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“If you don’t want to have to sell to me, I recommend expanding your offerings. You’d get far more foot traffic with an espresso machine.”
“So far, no one has asked for a mocha.”
“Because you don’t sell them,” he said patiently. “But if you did, you’d have a steady stream of traffic all day long. The young moms and retirees in the morning, the business crowd at lunch, and students in the afternoon.”
“You’re describing a coffeehouse, not a bookstore.”
“They are thriving businesses, Rachel.”
“This will be a thriving business one day, too.”
“You have two floors of glorious books, and nothing anyone actually wants to buy.” He gestured to the stack of Christmas books still on the counter. “The books people might want to buy are for display purposes only. You can’t approach this bookselling thing for the traditional approach. You have to think out of the box.”
“I’m trying.”
“Good, because you won’t like Paradise Books sapping you dry.”
“Just last night you were telling me to be positive.”
“Yes, be positive, but also realistic. I don’t want to see you take a significant loss on this place. I don’t think you do, either.”
“Every time I think I just might like you, you say or do something to spoil my good will.”
Atticus gave her another of his lethal smiles. “I do love your candor.”
“And I would love your help. How long do you intend to be here today?” she asked.
“An hour or two. Why?”
“I have an errand I need to run. Do you mind watching the store for me?”
“You trust me that much?”
He was gorgeous and insufferable, and surprisingly addictive. “Yes.” She reached for her purse. “I’ll just be down the street so if you need me, call or text.”
“I don’t have your number.”
She scribbled it down on the notepad on the counter. “It’s here,” she said. “In case of an emergency.” And then she grabbed her coat and was off.
Rachel snuggled into her coat as she briskly walked north on Main Street, heading for Sadie’s Montana Rose store. If Sadie specialized in vintage Christmas items, surely she’d have a Nativity set.
Sadie wasn’t working though, and the shop’s sales assistant suggested that Rachel try Brandel’s Baubles, Treasures and Fine Art, a newer Marietta business that had been opened last April on the southwest corner of Fourth and Main. The owner, Dinah Brandel, was from New Orleans and had some really interesting things. Apparently, Sadie Douglas was a fan of the store and liked to shop there herself.
Rachel thanked the sales assistant and continued down Main. Brandel’s Baubles was on the first floor of a two-story building, with a large display front window. Pushing open the heavy glass door, she peeked in. Glass display cabinets glittered with jewelry, art, and delicate porcelain figurines.
A woman called out a warm greeting, and from her rich, Southern accent, Rachel suspected this was Dinah Brandel herself. Rachel explained what she was looking for and Dinah shook her head. “I had one, and it sold just this weekend. I can try to find you one. Is there something in particular you’re looking for?”
“No. I was just thinking I’d do a display with it. I have the bookstore two blocks down on the corner. Paradise Books.”
“It’s been closed since I moved here.”
“Well, it’s open now. If anyone is looking for a hard to find book, send them my way as it seems to be all we carry.” Rachel smiled wryly, trying not to feel frustrated.
She would never get people into the store with used books. She needed new ones, like Lesley’s pretty children’s picture books, that she could actually sell.
“Anything else I can do to help your display?” Dinah asked.
“I don’t know. I have all these cute Christmas books featuring mice, and I was trying to think of something fun to do with them.”
Dinah’s expression brightened. “How about displaying them with mice?”
Rachel immediately thought of the scrabbling sound she’d heard on the second floor of the bookstore. “In the window?”
“I have a whole set of adorable mice. They’re woolen collectibles, hand-stitched by an artist in Louisiana. They’re cute as a button. Let me show you.”
Dinah led her around the corner to another illuminated class cabinet, and on the middle shelf was a little world of mice—a young mouse in pajamas, a mother mouse in a red wool coat pushing a tiny stroller with a baby mouse in a onesie. There was a mailman mouse, and a backpacking mouse, and a darling girl mouse in a pink coat and scarf carrying home a miniature Christmas tree.
“They’re adorable,” Rachel said, immediately thinking that these mice could be a fantastic display. “How much are they?”
“They’re not inexpensive.”
Rachel looked at the four-inch mice with their sweet expressions and dark bead eyes. “How much is the little boy mouse in pajamas?”
“Fifty dollars.”
Rachel’s heart fell. “And the girl mouse, with the Christmas tree?”
“I think she’s seventy.”
“So much,” Rachel said regretfully.
“They’re completely hand-stitched, by a well-known artist.”
“I would buy them if I could,” she answered, unable to justify spending even fifty on the little mouse boy in pajamas. “If I’m going to spend that much money, I should be buying books I could sell.”
Dinah thought for a moment. “Have you tried the toy store? The one across from the diner? I think they sell Maileg toys.”
Rachel shook her head. “I’m not familiar with the name.”
“It’s a Danish toy company. While my mice here are collectibles for adults, Maileg makes miniature stuffed animals for children. One of their top sellers is their stuffed mouse doll that comes in its own matchbox bed. They’re very charming and usually priced between twenty-five and thirty dollars, although with retail markup, it’s hard to know how the toy store will price them.”
Rachel thanked her and walked back to the bookstore. She wanted a toy mouse, she did, but if she was going to be spending money, maybe she should be spending it on children’s books.
Arriving back at the bookstore, she found it just as she’d left it. Atticus was working diligently at his small table, her stack of books were just as she’d left them. The only thing missing on the counter was her phone number. She arched a brow but said nothing, and just as she pulled her laptop toward her, her phone pinged with an incoming text.
She fished her phone out of her coat pocket and read the text. “Now you have my number. And you can use it even if it’s not an emergency. Atticus.”
She looked over at him, and he kept working away as if he hadn’t just texted her. She stared at him for long minutes until he finally lifted his head. “Did you want something?” he asked.
His expression was so businesslike, so serious, and such a contradiction to his text that she slowly smiled.
Atticus was fun.
Rather irresistible, actually.
“No,” she answered. “I’m good.”
*
An hour later, Atticus left and, once he was gone, she felt the bookstore was so quiet. True it was a Thursday, just before the Marietta Stroll, but other stores on Main Street had traffic. Maybe not heavy traffic, but the street was lined with cars, and people were walking around, only no one out shopping was entering the bookstore. Perhaps people didn’t realize the store was actually open. Perhaps Paradise Books had been closed so long that everyone figured it wasn’t going to reopen.
She stepped out onto the street and shivered at the icy blast of wind before stepping out into the street to look at the store, trying to see it the ways others saw it.
Tall brick building on the corner with big windows. Window display still in need of inspiration. From outside, the interior of the store appeared fairly dark. The store needed new lighting, maybe some track lighting or warm spotlights to highlight the rich walnut bookshelves and handsome staircase.
If she kept the store, she’d need to invest in it.
/> New lighting, a new wireless router, update the children’s reading room, update the downstairs bathroom, possibly recover some of the armchairs.
It would take some money but not a fortune, and businesses required upkeep. It was just a cost of doing business. She knew all the line items and deductions already. She knew what she could, and couldn’t, write off.
But she couldn’t write anything off, if there wasn’t income. She needed to get people into the store. But first, she needed to make them notice the store. She’d start with a better window display.
Rachel went to the back room and poked around, looking for anything that she could use for displaying the Christmas books. She needed height. She needed something visually interesting. She wanted to stagger the books, so yes, a ladder would work, but so would a trunk, or boxes. Or… the wooden crates tucked behind cleaning supplies.
Rachel pulled three out. They were dusty and aged, but you could still make out some of the writing on the sides. COPPER MOUNTAIN BOTTLING WORKS on one, and MARIETTA MERCANTILE, MONTANA. Using her furniture polish, she wiped the crates down, removing a layer of grime and uncovered the faint words, DOUGLAS RANCH, PARADISE VALLEY, MT on the third. She wondered if the Douglas Ranch was connected to Sadie Douglas. If so, Sadie might be interested in this crate.
Rachel carried the crates to the window facing Main, and stacked them at angles so that she had more corners for displaying books. She set the brightest Christmas books upright on the crates, colorful covers facing out, and then shifted the poinsettias, putting them on either side of the crates. Standing outside she studied her new display. It still wasn’t fabulous, in fact, it looked a little chaotic, but it was better than her first attempt. At least now you could see the books. That had to count for something.
Back in the store, she opened her laptop and researched window displays and read up on their importance and how it was the shop window that drives foot traffic.
A window display was supposed to highlight her brand’s personality.
A proper window display was supposed to engage shoppers, and cause them to pause, look, and then enter the store where the sales personnel then closes the deal.
