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Still, as he worked on the last of the patches, Chuck thought about Winnie’s excitement and Niall’s tired eyes, about the struggling bookstore and the treehouse that would probably never happen unless someone nuts came along with a little magic to spare.

Someone who knew how to build things.

It was ridiculous, getting so invested in a project, in a family, when he was only passing through, when Candle Bay was supposed to be a layover, not a destination. Whatever the case, a kid who’d already picked out her branches had a way of rearranging a man’s plans.

Who knew? Maybe something and someone might make staying in Candle Bay worth it after all.

Chapter 5

“IT’S AN absolute tragedy of design,” Gavin declared, sprawled across the reading chair in Niall’s office. His tight tangerine T-shirt featured Shakespeare in Ray-Bans.

“Do I want to know? What tragedy?”

“The entire front window display is a monument to beige thinking. I swear you’re actively repelling customers.”

Niall pinched the bridge of his nose. He already regretted having asked Gavin’s opinion on how to increase foot traffic. “It’s a bookstore, Gavin, not an installation.”

“Don’t be absurd. Retail is theater. Drama. You’re not utilizing your set as an experience.” Gavin sat up, suddenly animated. As he straightened, the words WILL POWER appeared under the Bard. “Look at this place. Crikey. Driftwood is crying out for a theme—something, anything to guide the eye. I mean, why not? Make passersby stop and think, ‘My God, I need to walk inside this sagging dump and spend money pronto.’”

“Like what? Strippers? Pony rides? This is a bookstore, Gav, not a disco.”

“Obviously. Don’t be obtuse. Okay. Now go with me a moment. ‘Book Shelfie’ and we set up the window as a backdrop for social media selfies. Teenagers must read, occasionally. Porn at least. SparkNotes.”

“That sounds horrible. I don’t even use social media, Gav. Plus I don’t want adolescents stopping to pose in front of my windows every time they feel misunderstood.”

“Noted.” Gavin squinted at the walls, the ceiling. “Forget that. It’s awful. You’re lonely. What if we do ‘Book Lovers’ and really lean into the pheromones? Nothing but covers with sexy, intriguing characters who will beckon to customers and lure them into your establishment to empty their wallets. Sex sells, n’est-ce pas? All the lonely, desperate people who pass through Candle Bay will flock to your store. You could host a singles night. Wait! A bingo-singles night.”

“After which I can jump off the cliff and drown myself. Are you trying to make me feel more horrible?”

“I’m standing right here. I’m alone and having a fabulous life. I have one hundred percent read books to meet fictional people, and grown just by knowing them, imaginary or not. A ‘Book Lovers’ campaign might help get you out and about. You’re bisexual, so you have options.”

“I’m not dating anyone. Last thing I need is a stepmother for Winnie, and the only other single not-straight guys that I know of in Candle Bay are Alonzo the sex addict who, like, lives at the nude beach, and Kit from the Grand Ox, whose family owns most of the oceanfront. Spare me boyfriends, in or out of books.”

“What about… ‘Journeys of the Imagination.’ We create a ship made of books and pages, suspended above open books forming waves and islands. A tiny figure navigating across them.”

Niall turned back to him. “That actually sounds… not awful.”

“Your enthusiasm overwhelms me.” Gavin rolled his eyes. “I’ll need a budget for materials.”

“What budget? I can barely afford to keep the lights on.”

“Details.” Gavin waved dismissively. “Okay, not money, but time. I have scraps at the shop I can use. And I’ll rope Shana into helping. She owes me after I did all those arrangements for her most recent twenty-seventh birthday.”

Niall picked at the edge of the counter but didn’t meet Gavin’s eye. “I can’t ask you to do all that for nothing.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. Besides, it’s enlightened self-interest. If your store closes, where am I supposed to hide while avoiding my actual work?”

“Absolutely not.” Niall crossed his arms. “I can do your bookkeeping or help you with paperwork. Take tickets for your show. Hell, I can run deliveries for you in the mornings before we open. I owe you, and you’re going to let me.”

Before Gavin could respond, a knock at the office door broke their standoff. Chuck poked his head in, looking goofy and apologetic.

“Sorry to interrupt. I finished the roof patches, and I wanted to show you something.”

“Come in.” Niall ignored Gavin’s precise eyebrows levitating with unguarded interest. “You remember Gavin?”

“The florist with the mouth,” Chuck said with a nod. “Hard to forget. Petal Pushers.”

“I make an impression.” Gavin stood and smoothed his tangerine T-shirt. “I was leaving anyway. Petals to push, patrons to dazzle.” He paused at the door. “Think about what I said, Niall. We’ll talk. Your window cries out for a rescue.”