It was a heartbreaking revelation. “I’m so sorry,” she told him.
“Here.” He reached into the small bag on the floor of thepassenger seat. “She baked these this morning.” He unwrapped a small foil package and handed it to her.
Leah peered down at the decadent egg custard pastry. Despite the bad taste his revelation had left in her mouth, it looked delicious.
“Pastel de nata,” Brad said before she could ask.
“How are you not three hundred pounds?” she asked, shoving the still-warm decadence into her mouth.
Brad watched her finish it off. “She’s an excellent baker for a homophobe.”
“Brad.”
“Kidding. I love her.”
Leah glanced over at him. “This tastes like love to me.” She noticed he only had a few bites of his own. “Do you mind…?”
“Just take it,” he said, handing over the rest.
As the week unfolded, things picked up. Stock began arriving in large cardboard boxes from book warehouses in the Midwest. The shelving units Leah had purchased should have been delivered by then. “I don’t understand,” she said, scrolling through her emails. “There’s still no tracking on the book-shelves.”
When she finally got through to the company, the news was not good. The bookshelves were all backordered. “But I have proof of payment,” Leah insisted. “My bank account is down thousands of dollars.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the woman on the other line said. “We’reexperiencing production delays. I can credit your account, though, don’t worry.”
Leahwasworried. The sun was low in the sky as she surveyed the storefront. Book boxes spilled across the floor. She needed shelving units in order to open. She needed to pay Brad by the end of the week. There was nothing to suggest this unfinished room was anything other than a bad idea. Leah sank to her haunches in the middle of the floor, and this time she didn’t try to fight the tears. She was crying so hard at first she did not hear the rapping sound at the front door.
Leah looked up. In the shadow of the setting sun she could make out a woman outside the door. Leah scooted back against the fireplace hoping she was out of sight, but the woman did not leave. Instead she pressed her face to the glass and peered inside. “Hello? Is it okay if I come in?”
“Damn it.” Leah wiped her face with the edge of her dirty T-shirt and stood. “Sorry, but we’re closed,” she called loudly.
“I have something for you.” The woman held up her hand. Whoever she was, this person was pushy. “Please?” she added.
Leah opened the door just enough to peek out. “Apologies, but we’re not open to the public yet,” she explained. To her dismay, a small white dog popped out behind the woman and started yapping at her. Leah hopped back.
“Oh, don’t mind Alfred. He’s all bluff.”
Alfred did not look like he was bluffing. “Could you please hold him back? I had a bad dog experience as a kid,” Leah added, stepping farther back into the shop.
“Oh, goodness. I’m so sorry,” the woman said, reining Alfred in. “What happened?”
The woman had a neat bob of silvery hair and a figure that was plush in the way of a storybook grandmother; her expression filled with such warmth and concern that suddenly Leah found herself explaining the whole incident through the crack in the door. “It was an accident. I was in second grade and was visiting my friend when I tripped over her old dog. He got scared and bit my cheek.” One eye on Alfred, she leaned closer, pointing to a small scar on the side of her face. “Seven stitches.”
“How awful for both of you,” the woman cooed sympathetically.
“It wasn’t the dog’s fault, but I’m kind of afraid of them now.”
The woman nodded. “I’ll take Alfred straight home, but before I do I have something for you.” She thrust a folded piece of paper through the door. “My name is Eudora, by the way. Did you know this used to be the penny candy store?”
Leah looked down at the paper then up at Eudora. “Excuse me?”
“This house. My late husband, Milton, grew up here in Chatham. He had such fond memories of when he was a little boy and this place had a penny candy counter. The root beer lollies?Thosewere his favorite.” She smiled like she was rolling one of the root beer candies across her tongue right then.
“Oh. That’s a sweet story.” Confused, Leah glanced down at the paper. A phone number was written on it. That was all.
“I heard you’re opening a bookstore, and I think it’s wonderful.” Something about the woman was oddly familiar, but Leah couldn’t place her. “This is a special house, and it broke my heartto see it empty all these years. My Milton’s heart, too. Anyway, that’s my friend Luke. You should call him.”
“Luke?” None of this was making sense, not the penny candy memories or the phone number this tiny woman insisted on giving her.
“The phone number. You should call him.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“Luke is a carpenter. Well, more of a master craftsman, though he’s too modest to admit it. I overheard some women at the library book club talking about your opening date.” She squinted past Leah, though not unkindly. “You look like you could use some help.”
