The auction house buzzed with surprise over Archie’s unexpected win.
Sage Harper swiveled in her seat to face her friend, feeling her loss almost as acutely as if it had been her own. “I’m so sorry, Abby. I really thought you’d win.”
Abby managed a small smile. “It’s okay. I guess Archie needed it more. Maybe it reminds him of his wife?”
Sage returned her smile, in awe of her selfless attitude. Abby had to be the kindest, most gracious person she’d ever met. Somehow, she managed to wish even her competitors well. While Sage stopped short of desiring harm against her rivals—most notably the indomitable Mrs. Cordelia Cahill—she didn’t exactly wish them well.
“And now,” Herman bellowed theatrically, as if tasked with introducing the Queen of England herself, “the moment you’ve all been waiting for.”
Sage inched forward, her toes nervously tapping the hardwood floor, then stopped herself as her grandma Shirley’s soothing voice slipped into her thoughts. Stress kills more people than cigarettes. Sage had no clue if the claim had merit, but Grandma Shirley believed it adamantly enough for the both of them. If Sage so much as drummed her fingernails, Gran would whip out the dried lavender satchels and chamomile tea.
As Herman’s mother rolled the easel on stage one centimeter at a time, Sage inhaled and exhaled slowly, mimicking the deep-breathing exercise from Gran’s daily yoga class. So what if her entire future relied on winning this auction?
“Don’t worry.” Abby placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “If you don’t get this boat, another one will come along.”
“Thanks.” Sage forced a smile and refrained from pointing out the obvious—she couldn’t afford most boats on the market. She had fifteen thousand dollars to her name, and the kind of boat she needed usually sold for upward of fifty thousand. Sometimes even hundreds of thousands.
Her single ounce of hope came by way of Verna Hoffstetter—a one-woman rumor mill—who’d confided that the boat on today’s auction block had a ridiculously low starting bid. And only a few people in town had expressed interest in the fixer-upper.
Herman flipped through his little leather-bound notebook, mouthing a few silent words like a keynote speaker preparing for their speech.
Abby leaned in, lowering her voice further. “For what it’s worth, I want you to win this boat even more than I wanted the sugar bowl. Someone needs to go toe-to-toe with Cordelia Cahill. She’s been untouchable for far too long, from what I’ve heard.”
The familiar fire of frustration burned in Sage’s chest. Cordelia thought she was so clever when she opened The Best of Times, a bookstore that only sold New York Times best sellers. But the limited selection had been a sore spot among locals for years. Especially since Cordelia wouldn’t even special order a book that hadn’t made the exclusive list. Everyone knew she only stayed in business thanks to her husband’s deep pockets.
To make matters worse, due to a centuries-old noncompete bylaw, no one else could open a bookstore in town. A bylaw Cordelia had delighted in recounting when Sage recently presented her business plan before the town council.
This wasn’t the only occasion one of the Cahills had trampled on Sage’s dreams—or her heart. But this time, she’d fight back. Even if it meant buying a sailboat despite her complicated history with the seafaring vessels. Hopefully this foray would have a happier ending.
“Thanks.” She squeezed Abby’s hand, attempting to absorb some of her optimism. “Let’s hope no one else wants a dilapidated sailboat that’s been shipwrecked on a deserted island for months.”
Herman snapped his notebook shut, signaling the bidding war for the sailboat was about to begin.
Sage inhaled another yogic breath.
This was it. Her Hail Mary. The best—and arguably only—chance she had at fulfilling her childhood dream.
This was her loophole. The bylaw only applied to businesses founded on Blessings Bay soil. But a floating bookstore? That was fair game.
Herman faced the crowd, his features reverent and austere. Sheesh. Was the man hosting an auction in Blessings Bay or performing Hamlet on Broadway?
“Ladies and gentlemen.” He addressed the crowd with a sweeping hand. “Allow me to paint you a picture. One of romance and adventure. Heartache and rebirth.”
Despite his overcooked performance, Sage found herself enraptured—along with everyone else in the room—as Herman shared the boat’s colorful history. He began with how the quirky billionaire owner, Edwin Mackensie, had it built for his late wife, Mira, on their silver anniversary, and ended with her tragic death last year.
“As she slipped into that good night,” Herman recounted with solemn veneration, clutching the bow tie at his throat, “so did her beloved sailboat. The Marvelous Mira, as it was christened, languished at the Blessings Marina, forever moored in sweet sorrow, until a storm broke its tethers, casting it out to sea to be reborn among the waves. It’s that rebirth it hopes to find today.”
“And I thought he was hamming it up with the sugar bowl,” Abby whispered.
Sage cleared the emotion from her throat. She didn’t usually buy into Herman’s histrionics, but all his melodramatic rambling about rebirth had struck a nerve. That’s exactly what she needed—rebirth. She’d been languishing at her own proverbial moor. The moor of meandering part-time jobs and morose indecision. She needed a fresh start. To finally find her purpose.
“When you look at this custom-built forty-five-foot sailing schooner,” Herman continued, “you may see peeling paint and weathered sails. But if you look closer, you’ll see the wind and waves, calling you to a new life. A better life. A—”
“Five thousand dollars!” Sage shouted before he’d had a chance to finish his spiel. She immediately slapped a hand over her mouth, embarrassed by her impulsive outburst. What had come over her?
Herman frowned, visibly irked by the interruption.
“Sorry.” Her cheeks flushed. “Please, continue.”
He expelled a short sigh that sounded both pious and pointedly resigned. “Never mind. We might as well begin. We have a starting bid of five thousand. Do I hear six?”
Several paddles shot into the air, and Sage’s heart sank. Thanks a lot, Herman, for the Shakespearean-level sales pitch.
Before she could blink twice, the price rocketed from five thousand to thirteen. How high could she go? She had fifteen, but she’d need money for repairs. And food.
“I have thirteen thousand,” Herman repeated. “Do I hear fourteen?”
Eh. Who needed to eat, anyway? Sage raised her paddle.
“Fourteen,” Herman called out, nodding in her direction. “Do I hear fifteen?”
Sage scooted toward the edge of her seat, dizzy with desperation. A second passed. Then another. Her pulse hummed in her ears.
“Fourteen, going once,” Herman sang like sweet, sweet music. Tears of joy and relief pricked her eyes. “Going twice.” He raised his gavel, and a zing of electricity coursed through her. In a matter of seconds, everything would change. She could finally look at her life with a sense of pride, not self-pity. She could finally let go of the past. She could—
“Twenty-five thousand,” a deep, commanding voice cut across the room.
Herman gawked, and a collective gasp whooshed through the air.
Sage’s stomach lurched into her rib cage, colliding with her heart.
Please, no. It can’t be. Not him. Not after all these years.
All eyes turned toward the back, eager to put a face to the eleventh-hour bidder.
But Sage didn’t have to look. She knew each intonation—the rhythm, pitch, and timbre—by memory.
No matter how hard she tried to forget.