Page 45 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

I smile, but I actually have no idea what that dish would even be. I don’t cook much, in large part because cooking for one is among the more depressing adult tasks I’ve faced thus far. And Kyle usually picked up takeout for us after work (I would Venmo him for my share), or insisted on preparing various combinations of grilled meats if we were trying to save money. I’ll have to brainstorm some recipe ideas. Maybe Laurel can help.

Alternatively, Laurel may be too busy worshipping her furs to assist. Simon must have a cookbook in his house somewhere. I’ll have to find it later.

I set the sandwich board up out front so passers-by will keep the author event on their radar. Oliver unpacks Maisie’s tote bags, which it turns out are filled with signed bookplates and other goodies to hand out after the reading.

“I need to get these flyers hung up around town, too,” Maisie says. “My knee is bothering me from all the running around I did earlier. Do you think you two could take care of that for me?”

“I’m not sure we both need to go.” Oliver shoots Maisie a concerned look. “Why don’t I stay here and work the store so you can sit down?”

She waves her hand in the air like his suggestion is the most absurd thing she’s ever heard. “Nonsense, Oliver. I’ll sit in my chair at the register. It’s been too long since I’ve had a chance to speak to any of our customers.” She grins from ear to ear. “You know how much I love that.”

I smile back. “I totally understand the sentiment.”

Oliver leans toward Maisie and whispers loudly enough for me to hear, “It turns out that Ivy’s actually a bit of a literature exhibitionist.”

I laugh once, a shocked “Ha!” that takes even me by surprise.

Maisie rolls her eyes. “Ivy just knows what’s worth reading.” She pats my arm. “I knew you were a great hire, dear.”

“I’m happy to distribute the flyers on my own, Maisie. It’s really no trouble.” I share Oliver’s concern about her being left alone here.

She gesticulates wildly in the air again, shoving away our worries. “I promise, I’ll be fine here. I’ve been doing this for 43 years, remember?”

Oliver looks like he’s about to protest again, but Maisie shakes her head firmly. “Oliver, take these flyers and some tape. Show Ivy the secret spots only locals know about.” Her tone is furtive, like there are actually some things the town keeps hidden for itself. “Don’t you dare come back here before it’s time to close up. I want you to get some fresh air.”

Oliver rolls his eyes. “Okay, if you insist. I’ll grab the tape.” He looks to me. “Meet you outside?”

“Sure thing.” I pick up the flyers and start to head for the door.

“Ivy?” Maisie calls from her spot at the desk.

I turn back to face her.

“Make sure you keep him in line,” she says with a smile.

“Hey, I heard that,” Oliver mutters, coming back out of the office.

Maisie and I both laugh loudly. He just rolls his eyes.

We spend two hours walking around town, hanging flyers. Oliver knows all of the business owners and is somehow charming enough that no one turns down his request to leave behind an ad for the author reading. I’m still having a little trouble justifying this version of Oliver with the one I thought I’d met earlier this summer.

Funny how he doesn’t like Pride and Prejudice, because I feel rather like I might be living it.

“So, what do you think of Shoreline so far?” he asks as we head down Beach Street, our pile of flyers depleted almost to zero.

“It’s great. Maisie’s really amazing, and you know I love the books.” I turn to grin at him.

He returns the expression. “I do know that.”

“And it’s nice, you know, to learn that I could be doing something else if I wanted to.” I realize as soon as I’ve said it that he’s not going to have any idea what I’m talking about.

Oliver raises an eyebrow. “Something else?”

I nod slowly and scuff my shoe over a pile of sand on the sidewalk. “Yeah. Besides working as a librarian.”

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, Ivy, but you’re leaving in a little over a month to go back to that job.”

I shrug, desperately trying to seem nonchalant, rather than the emotionally demolished mess I am inside right now. “I might. Or I might try something else next year.”