With the BDSM craze still hanging around, I had a feeling I knew exactly what was going on.
“It isn’t that,” she said, keeping her voice low as her cheeks filled with color. “I already checked the other shop in town and… did you get a box of books yesterday?” She looked at me expectantly, her hazel eyes boring into mine. That’s when I knew. The woman in front of me was the same one who’d written those journals.
“I did,” I said cautiously, “but you’ll have to be more specific. Folks drop things off by accident all the time. If you have the title—”
“It isn’t anything like that,” she cut in, already starting to turn away. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”
“Journals, right?” I asked, raising my eyebrows at her when she looked at me again.
“Yes. How did you—”
“I can tell when someone’s passionate about something. I just wanted to make sure the books you were looking for were the same journals I’ve been holding on to in hopes of getting them back to their rightful owner.”
She passed me a small smile and shuffled her weight from one foot to the other. “That isn’t possible,” she said, not looking at me. “Their author passed away years ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I just thought—”
“It’s okay. I’m just glad they’re still here.” She released a sigh of relief when I placed the journals on the counter between us. She hesitated then, reaching for the books without taking them. “Did you read them?”
Thank god I’d kept to my word, or I wouldn’t have been able to tell her the truth. Whatever was inside those journals was personal, possibly more personal than I could comprehend. “No. The only thing I did was look inside the front covers for a name. I wanted to return them as soon as I unpacked the box, but without a name…”
“You couldn’t reach me,” she said with a nod. “Thank you for holding on to them. My mother must’ve packed them up while I was away. I didn’t realize it until I went looking for them after the fact. Have you ever tried to clean out an old house?” she asked with an exasperated sigh. “A lot can get lost in the shuffle.”
“I completely understand.” Handling the sale of my folks’
house had been a nightmare. Even after Bridget and I divvied up all of the china and useless knickknacks, there’d been a ton of stuff to do. “I’m glad someone came by to claim them. I was at a loss of what to do, but I knew I couldn’t throw them away. Whoever wrote those journals must’ve been an amazing person. The writing inside the cover is lovely, and the fact they wrote over so many years…” I shook my head. I was getting ahead of myself. “They were very dedicated.”
The woman laughed a small tired laugh, but one all the same. When she looked at me again, there was a shine to her eyes. “She really was. Anyway, thank you for taking care of them for me. I really appreciate it.”
“It’s my pleasure.” Reaching under the counter, I took out my card and handed it to her. “That’s just in case something gets dropped off again.” If she was cleaning out someone’s house the way Bridget and I had done for our parents, then she probably had a lot more to unload than a box full of books.
“Thanks, Evie,” she said, reading over the card. She looked as though she wanted to say something else but thought better of it. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Enjoy your day,” I said, waving at her when she turned for the door. “And drop by any time.”
She waved her thanks, then she was gone, walking down the sidewalk and out of my line of sight soon after. Strange. It was probably my imagination, but I could’ve sworn I’d seen her before. It wasn’t so much her looks, most of which were hidden behind layers of clothing, but her voice. Light and musical, her voice was familiar but also one I couldn’t place.
Not that it mattered. As soon as she got what she came for, she left just as quickly.
Like I said, folks rarely came into the shop to buy new books, which was a real shame. To be honest, I would’ve loved to have gotten to know her a little better. She obviously needed someone to talk to, which was why I gave her my card in the first place. I’d happily talk over a box full of books any day.
Glad I didn’t read the journals, it made it easier for me to talk to her in person. She might not have been the one behind the journals, but she knew their author very well. That much was painfully obvious given the way she held herself along with the tightness in her voice.
Perhaps they belonged to her mother or an old friend.
It doesn’t matter. The likelihood of me seeing the redhead again was rather slim, mostly because she walked out of the shop without a single book.
Chapter Three
“You should’ve asked her out,” my sister spoke on the other side of the line.
“She was a customer,” I said, working through the books that came in earlier this morning so I could get them out on the shelves.
“Who didn’t buy anything,” Bridget pointed out. “I’m just saying it’d been nice to hear about your dating life for a change.”
I laughed at that. The way my sister picked up guys, it was a wonder she could remember their names at all. I, on the other hand, didn’t have the time. Unless they were willing to hang around the shop with me, dating wasn’t really an option.
As though she could read my thoughts, Bridget said,