A man stood in the aisle, hands on his hips. Long hair in a pony tail. Cargo shorts with a tool belt. Tank top.
He grinned. “It’s not every day we get a runaway bride in Blithedale.”
Was it her imagination or did he puff up his chest to show her his well-defined pecs?
Alice took a step away from the boxes, hoping her behavior didn’t look as suspicious as it felt.
But if the handyman suspected anything, he didn’t show it. He was too busy studying her. No, not studying her. He was gazing at her, as if she were a wedding cake and he was trying to guess what filling was inside. Gross.
“I’m Vince. And hey, once I finish fixing this leak in the roof—” He stuck out a thumb, gesturing at the scaffolding that rose to the ceiling at the back. “—I’ll be happy to show you around town. Don’t tell me you have plans.”
Just then, the pasty-faced owner rounded the corner, rescuing her. He scowled at Vince and said, “Mr. Malone. Miss Cox and I are going to the diner for a business meeting. I’ll be back soon.”
“Take your time, Bunce,” Vince said. “I’ll keep an eye on—” He paused. “—things.”
A woman joined them. She wore a navy blazer, a white button-down, and a gold watch with matching bracelet and necklace that made her look so much more professional and adult than either Bunce or Vince. Apparently, Vince wasn’t impressed. He winked at her. But her attention was already drawn to Alice, her eyes widening.
“Sweetheart, what happened to you?”
She rushed forward and grabbed one of Alice’s hands.
“No gentlemen left in the world,” the woman muttered, and set about brushing off Alice’s dress.
“Oh, don’t bother,” Alice said. “It’s ruined anyway. But thanks for your help.”
“I’m Kristin Cox, realtor, but everyone calls me Kris.”
“I don’t,” Bunce said.
“And that’s fine, Bunce.” With her back to Bunce, Kris rolled her eyes at Alice, and Alice couldn’t help but smile. Kris said, “We’re headed to the diner to meet with a couple, Mr. and Mrs. Oriel. They want to buy the bookstore.”
The words squeezed Alice’s heart. “Buy the bookstore?”
She’d come all this way to make sure the bookstore, with all its happy memories, continued to live on. And it was going to be sold?
Kris nudged Alice playfully. “Hey, want to buy a bookstore? It’s a great deal. Imagine owning your own bookstore in this quaint little town.”
“I could never…” Alice muttered, trying to imagine what it would be like to start a new life in Blithedale. Her old life lay in ruins. No apartment. That had been Rich’s. No job. Rich had not only been her fiancé, but also her boss at his independent bookstore in the city. And no real friends. Her uncle had been in the army, and they’d moved around a lot. Every year, she got invited to three different high school reunions. She had acquaintances in a dozen states, lots of friends on social media, and no one to confide in.
Years ago, her aunt and uncle had retired to Costa Rica. Apart from Christmas and birthday cards, Alice didn’t communicate with them. They had even declined the invitation to the wedding, saying Alice surely understood that, at their age, such a long trip was out of the question. Alice understood, or said she did.
“No better place than Blithedale,” Kris said, and squeezed Alice’s arm, a sympathetic gesture that made her chest tighten. “I can drive you around town and I guarantee you’ll fall in love. Maybe you really will want to bid on the bookstore.”
Bunce cut in. “We already have buyers, Miss Cox.”
“I would if I could,” Alice mumbled. “Who are these buyers? What are they going to do with the bookstore?”
“Fix it up,” Kris said. “They love the idea of an oasis for book lovers.”
Alice let out a breath, relieved to hear it. After realizing she wasn’t happy with Rich, the thing she needed most in her life was to make sure the sliver of her old self that remained—her happy childhood at the bookstore—would somehow be preserved. If these buyers genuinely wanted to revitalize Blithedale Books, she could talk to them about saving her hideaway—and ensuring the happy memories from her childhood lived on.
“Whether you’re interested or not,” Kris added, interrupting her thoughts, “we can show you where most of Blithedale hangs out: the What the Dickens Diner.”
“Thanks,” Alice said. “But I’m looking for—” She paused. “—a book.”
Bunce said, “You can let yourself out, then. But don’t think you’re not being watched. I have security cameras. Thieves will be prosecuted.”
Kris sighed and treated Alice to another eye-roll. “Nobody believes you’re a thief. Besides, Bunce is too cheap to pay for security. Just watch out for that guy Vince. He’s trouble.”
A moment later, the front door banged shut.
Alice was left alone in the bookstore with Vince. The handyman was back on his perch on top of the scaffolding, thwacking a hammer against something in the wall. He seemed to have lost interest in anything but his work.
She grabbed the first box and pulled it out. Then removed another. And yet another. Soon, she had cleared enough of the boxes to see what lay behind. Butterflies flurried in her stomach. Tears welled in her eyes.
Behind the boxes stood an antique wardrobe. It had a single, narrow door, the paint flaking off. In spite of the toll that the years had taken, this was easily recognizable: the red door from her childhood.
She stepped up to it, her heart racing. She almost didn’t dare touch it, in case it would vanish, proving to be a figment of her overactive imagination.
A hand-painted sign on the door said, “DO NOT ENTER,” a sign she herself had made.
She put a hand on the door. Flakes of paint came loose and fluttered to the linoleum, like fall leaves. She grasped the little metal knob and pulled. The hinges creaked. The door swung open.