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“That’s interesting,” Rachel finally said, trying to hide her panic because Sadie had completely destroyed her window display. Now there were only three of the picture books in the windows with the crates and the massive set of hardback books that now had lights shining out of the back.
“Not done yet,” Sadie said, flashing Rachel a smile.
“Mmm,” Rachel answered, still not reassured because Sadie’s own store window was beautiful while Paradise Books’s front window reminded Rachel of a yard sale.
Sadie was now sprinkling faux powdered snow across the top of a crate, in front of the hardback books, before adding a small figure. Sadie fiddled about another few minutes before nodding her head. “Perfect,” she said, climbing out of the window and dusting her knees off. “Rachel, go outside, have a look, and tell me what you think.”
Outside, Rachel stood in front of the window facing Main Street and blinked in surprise as she realized that the set of hardback books was actually a street of nineteenth-century townhomes, and each spine was a different house, with miniature windows glued to the spines, and unique doors on the base of each book. Some of the houses had window boxes and others had little slate roofs. One had steps. Another had a gate for a carriage. And there in front of one of the handsome wooden doors was a little mouse dressed in a white shirt with a green vest, just like the mouse on Mouse’s Christmas Gift.
“It’s a mouse town,” she said in wonder, thinking she couldn’t wait to show Atticus this, before realizing he hadn’t been in yet today, which was unusual.
“I heard via the grapevine you wanted a Nativity set and a mouse,” Sadie said, standing next to her and admiring her handiwork. “I couldn’t find a Nativity scene, but I made a mouse for you. I hope you like it.”
“I do. It’s perfect,” Rachel answered, bowled over by Sadie’s thoughtfulness.
*
The stroll was just as perfect, with dozens of families streaming in and out, while a quartet of Dickens carolers sang outside on the doorstep. Nearly everyone that came in snagged a cookie and sampled the punch, before wandering around the store, pausing to admire the fresh fragrant Christmas tree. A number of people asked about the Christmas books in the window and Rachel realized that if she was going to keep the store open, she would need to order in children’s books like the ones in the window display. But everyone she talked to was delighted the store was open, and shared stories with her about Lesley. Lesley was loved and missed, and Rachel vowed to pass the messages on.
The only person who didn’t come by was Atticus and Rachel tried to tell herself it was fine, but the fact that she missed him as much as she did meant she wasn’t really fine. It was just that he was the one person she’d expected to put in an appearance, and when he didn’t, she wasn’t sure what to do with her disappointment. His absence made her realize she was already attached to him, and she had strong feelings for him—terrible, wonderful feelings—and she’d never be able to think of Marietta without thinking of him.
But finally the crowds from the stroll dispersed and the traffic on the street dwindled to nothing. She’d just begun to throw all the leftovers away when Atticus arrived, and her pulse quickened when he walked through the front door.
“I didn’t think I was going to see you tonight,” she said, feeling ridiculously relieved to finally see him.
“It’s been a tough day. I’ve had to spend most of it on the phone looking for a new head chef for the San Francisco Galveston.”
“Oh, dear. That doesn’t sound fun.”
“It wasn’t, and I missed the stroll. Was it as wonderful as everyone said?”
“People seemed happy, and the bookstore was never empty.”
“I take it you never left the store.”
She shook her head. “But I wasn’t lonely. All the Sheenans came to meet me, and there are a lot of them.”
“Yes, there are.” He smiled. “Let’s stroll down Main Street before all the lights have been turned off.”
She did like the sound of that and quickly bundled up and locked the door. Atticus took her hand as they walked down the middle of the street because cross traffic was still blocked off. Some of the stores still glowed with lights, while others had gone dark for the night. They walked the length of Main Street and were starting back when Atticus took her on a detour, heading down Third Street and then over onto Church where they walked another block before stopping in the middle of a residential area.
“That’s your house,” Atticus said.
“My house?” she echoed, confused.
“Your mom’s house. The one where your mom and grandparents lived in Marietta.”
Rachel blinked, shocked. “This was Mom’s house?”
He nodded.
She couldn’t believe it. “How did you find out?”
“I’m good at finding out things.”
Her gaze swept the small white, single-story house. The house still had its original wooden windows, and a narrow front porch. The current owners had strung Christmas lights along the edge of the steeply pitched roof, the white icicle light variety, and red-and-white candy canes lined the narrow cement walkway. It was tidy but sweet, and not far from the schools at the end of the street. “Mom would have been able to walk to school every day,” she said.
“Lesley’s childhood home was on the same street, just a block south, closer to St. James. I have a feeling they walked to school together.”
His words made her ache, and she blinked hard, clearing the stinging sensation from her eyes. She hadn’t thought of Mom in so long and now it seemed like her mother was everywhere. “Marietta would have been a wonderful place to grow up. It’s reassuring. Makes me believe she had a good life. I hope she did.”
“I think she was happy here,” he answered. “She certainly had good friends. Just look at Lesley.”
Rachel nodded. “I think she was happy with my dad, too.”
“How was she as a mom?”
“Loving. Funny. I think she used to laugh a lot.” She blinked hard, fighting tears. “Back before she was sick.”
“I have a feeling you remember more than you think you do.”
“I don’t want to remember it wrong.”
“Just love her, and you won’t get it wrong.”
She exhaled hard. “That’s where it gets tricky.” She looked at him and then looked away. “I was mad at her for a long time. Mad at her for dying. Mad at her for making my high school years all about her.” Her voice broke and she drew a shuddering breath. “I have hated myself for that. I’m not a very loving person.”
Atticus reached out and carefully adjusted her knit cap on her head, pulling the edge down on one side and then the other. “You were a girl that lost her mom. Why wouldn’t you be angry?”
“But at her? How was it her fault?”
“It wasn’t, but she was your mom. She was supposed to make you feel safe, and suddenly she’s ill and you realize that the world is a dangerous place.”
His words were like a shot to the heart. She opened her mouth, closed it, pain suffusing her. She’d been alone with her mom when she died and the grief had been overwhelming.
What did she do with so much grief?
“I don’t like emotions,” she said huskily.
“I can understand that. They’re tough for you. I mean, where do you put them on your vision
board?”
She laughed even as the pinch in her chest deepened, because many a truth was said in jest, and he was oh, so very right. There was no room in her life for emotions. She’d made sure of that. “You’re beginning to know me a little too well.”
“Fortunately, I like who you are.”
That made her chest tighten with yet more emotion. She was feeling so much, possibly too much. And yet, being here, seeing her mother’s former house, was wonderful. Glancing at the small house, she could almost see her mom sitting on the front porch in summer, and skipping down the steps on her way to a date. “This is pretty cool,” she whispered. “Thank you. I feel like you’ve given a little bit of Mom back to me.”
Chapter Eight
Atticus took Rachel’s hand as they walked back to the bookstore. Rachel had gone quiet and he glanced down at her, thinking things were definitely not simple anymore.
He filled the silence by talking to her about his family, and how they’d spent holidays in Texas. His grandparents owned a beach house on Galveston and they’d often celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas there—
“That’s why you’ve named your restaurants Galveston,” she interrupted.
He nodded. “I have great memories of the island. My dad’s family has lived there since the late 1880s, and were there during the Galveston hurricane of 1900.”
“I’ve never heard of the storm.”
“It’s considered the deadliest natural disaster in American history. Thousands died, and nearly every house on the island was damaged or destroyed. Many people moved to Houston. My dad’s family stayed.”
“Do you ever feel like you should be there?”
He shook his head. “My brother is there—”
“You have a brother?”
“I haven’t mentioned him?”
“No.”
“Holden was an oops baby, created on my parents fifteenth anniversary getaway.”
“Sorry to interrupt again,” Rachel said. “But isn’t Holden another literary name?”
“Holden Caulfield, from Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye.”
“Your mother really does love her books.”
“In this case, Holden was partially my father’s responsibility. Salinger’s novel was his favorite book from high school.” Atticus smiled wryly. “He likes to tell me he got the better name, but obviously I disagree.”
