AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Ansley
Present Day
“Here you go, Leslie.” I place the small stack of books on the counter.
“Thank you, Ansley. The ones you brought last month were gone in a matter of hours.”
“That’s wonderful. I’ll bring extra next month,” I tell her before ordering a shot of wheatgrass juice.
Leslie runs the local organic health food store in Balsam Ridge. Once a month, I bring children’s books that we are pulling out of circulation at the local library for her to display. Many of the stay-at-home moms in town take fitness classes at the small gym that is attached to the store, and then they come in to purchase a smoothie or protein shake and pick up a new book to take home for their kiddos.
“I thought this was your last week at the library?”
“Not quite. I’ll be there through the end of the month,” I tell her.
I’ve been the head librarian in Balsam Ridge since I received my master’s of library science from the University of Tennessee eight years ago. It’s going to be a strange transition, going from the service of education to being a self-employed business owner, but it has been a dream of mine for a while now. So, I’ve spent the last decade living in a tiny apartment above my parents’ garage, driving the same small sedan my grandparents gifted me for graduation, and working at the library and any seasonal part-time job I could pick up to save for my dream.
“I know they’re going to miss you over there—my Connie especially—but I’m excited for you. The valley needs a new coffee spot.”
“I’m excited too. And I’ll still be passing books out and doing the weekly story time at the library, so tell Connie not to worry. She’ll see me all the time,” I tell her.
My new café will be located only a few short steps from the organic shop in the middle of Market Square. I purchased the space this summer and have been renovating it and making sure everything is up to code for the past couple of months. My parents have been pitching in on many of the DIY projects, as have my friends.
Today, the installation is beginning on the new floor-to-ceiling bookcases. They’re my favorite part of the café. I salvaged the wood when my father, the lead pastor at the Balsam Ridge Baptist Church, had an old barn torn down to accommodate a new fellowship hall for his congregation. It’s beautiful and rustic, and he and I have spent many evenings sanding and re-staining them to a rich espresso color to match the coffee bar counter that I found at an antique shop in Knoxville.
I wave good-bye to Leslie as I take the handle of my rolling cart to make my way to my next stop—a little library box that sits just off the sidewalk at town hall. I replenish the book stash inside with adult, young adult, and children’s options and take a towel to wipe down the outside.
Books are my passion. They have been since I was a little girl. My mother says that my nose was in a book and my head was in the clouds from the time I could walk. There is just something about the smell of an old paperback. The excitement of starting a new adventure. You can be a princess awaiting her prince, a warrior storming the castle, a traveler sent on a great quest, a wizard, an airplane pilot, an Italian baker, or even the first female president of the United States within those pages. A book offers a world of possibilities at your fingertips.
I’m also a connoisseur of coffee; therefore, it only made sense for me to combine my two passions into one fantastic space. Hence the birth of the Well-Bred Café and Bookstore, a play on well-read and bread in reference to the bakery café. A place to get an excellent cup of joe and browse the shelves for a new read. Customers can purchase them both to go, or they can take their cup and pastry and sit at one of the tables or the comfy sofas in front of the large stone fireplace, pick up a book, and enjoy the afternoon reading, mark their page, and return the next day.
Once my cart is empty, I head back to the library.
As I make my way down Main Street, I stop inside Gus’s Diner to grab my usual bagged lunch. The diner is run by Gus and his wife, Mona. It’s been in operation since the ’70s and is famous for its banana pudding and nostalgic atmosphere.
I leave my cart at the entrance and stroll inside. The place is packed with customers, as per usual, with hordes of waiting patrons scattered on the wooden benches outside, patiently standing by for their names to be called.
Mona is behind the hostess stand, greeting everyone coming and going, as she has for over forty years. There is something comforting in her wide smile and warm hugs.
“Ansley, I thought you forgot about us today,” she says before reaching behind the stand to hand me my lunch.
“Never,” I tell her as I extract my payment from my wallet. Seven dollars. I’ve been paying that exact amount in cash for over a decade, no matter the change in their menu prices.
“Are you eating with your fan club today?” she asks.
Occasionally, when I have time, I will make my way over to the counter and sit and enjoy my meal with the old fellas who meet at the diner to read the paper, drink coffee, and complain about their wives all afternoon. There is a group of six that are there like clockwork every day, six days a week. They have welcomed me into their circle, and I lend the voice and perspective of the younger generation to their conversations. They’re a delight and my main channel for valley news and gossip. I swear, those men know more about what’s happening here in Balsam Ridge than the actual town council. They’re also a wealth of knowledge. From retired farmers and contractors to retired business owners. I have spent many afternoons picking their brains and seeking their advice on my own business venture. Their experience and guidance have been priceless.
“Not today. I’m running behind, and I don’t have time for their flirting,” I say loud enough for them to hear.
Six cheeky grins turn in our direction.
I wave, and they all call out their hellos.
“Did you hear the news?” Mona asks.
“What news is that?”
She leans in and whispers, “I heard the fellas talking earlier, and Hilton told Jep that Garrett is coming to town this week. Apparently, he’ll be home for a little while to hide out on the heels of the trouble that he was involved in in California, and his father is not too pleased about it.”
I shrug.
Every other week, there is a rumor that Garrett Tuttle is going to be home in Balsam Ridge. People come from all over, hoping to catch a glimpse of the country music star in his hometown, and they usually leave disappointed. It’s been years since Garrett actually came home for a visit.
“Hopefully, he does. Sara-Beth would love to see her son,” I tell her.
Her knowing eyes glance at me above the rim of her reading glasses.
“I’m sure Sara-Beth isn’t the only one who’d be thrilled for him to visit,” she says.
Nope. The entire town would be overjoyed. Except for one. I would be happy to never lay my eyes on the man again. The last time he was home—for his nephew, Tucker’s, fifth birthday, which was around seven years ago—I decided it was a great time to visit my college roommate and her family in North Carolina. I stayed until my friend Erin called to tell me the coast was clear.
Before I can respond to her insinuation, the phone rings, and I take the opportunity to wave my good-bye to Mona, so she can tend to it.
