Page 133 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

“My what now?”

Oliver’s laughing now. “I hope you’re ready to discuss the bunker where JFK’s being kept. It’s apparently the same one where they store the government cheese.”

“Alternatively,” I retort, squeezing his knee between my fingers, “you could just not leave me alone with this person.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Ha! Fine. What do you want?”

He makes a big show of thinking it over. “Hmm. Well, actually. Now that we’re co-owners of Shoreline, I was thinking maybe we could explore a couple of those fantasies you shared with me last night.”

My cheeks heat, remembering the scenarios I’d outlined for Oliver when we cuddled in my bed together after a marathon evening of packing up my condo. Several took place in the bookstore after it was shut down for the night.

“I think that can be arranged,” I agree.

After Maisie had admitted that Oliver turned down the opportunity to manage Shoreline, I’d asked her if the offer to buy her out was still on the table. She seemed like she might still be a little high on her pills, so I waited a few days and then asked her again. Both times, she gave an emphatic yes.

Then, I’d mustered every ounce of courage I could find and told Oliver I had something to discuss with him.

“I don’t want us to make sacrifices that will break us in the long run,” I’d explained that night on the porch at Beach Haven. “I want you, and I want to stay here. But not if it means you feel trapped, and certainly not if it means me taking an opportunity away from you.”

“So what do you propose?” he’d asked me, eyes bright under the stars.

I’d outlined my plan. I would move to Beach Haven and sell my condo in Brookline. I’d use the money from the sale to buy a majority share of the business from Maisie. If it wasn’t enough, I could take out a loan; I had excellent credit.

“I’ll cover your share,” I’d told Oliver. “We can work out the details later. But we’ll proceed like we’re co-owners. And by keeping Maisie as a minority owner, she won’t lose what she’s worked so hard to build. And she’ll still have some income.”

“I love it,” Oliver had said, squeezing my hand. “But I think I can do you one better.”

“I convinced my dad to sell the boat,” Oliver told me the next day. “He knows it’s time. And with that money, I’ll be able to offer my half right away. It should keep you from having to take out a loan.”

And that’s how we ended up on the steps of Shoreline a month later, doing a ribbon cutting for the bookstore and its new ownership team: me, Oliver, and Maisie. The local newspaper came to take a few photos, and Maisie raised her crutch in the air jubilantly in most of them. She’s been really enjoying showing off her ever-improving mobility.

My parents drove up for the party, seeming to have found a gentle balance between their flirtation and aggression, and helped us toast our new venture with champagne and cupcakes.

“We’re going to hire some new clerks,” I’d explained when I showed them around the store. “And Oliver has amazing ideas for upgrading the pastry offerings in the café. Ooh, and I’m going to add some new shelves over here,” I’d gestured to the front wall, “and really build out our recommended reading area, plus lots of couches for folks who want to make an afternoon of it. We may not take much of a salary for a while,” I’d added with a chuckle. “But it’ll be worth it.”

Maisie had been beyond supportive of all the changes we wanted to make. She said she’d been so happy tackling administrative tasks from home during her leave that she wanted to go on doing that. “I’ll still pop in from time to time,” she’d promised. “Nothing can keep me away from my books for too long.”

Oliver and I had exchanged a small smile. In buying the majority share of the shop, our biggest concern was that Maisie still feel like Shoreline belonged to her. I was so happy she was still referring to them as “her” books. No matter what the future holds, this place will always be hers.

I wear my curtain dress to the wedding, and Oliver’s dark blue suit surpasses even my wildest daydreams. “You like it?” he asks, standing in front of the mirror in our Cape Cod hotel room.

“Mmhmm,” I reply, stepping closer to whisper in his ear. “Very much so.”

He laughs. “Well, you know I like your dress.”

“I do.” I put my hand on his arm. “Are you ready?”

He nods slowly. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

We sit in the back at the ceremony, which is brief, but lovely. Oliver’s mom reads tearful vows to her new husband, Jeff, and he reciprocates with even bigger waterworks. I sneak glances at Oliver throughout the ceremony, trying to gauge how much support he needs from me at any given moment. I keep my hand on his the entire time.

After the recessional, we find Oliver’s mom in the church lobby.

Her face positively glows when she sees him. “Oliver,” she breathes.

He stiffens beside me, but he keeps walking toward her. “Hi, Mom.” The air is thick with the substance of this moment. They haven’t seen one another in well over a decade. I can’t imagine what this is like for him. For her. He’s her only child.