With a confused look, I replied, “Um…okay?”
Greer cleared her throat and shook her head. “That is so very kind of you, Hudson. She’s going to be over the moon.”
“It’s my pleasure. Do you have something I can write on to give to her? She told me that I looked like Hudson Higgins, but cuter,” I said with a wink.
Both of them looked at each other and then gave me a slow once-over. “Well, she spoke the truth. You do look cuter than your profile picture on Instagram. What was with the blond hair?” Greer asked with a slight chuckle.
I hoped my surprise that Greer had looked me up on the Internet hadn’t shown on my face. “It was summer. My hair always gets lighter in the summer.”
She raised one brow as if she didn’t buy what I was saying.
After paying for the gift card, I wrote Jenny a quick note and listed a few other books I thought she might like from lesser-known mystery and suspense authors. Then, I signed my name. I handed it to Candace.
“Will you wait to give it to her after I leave?”
With a nod, Candace said, “Of course. Greer, are you going up to the cabin?”
Greer looked at me. “Did you want to see the cabin now? I know it’s last minute and all.”
“Yes, I would love to see it.”
“Great! Um, I need to grab my things, so if you want to wait for me outside, I’ll just run upstairs and get the key to the cabin. Do you mind if I drive?”
I shook my head. “Not at all. You are officially my tour guide.”
Another brilliant smile. I loved that this woman smiled so much. It was fucking infectious. “Excellent! Give me two minutes.”
I watched as she quickly made her way through the shelves to what I was guessing was a private entrance to her place above the bookstore. In my research earlier—which was fishing for information from Joanne—I’d found out that Greer lived upstairs and had since she’d bought the bookstore about five years ago.
Turning, I gave Candace a quick nod and said, “I’ll be back later! You sure you don’t mind holding down the fort for a bit?”
“Of course not. Have fun!” she called out before the door clicked behind me and I stepped out onto the sidewalk. I looked left and right, then across the street. Harris Hardware sat on the corner of Maple Street and Main, and Boggy Creek Bakery was directly across from Turning Pages. Next to that was O’Hara Construction. Main Street was one of those typical, small-town America streets. There were lampposts spaced several feet apart with huge colorful plants hanging from them. A bench was placed on every block, and there were usually people sitting on them, either chatting with each other, enjoying a book, or scrolling on their phone.
The historical buildings had all been well preserved, and they all held what appeared to be thriving businesses. Large red maple trees lined the main road and were beginning to change color as fall approached. People walked about, enjoying the slow pace of the small town, and I couldn’t help but close my eyes and draw a deep breath as I took it all in. This was nothing like New York City. I would have been knocked over or bumped into at least twenty times by now. One did not simply stand in the middle of the sidewalk and observe.
Boggy Creek was so different. I could see why my folks had been so drawn to this town. Why I had been drawn to it after all these years.
For a brief moment, I let myself wonder what it would be like to live somewhere other than New York. There was no real reason I needed to live in the city. If I moved here, I’d be closer to my folks who lived in Boston. I had a small handful of friends who were either married now or lived for going out on the town every night, which wasn’t something I was interested in. I could work from anywhere. I had once entertained the idea of moving to Italy to live part time. Why shouldn’t I think of moving to a smaller town? Maybe something in upstate New York. Maybe even own a bit of land and a horse.
God, when was the last time I’d climbed onto a horse? Years ago. But I was suddenly filled with the urge to have something of my own.
I turned to study the bench that was placed under a large tree in front of Turning Pages. Cute little lanterns hung from the tree, and it made me smile knowing it was probably Greer who had placed them there.
“Ready to go?”
Greer’s voice made me jump, and I nearly screamed like a little girl.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she said with a wicked smile. “My car is parked out back, behind the bookstore. Did you walk here or drive?”