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“I raised you to have better manners than that.”
“Mom, I do love you, but why are you calling so early?” I say, reaching for the toilet paper.
“I am calling,” she says, emphasizing the words, “to remind you about dinner tonight.”
Mom instituted our monthly family dinners a month after Amelia moved out, and skipping was not an option unless you were on death’s door. Or, if you ran away and joined the army like Cody did.
“I don’t think…” I don’t want to go. I’m not ready to see Quinn’s empty chair next to me tonight. A chair that’s been his since he was six. So that would make it about twenty-two years, but who’s counting? I know at some point, I’ll be strong enough to face yet another reminder of what I’ve lost, but everything is still too fresh.
“Amelia’s confirmed, so we’ll have a full house tonight,” she says, ignoring me.
When I broke the news about Quinn, she didn’t have much to say, which surprised me. She always regarded him and Nathan as a part of our family. Especially after their mother died. Mom always made sure they had enough to eat and included them in everything we did. Cody never showed any interest in fishing, and when Quinn did, Dad was ecstatic to finally have a fishing buddy.
“Mom, I don’t think I can make it.” I’m hoping she’ll understand without me actually having to say the words.
“Bailey, it’s times like these when family should stick together.”
I suppress my sigh at the hitch in her voice. Why does it feel like she needs more support and comfort than I do?
“Alright.” I’m forcing my voice to be cheerful because my day is just starting, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to allow another reminder to cast a shadow over it.
“Good. Dinner will be ready at seven.”
“Sharp. I know.”
We haven’t deviated from that time for as long as I can remember. Unless there was an extreme emergency, and I can count the times that happened on one hand.
*****
It’s just gone eight by the time I get downstairs. Usually, I’ll take a few minutes to inspect the pink and white Impatiens displayed in the wooden flower boxes in front of the bay windows, deadheading the wilted ones. They were Grandma’s favorite flowers, and without fail, every year, she would plant them. When I inherited this place, I kept up with the tradition. The windows are still the original ones, but the flower boxes Grandpa had made eventually succumbed to age and had to be replaced a few years back. It saddened me to do it. It felt like just another thing of them I’d lost. But this morning, all thoughts of flower care shoot straight out of my head. Nestled underneath the windows is a bench. I blink a few times, not believing what my eyes are seeing. Then I look up at my sign and back at the bench. The books carved along the back and down the arms are a replica of the ones on the sign. I remember having a conversation with Kallan about wanting a bench, but that was months ago and it was something I just said in passing. I spin around, but it’s still early, and The Wood Room is tightly locked up.
It’s been a few days sincethatnight, and I’ve seen Kallan every day since. We don’t speak about it, and physically, he keeps his distance, but the burning in his eyes every time he looks at me is filled with promise. A promise that he’s here and he’s waiting for me to be ready. And even though the call he made was the right one, that promise soothes the tiny sting of rejection that even his words to me that night haven’t managed to shake.
I’m in a daze when I walk into my shop. We still have an hour before opening, and already the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee permeates the air, blending with the scent of books. They are two of my favorite things in the world and never fail to ease something inside my soul. I pause to take a breath. This is my happy place and has been since I can remember.
By the time I’ve stashed my bag under the counter, Olivia has a cup of coffee waiting for me.
“Why are you so early?” I ask, taking the cup from her with a grateful smile.
“I couldn’t sleep. And I forgot to tell you that Andy said he’ll be here at eight-thirty. I wasn’t sure you’d be in.”
The only thing that’s freshly made on our premises is the drinks. We order all our pastries and sandwiches from Andy, who’s the owner and baker at Seventh Heaven and, important to note, Addie’s arch-nemesis. He was hesitant when I approached him to supply us with goods but agreed after I assured him I’d put a markup on any of his products we sold. The people who order from us mostly want to settle down with a cup of coffee and something light to snack on while enjoying a good book.
“I didn’t know you bought a bench.”
“I didn’t,” I mutter, taking a sip of my coffee. “When did it get here?”
It wasn’t there when I locked up last night, so it must have been this morning.
“No idea. It was here when I came in.”
“Huh.”
“That was awfully sweet of him,” Olivia says, bending over the counter and resting her chin on her hands.
“Why are you smiling like that?”
“It’s romantic. I wish someone would make me a bench.”
