
Chapter One
T he morning sun’s rays shine through the large open windows of my bookstore onto the various fall decorations decorating the shelves, creating a sparkle of orange and red beams across the white walls and light wood floors.
It feels like magic is in the air, and I can’t help but spin around in joy while ensuring I don’t spill any of the hot pumpkin-spiced latte in my hand.
“Leaves of orange, red, and gold mean it’s time for me to go bold.
Fall’s upon us, and it brings me joy. Maybe this year, it will even bring me a boy.
” The made-up poem flies from my mouth as I putter around my cozy store during my daily morning routine.
I will never grow tired of being surrounded by shelves of books, all waiting to be lovingly bought and read by eager readers.
“Don’t worry, Popsicle, if I get a man, he will love you, as well.
” I tickle my mini goldendoodle on the belly as she rolls around on the fluffy, brightly colored Moroccan wool rug my parents brought back from their last trip.
Popsicle is my three-year-old mini goldendoodle, who spends every moment she can by my side.
I may be a crazy dog lady, but I’m manifesting a tall, dark, and handsome man into my life before the year is out.
To be honest, he doesn’t have to be that tall, dark, or handsome. Just really funny and good at games. And not just bedroom games, though that would also be fun. No one has ever called me a prude, at least to my face.
The warm, sweet, and spicy scent of the cinnamon sticks I added to the homemade apple cider brewing on the stovetop fills the store as I bustle around, restocking books on shelves and organizing local magazines and postcards on tables.
“Smells good enough to eat.” I breathe in the air as I pick up a copy of my favorite book, Little Women . I turn to a random page, read a few lines, and put it back down. The beauty of owning and working in a bookstore is that I get to surround myself with words all the time.
“If only I could find myself a Laurie.” I let out a sigh so dramatic that it would qualify me to act in any daytime soap and then take another bite of the gooey apple fritter I bought at Fondant Bakery, a store owned by my grandma’s best friend, Maribel Laribel, which is only five stores away from my own.
“Welcome to Beachy Balls, Biscuits, & Books,” I say automatically as I hear the small golden bell over the store entrance jingle. I place the two paperbacks in my hand onto the packed wooden bookshelf and turn to the front to properly greet my customer.
“It’s just me, Ava.” Aria bounces into the store, her arms holding a mountain of small pumpkins that she plans to use to decorate the space to usher in the fall season.
This is my favorite season of the year, which is ironic because we live in Coconut Beach, a small town known for being the place to go for a summer escape.
“Oops,” she squeals as three small bright orange pumpkins fall out of her arms and onto the ground, which activates a no-longer-resting Popsicle into action.
Her blue eyes are shining with glee as she attempts to scoop them up unsuccessfully.
“Did you get enough pumpkins?” I bend down to pick up one of the stray bright orange ornaments, but Popsicle grabs it from my hand and goes running.
She pauses, her fluffy blonde hair hanging in front of her light brown eyes, and I give her my sternest look.
“Drop,” I whisper, but she ignores me and goes running behind the counter to her bed with her new toy, which I know will be in pieces within ten minutes.
“No, I don't think I got enough.” Aria’s girlish giggles make me smile as much today as they did the first time I heard them in pre-K, when we were both four years old.
“By the way, I told Gigi I’d be back to pick up a few more pumpkins and a bunch of fake spiders and witches’ hats.
” She grins and twitches her nose, like she’s Samantha from Bewitched , an old TV show I used to watch with my grandma.
Aria’s long blonde hair falls over her shoulders, and I blink as I see a large orange chunk flashing at me.
“Did you dye your hair...” I gasp as I reach forward and touch her long tresses. “Bright orange?”
“It’s pumpkin-hued, thank you very much. To go along with all the pumpkins in the store.” She beams as she looks around the small store. “I wanted to make sure I fit in well with the décor.”
“And I thought I was the fall queen.” I laugh as I take in the décor of the store.
The small glittering pumpkin lights that hang around the entrance, the haystacks at the bottom of each shelf, scarecrows on the walls, pumpkins on the tables, apples in small baskets, and the stack of leaves on ropes that are spread out throughout the store, near the bookshelves and on the front counter, where my homemade blueberry muffins and ginger cupcakes sit.
“No one will ever take your crown.” She looks around the empty store and makes a face. “Any customers yet today?”
“None.” I busy my hands to still the nerves creeping through me.
No customers means no sales, which means no income, which means I won’t be able to keep the store open if I can’t pay the mortgage for the building, a fact I’ve been reminded of frequently by Atlas Holdings Inc.
, a company that has inundated me with offer letters to buy the store in the last two months.
But I’m not selling my bookstore just so another crappy corporate hotel can be built in my lovely small town.
"It's still early."
We both nod and exchange nervous smiles. Business needs to pick up, or we are both out of jobs. And frankly, my job is my life. This bookstore is my dream come true. I don’t even know what else I would be qualified to do.
I suppose I could become a fall queen in some random town, throwing leaves on people and bestowing pretend wishes, though I don’t even think such a job exists.
And if it does, it’s unlikely to pay my bills.
I know Aria is stressed, as well. Because while this isn’t her dream job, it's close enough to it, as she wants to be a writer.
She writes and illustrates children's books and sells made-up poetry art at the farmers’ market every Saturday morning.
We’re both creatives, and as such, neither one of us wants a regular Coconut Beach job at a hotel or restaurant. I’d rather eat 100 grasshoppers than work at the front desk of another boring hotel.
"By the way, Arabella called me when I was picking up the pumpkins." Our third best friend, Arabella, works the front desk at the Coconut Beach Suites, the fanciest hotel on the island, and also as a housekeeper. Not because she loves hospitality, but because she's trying to save our small town from ruin by the corporations that are taking over. She has some secret plan to bring down billionaires “from the inside,” and even though Aria and I have no idea what she means by that, we support her."She says to tell you that Maribel's granddaughter, Eloise, is back in town." Aria has a blank look on her face as if she doesn’t know who she’s talking about. Maybe if this job doesn’t work out, she can be an actress. She’s proving she’s got more chops than I’ve ever given her credit for.
"Gag me with a knife." I pretend to throw up.
Eloise Laribel is my arch nemesis. In fact, she's been the arch nemesis of myself, Arabella, and Aria, ever since she called us the simple A's in first grade.
She considered herself Coconut Beach royalty because her grandmother was descended from one of the founders of the town, and her father had been the mayor for four years.
When she'd gone off to college in France, we'd all been happy to see the back of her. Unfortunately, it now seems like she is back. "I wonder if she remembers how to speak English or if French is the only language she recalls."
"Hmm, parlez-vous francais, allez allez allez ." Aria speaks in a horrible French accent, and I wag my finger at her, pretending to tell her off. “I suppose she will remember ze English just enough to put us in our places, madame.”
“Ha ha." I stifle a groan. "I'm surprised she hasn’t already popped into the shop to remind me once again that Donovan Grady chose her over me to go on that date.
" I ignore the clench in my stomach at the shameful memory.
Donovan Grady had been the star football, baseball, and basketball player at our small school, and every girl had had a crush on him.
With his all-American blue eyes, blond hair, sparkling white teeth, and tanned body, he'd been a walking Abercrombie & Fitch advertisement.
One fall, Eloise and I had both competed to be his date to the senior bonfire. I still cringe when I think about it.
I hadn’t even thought that he'd been the hottest man at Coconut Beach High.
That award had gone to Jamison Parker, with his curly black hair and warm brown eyes.
Jamison had been soulful, charismatic, and sweet, and he was Donovan's best friend.
I'd only pretended to like Donovan to get close to Jamison. Which had blown up in my face spectacularly. Donovan hadn’t even wanted me, and Eloise had gotten him and Jamison.
But that was the past. I am not going to live on Immature Antics of Ava Memory Lane.
Not even if Eloise is back and hoping to take me on a blast to the past.
"She's not going to remind you of that because she knows we'd have to remind her of the threesome she had on the beach with Donovan and Jamison at the senior bonfire and her walk of shame.” Aria giggles as she recalls the memory.
“And how Donovan called after her and was like, ‘Louisa, you left your bra...’"
"That was so mortifying." I shuddered at how embarrassing that moment had been for her. "Imaging hooking up with two boys just to prove you're the most popular girl in school and then the main guy doesn't even know your name."