Morning dawned bright through the guest bedroom window. Mari had intended to take a bath before falling asleep, but by the time she’d walked upstairs, it had been all she could do to strip off her clothes and slide beneath the clean sheets Owen had put on the double bed.
So many things were different in England. The architecture, the accents, the history—even drawing herself a bath rather than taking a quick shower. Slipping into the hot water and lying in the clawfoot tub felt indulgent. And extremely necessary, given how much her muscles ached from her hours of cleaning the previous night.
As she soaped up her skin with an orange-scented bar, she couldn’t help but think about Owen. Though she barely knew him, her heart raced as she wondered what it would be like if he did this for her instead.
When her stomach rumbled, she realized with a jolt back to reality just how crazy her thoughts were, considering they had only just met the day before.
Last night, by the time she’d polished off the rest of the scones, clotted cream, and jam, the corner market had been closed, and it had been too late to venture out to find an open grocery off the island. Charlie’s cupboards were bare apart from a can of baked beans and something called spotted dick. Upon reading the ingredient list, she learned that it was a suet and dried fruit dessert. Another day, she’d try it. Thankfully, this morning she had breakfast plans with a very handsome local.
Fifteen minutes later, she was dressed and ready to go. Owen wouldn’t arrive for a half hour or so, which gave her enough time to venture back into the bookstore in the light of day.
Even dusty, dirty piles of books were wonderful, of course. But this wasn’t just any bookstore. Her father had chosen each of the books on the shelves, the armchairs for people to sit in to read, the rugs on the floor, the framed prints on the walls. What’s more, in order to make a decision about what to do with the bookstore—whether to sell it or to keep it and run it herself—she needed to find out what state the business was in. Which meant finding the account books, as well as the local business regulation handbooks and customer lists.
After heading down the stairs from the flat to the store, she slowly scanned the space and was surprised to realize there was a garden patio out back. Had Charlie’s customers enjoyed taking a book out into the sunshine with a cup of tea? And given the completely overgrown state of it, how long would it take her to turn the small garden into a place where someone would actually want to sit in the future?
A meow from the counter by the register startled her. She had forgotten about the little black cat. In truth, much of yesterday had a blurry feel to it.
The cat stood and stretched, then hopped off the counter and made for the front door. Mari picked her way through the pile of books on the floor to let it out. She watched as it raced across the street and headed for the Fox & Hound. Obviously, it knew exactly where to go to find food.
She had long dreamed of eating at a British pub. But how would the owner, and the other locals, react once they knew she was Charlie’s daughter? Would they assume she had abandoned her father and hate her for it, given that Charlie was clearly a local hero? Then again, Owen’s suspicions had instantly dropped away once she’d blurted out the truth about Charlie’s leaving.
At a glance, there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the bookstore. She hoped it was just a bad first impression. Reminding herself that she always enjoyed creating order from chaos while at the office, she forced herself to approach the situation as though she was working with a client who had inherited the store. First, she would need to pull together anything related to sales and inventory.
Figuring those files might be located near the register, she made her way through the piles of books. Halfway across the room, a copy of Winnie-the-Pooh caught her eye.
One of her crystal-clear memories of her father, apart from playing conkers together, was how Charlie would read the book to her before bed nearly every night, doing different voices for each character. After he had gone, the popular children’s book had felt like her only remaining link to him.
At twenty-two, she’d taken her first paycheck from the accounting firm and bought fourth-edition copies of Winnie-the-Pooh and The House at Pooh Corner. Over the years, she’d added to her collection whenever she could.
Picking up the book, she dusted it off with her fingertips, then opened the cover. She could hardly believe her eyes. Not only was it a first edition from 1926, but it was also signed by both A.A. Milne, the author, and E.H. Shepard, the illustrator.
Her hands shook as she held the book to her chest. It wasn’t just that she knew the book was worth an absolute fortune. What moved her far more was that finding it felt like an omen. A good one. As though her father had left the book here in the hopes that she’d see it and think of their time together…
A knock at the door jolted her out of her musings. Still clutching the book to her chest, she went to let Owen in.
Though the air outside was chilly, his smile warmed her. “Good morning. I know I’m a little early. I hope that’s okay with you.”
“It’s great.” He was even better looking today, if that was possible. “Let me put this book away, and then I’ll be ready to go.”
Owen cocked his head to read the spine. “Charlie had a particular fondness for Winnie-the-Pooh stories. They’re brilliantly written and illustrated, of course, but his interest seemed to go beyond that.”
Thinking of her long-ago connection with her father had warmth blooming in Mari’s chest as she put the book behind the counter. As she’d hoped, several account registers were stacked on the lower shelves, along with thick book sales catalogs.
“If you don’t mind a bit of a walk,” Owen said, “I’d like to take you off the island to one of my favorite cafés in Richmond.”
“A walk sounds great.” She locked up behind them, and then they headed out past the pub and boutiques to the bridge.
The landscape seemed impossibly green, especially to someone who had grown up surrounded by golden hills and droughts that could last for years. What’s more, they were barely into their walk when Owen pointed out two blue plaques—markers bestowed upon buildings of historical significance by the English Heritage society. One was for a music studio where the biggest British rock bands of the sixties and seventies had recorded, and the other was for a respected landscape painter from the early 1900s.
A few minutes later, Mari had a perfect view of the Richmond Bridge, the oldest bridge in London. She nearly pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. “I feel like I’m in a British fairy tale,” she said, sounding like a full-fledged tourist.
“Plenty of Brits feel the same way about the US.”
She turned to him in surprise. “Really?”
“Most of us grew up on a steady diet of American TV shows and movies.” He leaned in and lowered his voice as though he were sharing clandestine information. “We secretly dream of attending an American high school or a baseball game.”
Who would have guessed? Smiling, she leaned toward him and said, “My advice? Skip high school and go straight to the game.”
He grinned. “Duly noted.”
Mari was thankful that Owen had been the first person to come calling at the bookstore. Though they didn’t know each other very well yet, he made her feel like she wasn’t in this entirely alone.
“Have you ever lived in the US?” she asked.
“No, but my brother Malcolm did a foreign exchange when he was in sixth form.” At her confused look, he clarified, “Sixth form is our last couple of years of high school, when we’re studying for our A levels, just before we go to uni. Anyway, he loved it. Enough that if he hadn’t been accepted to Cambridge, I’m not sure we’d have gotten him back to the UK.”
“How many siblings do you have?”
“There are five of us. I’m the oldest, then Malc, Tom, Fiona, and Alice. And Tom has a five-year-old daughter named Aria. She’s adorable.” He said each sibling’s name and his niece’s so fondly that she knew they must be a close-knit family. “What about you?”
“I have one brother, Carson. He’s my stepbrother, actually, but my mom married his father when I was four, so it feels like we were always brother and sister.”
“How does your family feel about you being here?”
“Carson offered to come with me even though it would have meant completely reorganizing his work schedule. I couldn’t let him do that.” She paused, unsure of how much more to say. The last thing she wanted was to be disloyal to her mother and stepfather. At the same time, she longed to discuss things with someone who might know more of Charlie’s side of the story.
Before she could figure out what to tell Owen about Donna and Gary, he said, “We’re here.”
She must have been completely lost in her thoughts. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have missed entering this beautiful park on a hill, at the center of which sat one of the cutest cafés she’d ever seen. The pillars for the outdoor terrace roof were made from thick tree branches, and the roof was thatched. Several people were having coffee and enjoying the view through the park to the Thames, and young moms were watching their children play together on the grass.
“What a beautiful setting,” she marveled.
“The Hollyhock Café is a well-kept local secret. When people come to see the usual round of nearby tourist sites—Kew Gardens, Richmond Park, Turner’s View, Pete Townshend’s house—this park and café are easy to overlook.”
“Thank you for sharing it with me.”
He smiled. “You’re a local now.”
Longing welled up inside her chest. Could she actually pick up here where her father had left off and be an Elderflower Island local?
Or would it be far more sensible to do what her mother had suggested and completely wash her hands of it all? To continue with life in Santa Monica as she’d always known it?
They headed into the café and ordered, then took their hot drinks outside and found a table set slightly apart from those of the other customers. Though Mari knew it would be easier to keep asking questions about Owen’s family, or to have him tell her more about Elderflower Island and the surrounding towns, she refused to bury her head in the sand.
“Whatever you know about Charlie,” she said, “I’d appreciate hearing it.”
“He was a quiet man, and a good one. Possibly more comfortable with his books than with people. But if you ever needed anything, he was there to help. And his bookshop was as much a hub of the island community as the pub.”
It was a lot to take in, even though Owen had already given her hints as to just how beloved her father had been. “Did he host a lot of events at his store?”
“Not formally.” Owen gave her a rueful grin. “Charlie, as you might already have noticed, wasn’t great at organization. But reader groups, and nonbook groups too, still liked to congregate informally in the shop.”
“It sounds like it was a really great store while he was alive. Even my taxi driver yesterday told me it was his favorite bookstore in London.” Grief hit her again, a stabbing pain to the solar plexus. “I tried to find out about it over the years,” she admitted, “but Charlie didn’t have a website, so it was hard to glean much information. It sounds like you spent quite a bit of time there.”
“I did. And so did my grandmother. She and Charlie were quite close.” When Mari’s eyebrows went up, Owen clarified, “As far as I know, they were just friends, but she loved his bookshop so much it inspired her mystery series.”
“Your grandmother is a writer?”
She could see from his smile how proud he was of his grandmother—and how much he adored her. “She writes the Bookshop on the River mystery series.”
Mari was floored. “Your grandmother is Mathilda Westcott?” When Owen nodded, she said, “I can’t believe I didn’t know Charlie’s store was the inspiration for her series. I’ve read all of her books multiple times.”
“It was one of the few things they argued about,” Owen told her. “She wanted to put his name—and the shop—in the acknowledgments of her books, but he refused to let her, even though it would surely have brought him more business. He did relent about allowing the TV series to be filmed in the shop, however.”
Mari worked to shake herself out of her mixed emotions over everything she was learning about her father. “You’ve made a TV series out of your grandmother’s books? And filmed it in the store?”
“Not yet,” he clarified. “Actually, it’s something I was hoping to speak with you about at some point. I manage Mathilda’s career, and we were in the final stages of negotiating with the network when Charlie got sick.” He paused, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry. You’ve asked about your father, and here I am telling you about plans for a TV program.”
“It’s important, though, isn’t it?” Though she felt swamped by emotion from everything she was learning, Mari had to be pragmatic. “Filming a TV show in the store might go a long way toward the feasibility of keeping it open. Depending on what I find in his account books, that is. I’m not sure what you already know about me, but I’m an accountant.”
He looked contrite. “I did already know that about you.”
“Don’t feel bad. I realized last night that you—and everyone else who was close to Charlie—would have wondered who the mystery daughter was and worried enough about my plans for the store to look me up online.”
“I’m not going to lie to you, Mari. We were all curious—and worried. But as you said, it’s not easy to find out much about someone unless they’re active on social media. I didn’t know what to expect yesterday.”
“And?” Though she didn’t blame him for being curious, she couldn’t quite keep the challenge from her voice. “How did first impressions measure up?”
“You’re very beautiful.”
She flushed, his comment taking a great deal of the wind out of her sails. She could feel the heat on her cheeks as she asked, “What does that have to do with anything?”
“You asked me for my impressions, and the truth is that the first thing that struck me is how lovely you are. The second is that you don’t seem the least bit mercenary.”
Okay, then, he certainly got points for honesty, after making it clear that he both found her attractive and had been half expecting her to be a gold digger.
“I had no idea Charlie would leave me his bookstore and home.” Her chest tightened. “I had no idea he thought of me at all, actually.”
“Mari.” Owen put his hand over hers. “I know we haven’t spent much time together yet, but something tells me you’re going to do the right thing by Charlie. Even if he didn’t do the right thing by you.”
Owen’s faith in her shouldn’t have meant so much. As he’d just said, they barely knew each other. But relief flooded her nonetheless.
“I’m sorry I was suspicious of your motives at first,” he continued. “And I want you to know that I’m going to do whatever I can to make sure Charlie’s friends here know you mean no harm.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Just as she couldn’t help but appreciate the warmth of his touch.
“Are you up for hearing more about your father?”
Nodding, she said, “I do have one big question about him: Did he drink during the years you knew him?”
“No.”
“He didn’t?” She couldn’t wrap her head around it. “I assumed that was the reason…” The reason he never came back.
Realizing Owen was waiting for her to continue, she decided there was no point in trying to keep it a secret any longer. “According to my mother,” she explained, “Charlie was an alcoholic when they were married.”
“I figured as much. Otherwise, it’s likely he would have imbibed every now and again. But I never asked why he didn’t drink. No one did, as far as I know. Is that why your mother and father split up?” he asked in a gentle voice. “Because of his drinking?”
“Partly.”
She could keep holding her cards close to her chest. But then Owen would never truly understand why she hadn’t seen her father in all this time, not unless she gave him the full, unvarnished truth.
And she found that she wanted to tell him. Somehow, she trusted him. Maybe it was the help he’d given her yesterday. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at her now—with understanding, but not pity. And with enough warmth that she almost felt like she was heating beneath his gaze.
“My mother had a job at an accounting firm in Santa Monica—the same one I work for now, actually. Charlie worked part time at a bookstore in the evenings so that he could take care of me during the day while my mom was at work. Even then, I think he dreamed of opening his own store. In any case, I was so young that I don’t remember much, just snippets of having fun together playing conkers.”
“That’s a proper British game.” Owen was clearly impressed. “Do you still play?”
“I haven’t since he left.” She took a sip of her drink before telling Owen the rest of it. “One day, he passed out and I left our apartment. The owner of the restaurant downstairs found me outside, about to cross a busy road by myself just as a truck came barreling down the street. I was three.”
Owen looked shell-shocked.
“My mother kicked him out that night,” Mari continued. “I don’t know if he ever forgave himself—but my mom definitely hasn’t. From that moment, she never wanted me to have anything to do with him…and he must have agreed, because he didn’t want me again. One moment I had a father, the next I didn’t. Even now, the bookstore isn’t mine because he left it to me in his will. It’s simply because I’m the only surviving blood relative the solicitors could track down.”
“Guilt can turn people inside out,” Owen noted in a low-pitched voice. “I’m sure the last thing Charlie wanted was to lose you. But…is it possible he didn’t feel he deserved to be your father anymore?”
Mari wanted desperately to believe that explanation. Without proof that it was true, however, she just couldn’t. “If he thought letting me run out into traffic was the worst thing he ever did, he was wrong. Walking out of my life forever was far worse.”
“If I had known about you, and about what he did, I would have told him the same thing—that leaving you was wrong.” Owen shook his head, still looking disturbed by her revelations. “I know that doesn’t count for much now that it’s too late.”
“Actually, it does count. More than you know.”
Mari looked down and realized their plates of food must have been delivered during their intense discussion. Her stomach felt tight and twisted, but knowing she had a lot of work ahead of her inside the bookstore, she made herself take a bite of her chickpea and avocado omelet. It was so delicious that her appetite magically made a resurgence.
“How did you come to manage your grandmother’s business affairs?” she asked, hoping to take the spotlight off herself. “Was going into the family business always the plan?”
“As soon as I started at a tax law firm to finish my training, I realized I hated it. But after my parents had scrimped and saved for my education, sending me to the best schools, I couldn’t stand the thought of letting them down. It wasn’t until my grandmother threw me a lifeline and asked me to come on board with her book business that I felt I could step away from the law. Her previous manager had embezzled from her, and she wanted someone she could trust implicitly.”
“Do you enjoy what you do now?”
“Very much. No day is ever the same, and once you meet her, you’ll see why she always keeps me on my toes.”
“Meet Mathilda Westcott?” Mari couldn’t wrap her head around meeting one of her all-time-favorite authors. Then again, since Owen’s grandmother and Charlie had been close, Mathilda would surely be another good person to speak to about him. “First thing I’m going to do when I get back to the store is find where Charlie kept the mysteries so that I can reread your grandmother’s books.”
“I’ve got meetings in Soho this afternoon, but I can come over tonight if you’d like some help.”
Mari had thought she would be taking care of everything on her own. She’d never counted on meeting someone she would want to spill her guts to, who actually seemed to understand her reticence to accept her unexpected legacy, and who would be so willing to lend her a hand.
“I’d like that.” A beam of sunlight crossed their table as they smiled at each other.