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“Really? I’d love to!” Jan quickly gathered her things and tucked her Moleskine notebook into her bag.
We said our goodbyes to George, who gave me a knowing smile as we headed for the exit.
“I hope you don’t mind me tagging along,” Jan said apologetically as we stepped outside into the afternoon sunlight. “Are you sure you weren’t planning a solo visit?”
“Not at all,” I assured her. “Honestly, I think I’ve just been using visiting Whisper of Pages as an excuse to procrastinate sitting down to write this weekend like I had planned.”
Jan laughed. “I get that. There’s always one more book to read or place to explore before we can start writing, right?”
I smiled, glad to have found someone who understood my writer’s procrastination tendencies. We went down Main Street, chatting about our favorite books and authors. I had a feeling this could be the start of a great friendship.
***
Whisper of Pages was just as I remembered - a cozy oasis filled with the comforting scent of old books. As I stepped inside, memories came flooding back. The warm lighting, endless shelves of novels, and little nooks with plush armchairs transported me back to childhood visits.
Marla emerged from behind a shelf, her face lighting up. “Etta! Welcome home,” she exclaimed, pulling me into a warm embrace that melted away the years since we’d seen each other.
Marla still had the same bohemian style from high school, though her long chestnut waves now framed a mature, wise face. Her green eyes crinkled with delight as she turned to Jan. “And Jan! My favorite regular, so glad you could come.”
Jan and Marla exchanged a quick hug, clearly already familiar with each other. I smiled, happy to see two parts of my life intersecting.
As Marla helped some customers, I told her about my new job at Pebble Point Publishing.
“That’s wonderful!” Marla said. “Isn’t the owner that silver fox professor you had a thing for before you left for the city?” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.
Jan’s eyes widened in surprise. I felt my cheeks grow warm, but didn’t elaborate further.
Marla laughed. “Well, I hope working with your dad’s handsome old friend is not too awkward. But he seems sweet, so I’m sure it will be nice.”
I quickly changed the subject, not ready to delve into my complicated history with Alexander.
“So, how did you come to take over the bookstore?” I hastily asked.
“Mrs. Abrams finally retired last year after running the place since the eighties. When I heard, I just knew I had to take over. Books have always been my passion.”
The shop still exuded Mrs. Abrams’ warmth, with shelves bursting with novels, inviting nooks with plush armchairs, and walls lined with local artwork. But Marla had added her own bohemian touches - vibrant tapestries, fresh flowers, and little hand-painted signs. It felt like an extension of Marla herself - artistic, vivacious, and brimming with stories.
“So, you two think you know books?” Marla challenged playfully. “Let’s see if you can find the quintessential Pebble Point novel.” Thankfully, the topic of my love life seemed to have already been forgotten, or at least, so I thought.
Jan and I perused the shelves, sharing chuckles over the improbable plotlines of cheesy romance novels supposedly set in towns like ours.
“How about this thriller?” Jan suggested. “Murder by the Sea really captures the town’s darker side.”
“True, but it completely misrepresents diners,” I countered. “Molly’s is lively, not creepy.”
Marla laughed heartily at our debate. Eventually, she handed me a book titled Second Chance Summer. “This one reminds me so much of you, Etta. Read the description.”
As I scanned the summary, I froze—it was eerily close to my story. Childhood crush returns to a small town and falls for her dad’s old friend? Marla and Jan erupted in giggles at my astonished face.
“Just a coincidence,” Marla reassured, her eyes twinkling. With our book quest completed, we left the shop in high spirits, the familiarity of Marla and the charm of Jan easing my transition home.
I realized the afternoon was slipping away. As much as I wanted to linger in the shop’s cozy warmth, I knew I had to head home. My novel was calling, and the blank pages wouldn’t fill themselves.
“I should get going,” I told Marla and Jan regretfully. “I really have to get some writing done today.”
“Of course!” Marla said. “Come to our next book club meeting? It will be so nice to have your perspective.”
I smiled, touched by Marla’s enthusiasm. “I’d love that.”
