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The early morning sun greets me as I step outside. I snap darker lenses over my glasses and stroll Lavandula Lane until I reach Main Street. The farther I trek, the less I smell the lavender drifting in from the lake.
Up earlier than yesterday, surprise takes hold as I turn onto Main Street and find the road bustling with activity.
“Do these people work?”
More than half the people mulling about probably don’t live in Lake Lavender. Like me, they are here as guests. Although my reason for visiting is less about fun, I plan to enjoy every minute here.
In no hurry, I wander down Main Street—in the opposite direction of Java and Teas Me. My eyes roam over each storefront and I truly take in the town as if for the first time.
Burnt-red brick accented by bright and light colors. Wooden siding painted white or bright pastels. Wooden signs with each store’s name are centered over large windows and doorways—the colors and font popping and grabbing the attention of passersby. Most of the stores along the main thoroughfare are two-story businesses on the bottom and some residential on the second story. Awnings sporadically cover parts of the sidewalk while painted images or slogans decorate windows, advertising deals or products. Tall lampposts line the sidewalk every fifteen to twenty feet, various evergreens planted between each.
I absorb each nuance. Lift the camera to my eye and capture the unique beauty of this charming town. If my story about the town's centennial festival attracted new viewers, I could only imagine what a story about the town itself would draw in.
Reaching my first destination, I open the door to One More Chapter. The tinny jingle of a bell sounds as I step inside. Closing the door, I freeze when I face forward and lay eyes on rows upon rows of tall wooden shelves. From the outside, the store looks small. I expected to see shelves along the walls and two or three in the middle, max. But what I am greeted with is so much more.
As my initial wonderment fades, I wiggle my nose at the smell. Earth and wood, a hint of musty, and something else. I aim my feet for the first aisle and the mystery smell gets stronger. Oddly, it smells like chocolate, and I inhale a little deeper. Hushed voices, the slight swish of books being removed or added to shelves, and soft classical music floating around the store.
“Good morning,” a cheery older woman calls out, walking in my direction. “Welcome to One More Chapter. Anything I can help you find today?”
“Morning.” I smile. “Not really. I’m actually in town to write a story.”
The woman goes impossibly sunnier, clasping her weathered hands in front of her lips. “Oh, how exciting.” Her hands fall to her sides. “We don’t get many writers here.” She narrows her eyes and gives me a once-over. “Let me guess… mystery.”
Huh?
I give a slight shake of my head. “Sorry, what?”
“You write mystery novels.” A dreamy look takes over her expression as she waves a hand upward. “I see it all so clearly. Small-town girl goes missing during tourist season and the town sheriff calls in the county detectives to help find her.” Her eyes come back to mine. “Am I right?”
I wince and shrug. “No, ma’am.” She deflates at my words. “Sorry to say, but I don’t write fiction. I’m actually here to write a story about the town.”
Her solemnity from seconds ago is replaced with a bright smile and delight. “Oh my!” Her eyes drift around the store briefly. “And you want to include One More Chapter in your story?”
“If you don’t mind.”
She lays a hand on her chest. “Not at all.” Then she turns away from me and starts straightening the already tidy shelf. “Had I known you’d be here, I would’ve dusted and polished and better stocked the shelves.”
A soft chuckle leaves my lips. “I quite like the store as is and am glad you didn’t have time to change it.”
Patting the spine of a book, she turns to face me. “Well, I’ll let you explore.” She lifts a hand and points in general directions as she speaks. “Travel, hobbies and fitness. Biographies, current affairs, and history. Cookbooks, health, and home and garden. Music, film, and the arts. Religion, astrology, and humor.” She pauses to laugh and I join her. “Upstairs, you’ll find all the fiction books. Romance, thrillers, fantasy, sci-fi, poetry—”
“There’s a second floor of books?” I ask, cutting her off.
Straightening her spine, a proud smile turns up the corners of her cheeks. “Oh yes, and I’d have a third if the town allowed. As is, the store is jam-packed. If either store beside me closes, the goal is to snap up the property and expand. It took several years and a lot of love to earn the titleBest Small-Town Indie Bookstore,Top 50 Must-See Bookstores in the US, andTop 5 Bookstores in Washington.”
I pull out the paper and pen in my hoodie and take notes. Later, I will look up these lists to reference in the story.
“That’s incredible. Congratulations!”
She waves off my sentiment. “Pishposh. I didn’t open the store for awards.” Leaning closer, she adds in a whisper, “But I won’t complain about the business it brings in.” Straightening, she continues. “I’ll let you have a look around. If you need anything or have questions, just holler for Ida and I’ll find you.”
Before she walks off, I ask, “Do you mind if I take pictures of the store?”
“Take as many as you like, dear.”
I open my mouth to offer my name but don’t get it out before she disappears.
The next thirty minutes are spent roaming the first floor of the store. I take a few pictures from different angles then make my way up the staircase in the back corner. When I reach the top, a new dose of wonderment hits. Ida wasn’t joking when she said the store was packed.
