Page 21 of When the Woods Go Silent

I snicker and give her a knowing look. “Ru. I didn’t see him at the restaurant. That guy you were making eyes at on the way out might be the other one I met, but it definitely wasn’t Arlo. Go get him if you want him,” I add, gesturing vaguely in the direction ofGoblin Market, although we’re tucked snugly in our hodgepodge living room of combined furniture, drinking our morning coffee.

Her first cup, my third.

“Guess I don’t need that much encouragement,” she says finally, giggling and giving me her waggly eyebrows. She’d probably like him, too. Ruby has a thing for fixer-uppers, always trying to puzzle out ways to “help” them. Some people see it as manipulation, but I know her brain doesn’t always understand that solving people is very different from solving problems.

“Just don’t get carried away. You’re married to this store now, sister,” I tease, although it’s not an idle worry. Ruby has a way of disappearing into relationships, dissolving her single self in the quest of becoming a power couple. And although I try to tamp down my fears as she shakes her head at me and laughs it off, I’ve wondered what will happen to me if Ruby finds even more of what she’s searching for.

I know we’ll both always be book girlies, but committing to a stable job and steady lifestyle in a town that gets smaller as the days get colder... well, I have my guard up against both of our attention spans. Still, I love the dream we’re creating together. Even if it doesn’t last forever, I will never regret agreeing to this adventure.

“I need to film some videos for social today,” Ruby says, standing and shaking off the blanket before draining her coffee. She’s had a popular book review channel for ages, but it’s only now, with the store opening, that things are starting to head in the direction of viral.

“Do you need help?” I hope she says no.

“No camera assistance required today, don’t worry.” Ruby winks, and I smile sweetly. I get impatient with social media way too quickly. I’m more of an in-person, hands-on worker, and I live for seeing the real-time results of a hard-day’s work, rather than the roller coaster of being an online content creator.

“Then I hear more boxes of uncatalogued books calling my name.” I sigh, but the work is actually very satisfying to my brain. I love organizing things and creating systems that keep them that way. Numbers and spreadsheets and labels, oh yeah. So satisfying.

Not to mention office stationary - I’m just as addicted to pretty notebooks as I am to novels.

Ruby heads off to shower and make herself camera-ready, but I get to schlep down the stairs in my sweats. I keep telling myself I’ll dress up more when we actually have customers to wait on, but right now, I’m enjoying myself in true work-from-home spirit.

Even if something happens and Ruby changes her mind about this store or falls in love and moves in with some guy, I’ve already decided I can never go back to the corporate cubicle life I had before. Being my own boss has quickly become the dream I never knew I had.

In what’s become a satisfying morning ritual, I go from room to room, turning on the myriad of scattered floor lamps, opening heavy curtains to let sunlight in, and mentally taking note of how many more boxes I have left to unpack and add to my spreadsheets. With less than two weeks until our grand opening,I’ll need to get through about three a day. It’s manageable, even with all the other cleaning and painting we have planned.

The front room is complete, though, and with the early morning sun pouring in onto the gleaming forest green paint and all the glossy new hardbacks and thick paperbacks perched on the pink shelves like artwork, I can’t help but give a big, girly twirl.

This is all ours - fuckingours.

Ruby and I both grew up with next to nothing, and I know part of my worrying comes from that fear that it could always go back to nothing. But for now, all I feel is joy.

Laughter spills out of me as I spin in the open space, arms out like I’m giving the whole store a hug. I’m sure I look ridiculous, but there’s nobody here to see me.

Then a face blurs by as I turn toward the windows, and I stumble to a halt, cheeks flushing hot at being caught acting silly after all.

But when I step closer to the glass, all I see is an empty porch, and beyond, an empty sidewalk. I press my nose to the window, but I don’t see anyone walking away in either direction. As usual, the streets are quiet at this hour.

Still, the feeling of being watched persists, just like the other night.

My eyebrows pull down in a glare. I was having fun, damn it, and now I feel crazy again. Anger rises as I disarm our security system and unlock the deadbolts, throwing the door open wide to the chilly morning air. I lean over the wrought iron porch railing and scan left and right, but there’s still no sign of anyone anywhere. Could they really have disappeared so fast, with no shops open to duck inside?

And people out for early morning walks don’t just run into the woods if they’re spotted. Only creepers would feel the need to hide. Paranoia begins to crawl up my spine again.

I’ve never been the type to imagine things that aren’t there, but something about Clearwater definitely has me spooked.

As I turn back to the door, a glint draws my eye downward. I bend down to scoop up another white restaurant box. Seriously? If it’s from Arlo again, the gesture feels a little late.

This time, the box is paired with a glass cordial bottle, ornate and prettily shaped. A familiar golden liquid swirls inside, and my stomach churns along with it as I turn the bottle up and see the telltale deep red. It’s the pomegranate liqueur fromGoblin Market.

Why is there a bottle of it on our porch? And when was this delivered? Was it Arlo? Did he see me dancing like a weirdo? Ugh. The questions swirl too fast in my head, and embarrassment makes my neck feel all hot and itchy. This is why I like to keep things under my control.

The breeze flutters a piece of paper down the steps and into the street, and too late, I realize there had been a note trapped under the box. So now I’m rushing into the road after an envelope, again hoping nobody is watching this damn comedy of errors.

Finally, I manage to step on the corner of the paper and retrieve it, crumpling it in my fist as I nearly drop the bottle onto the pavement. For fuck’s sake. I need to be chaperoned.

Even so, I feel better knowing I’m not hallucinating again. Embarrassing as it might be to think of being caught twirling like a kid, there actually was someone on our porch.

I hurry back inside the shop and place the gifts on the checkout counter before opening the crushed envelope.

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