Page 3 of Enemies in Paradise

“You mean Zach’s family?”

Georgia’s new husband has been her best friend since they were kids, so she knows his family well. I don’t have much family myself, so listening to stories about them is like indulging in a Hallmark movie. Way too sweet, but I love it anyway.

Georgia nods. “Grandpa held onto the property after his dad died for sentimental reasons, but he and Granny Sparks want to winter in Arizona now. The market’s too good right now for him not to sell the shop and buy a place there.”

“Hmm.” I try to see what Georgia described.

Cars and junk gone. White oak bookshelves. Comfy chairs. Maybe a counter with coffee and pastries.

I close my eyes, trying to imagine Mrs. C. and the excited voices of children ready to hear the story she’s chosen for them. My vision sort of swallows me.

When I open my eyes, they’re drawn to the garage door. “We could open that door in the summer, have seats out there. People could read and eat in the sunshine.”

“Yes!” Georgia claps, rising on her toes. “Now you’re seeing it for what it can be!”

I turn in a slow circle, my own bookstore vision slowly growing more tangible until I land on the car. Then everything speeds up. I walk to it with an idea already brewing. By the time I really examine the car—noticing for the first time it’s a convertible—my idea is ready to pour.

“If we put this top down, and fixed up the upholstery, turned the bucket seats around so they face the back seat and add atable, we could make this really cool gathering place.” My brain revs with excitement as I give voice to thoughts swirling in my head. “It could be a nod to this building’s history. I could have an automotive books section.”

When I glance at Georgia, she looks ready to burst. “I love it! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it. ”

That pulls a real smile from me. It is a good idea. I kind of love it too.

“Does the car come with the property? Is it Grandpa Sparks’s?” All kinds of light bulbs are going off in my brain now.

“It’s not, but we can work out some kind of deal. That’s the advantage of having Zach as your real estate agent—my part is just to help you catch the vision, he’s the one that’s going to know the details on what’s included and what’s not and the other contract stuff,” she waves her hand as though that’s a tiny detail, which to her, it probably is. “Plus, he knows the family pretty well.” She winks, then wiggles her shoulders. “I promised you’d catch my vision. You’re getting stellar ideas of your own now.”

I lose the fight with the grin trying to escape. “Don’t get too excited yet. I’d have to find the money and be convinced I won’t lose my shirt. Is there even a market here for a bookstore?”

“Not yet, but that’s about to change.” She takes my arm and leads me to the back door.

She opens it to a gravel alley with a line of trees that separates it from an expanse of empty field. A few houses are scattered in the distance beyond the fields, including one bright blue one, which Georgia points to. “Lynette Baker—the one I told you about with the squirrels—lives there and owns all this land. Zach’s working with her to sell this land to interested developers. My show has created a huge demand for houses. And two buildings on this street have already been renovated. You’ve got an antique store and a flower shop as close neighbors.”

The air inside the shop was chilly, but outside it’s pure ice. A shiver runs down my spine, and I pull my jacket closer.

But it’s not just the cold making me shiver. At least fifty percent is driven by excitement. A bookstore in an old brick shop instead of a strip mall and within walking distance of a neighborhood is every reader’s dream.

Is it a reckless fantasy for a potential bookstore owner to imagine they can succeed that way? That’s the real question.

“Is that the door to the studio apartment?” I point to a door about six feet from the one we came out of.

“Yep. There’s one in the shop, too.” She’s already crunching through the snow toward it. “No one is living in it right now. Bear uses it occasionally, but you can move in as soon as you close. Probably before, if Grandpa says it’s okay.”

Georgia tries the doorknob, and it opens without a key.

“It’s not locked?” I peek over her shoulder as she leans in, but she pulls back and slams the door shut before I can see anything.

“No one bothers with keys around here, but I’ll get Bear to clean it up before I show it to you. You don’t want to see it in locker-room condition.”

She’s right about that, especially if it smells worse than the shop. But there’s something else she said that I can’t wrap my head around.

“What do you mean, no one bothers with keys? How do you keep people out?” I stare at the door like it’s some magical portal to a Fantasyland of bookstores and no criminals. There isn’t even a deadbolt on the door, just the knob-lock which can be picked in about point four seconds by someone who knows what they’re doing. Where’s the alarm? The cameras that connect to the owner’s phone?

Georgia shrugs. “I don’t know. Too many people talk, I guess. If you don’t respect someone’s property around here, someone will find out and snitch on you and then you’re in forpublic communal shaming, which is not pretty.” She raises her eyebrows and gives me a wide, guilty grin. “Ask me how I know.”

I laugh, but before I can ask her to tell me the story, her phone rings.

She glances at the screen and sighs. “So sorry. I’ve got to take this and I’m going to do it inside, because winter.”

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