Meant to Be (The Saving Angels 1)

I looked out the window as we drove along the coast, admiring the beautiful houses that sat directly on the beach. I would have loved to live right on the beach, but even with the insurance money from my dad, they were still way out of our price range.

Soon we turned off the beach road onto Delaware St. and then made a left onto Pacific Ave. We had driven through the downtown area a couple of times, but had not had a chance to browse the stores yet. My mom saw an advertisement for the local art store that she wanted to check out.

There were no parking spots in front of the art store, so we wound up parking a block away, in a parking garage.

We took our time as we strolled down Pacific Ave. looking at all the store fronts. We passed an old fashioned hardware store, and I smiled at the dated posters hanging in the dusty windows that looked like they had been there since the fifties.

Next door was another store called Chocolate Galore that stopped me right in my tracks as I paused to drool over the attractive displays in the front window. The small sign on the door taunted me when I discovered that they were closed on Sundays. With one more regretful look at the inviting delicacies in the window, my mom finally succeeded in dragging me away.

“So long candy store,” I said with great sadness. “I will be back.”

My mom burst out laughing. “We’ll get you your chocolate fix later.”

Linking her arm through mine, I couldn’t help joining in on her laughter. She knew I was a lost cause. What could I say?

I pushed the door to the art store open for my mom and followed behind until I abruptly ran into the back of her.

“You have to walk through the door if you want to browse,” I joked.

Looking around, I could see why she had stopped so suddenly. I had never seen a store with so much stuff. The space was relatively small, but looked even smaller with the overflowing shelves. Only four rows made up the interior of the shop, but they were stuffed to the gills. The first row held painting supplies. They offered paint in every imaginable color and every kind of brand. There was acrylic paint, wood paint, water colors, and even paint you could use on the sidewalk. They sold spray paint and small jars of paint for fabrics. Then there were the countless racks of paintbrushes, from as cheap as 99 cents, all the way up into the hundreds, which I personally couldn’t imagine anyone spending that much money on one paintbrush.

I made my way down the next row, which was comprised of every kind of paper and writing utensil you could think of. Walking down the row slowly, I picked out a gel pen in purple. I tried it out on the scribble pad mounted to the rack and liked the easy flow of the ink. It would make a good pen for school, I thought, and picked out three more in different colors.

I browsed the shelves for a few more minutes with my mom, but I quickly became bored. I didn’t have one lick of artistic ability in my whole body and looking at artistic stuff only reminded me of my shortcomings.

“Mom, I’m going to go check out the bookstore across the street. I want to see if they got in that new book I’ve been waiting for.” I said, handing her the four pens I had picked out.

“That’s fine, honey. I’ll be over there in a little while,” she said giving a preoccupied half wave of her hand.

I couldn’t help smiling to myself as I headed out the door. I had seen that look on her face many times and knew it would be a while until she joined me. I couldn’t say anything though; I knew that I often had that same look when I browsed the shelves of a bookstore. My mom always joked that when I entered a bookstore, I crossed into the “Twilight Zone,” but I couldn’t help it. I always seemed to lose track of time while I browsed the shelves of books and minutes could easily turn into hours.

I crossed the street and entered the quaint bookstore. The store was lit by multiple lamps set out on small tables, periodically throughout the store. The walls were painted a rich dusky rose color, which should have been all wrong, but it wasn’t, the soft light of the lamps glowed on the walls, giving the whole store a nice warm welcoming feel to it.

I took a deep appreciative sniff as I entered the store. There was nothing like the smell of books, both new and old. If someone ever bottled the smell, I would be all over it.

I browsed the used section for a few minutes, checking to see if anything jumped out at me by any of my favorite authors that I may have missed. I jumped about a mile when I felt something brush against my leg. Looking down startled, I was relieved to see that it was just a cat rubbing at my feet.

I squatted down to pet him, as he rubbed against my legs purring his approval over my attention.

“Aren’t you the sweetest of kitties?”

“He’s just spoiled,” a voice said behind me. I turned and found myself facing an attractive older woman wearing a t-shirt with the store logo on it.

“He seems happy here,” I replied, blushing slightly. Talking to new people was always tough on me and even with my secret rule of no physical contact; I always seemed to get an intuitive insight to their current emotions.

“Oh, he is. Most customers don’t mind him around so he gets lots of free attention. Was there anything I can help you find?”

“I’m looking for the Johanna Knox novel. Have you gotten it in yet?” I asked, blushing less this time. I was relieved that the clerk was so friendly and seemed to give out a positive vibe.

“They just came in. I haven’t emptied the box yet, but if you give me a few minutes, I’ll pull one out for you.”

“That’s great.” I said, marveling at my luck. “I love your store; you have a nice selection of books. It’s great to find a store that combines used and new books.”

“So do I, which is why I originally opened this store. I wanted to give this area a nice place to relax and enjoy their favorite books.”

“Well, I’m glad you did, it’s hard to find a good bookstore that gives you the freedom to browse,” I said with a smile.

“I’m glad you like it. I’ll go unpack those books for you. Look around and then checkout the reading area I set up in the back of the store,” she told me as she headed toward a small stack of boxes.