Page 16 of Highland Hearts Holiday Bookshop

“Posh bastards.” Meredith flounced back to the kitchen, and I raised an eyebrow.St. Andrews was for the posh, got it.

“List first. Party second. Then we’ll make a decorating plan.”

“Party? Wait … what party?”

“You have to throw an open house, don’t you?”

“But why? Everyone’s been in here, I’m sure.”

“To meet you. Plus, we like a party, don’t we, ladies?” Esther nodded at me as the women chimed in.

“Right. Okay. Party. I’ll make a note of it.” I pinched my nose as the women grabbed the list and disappeared to the other side of the shop, muttering to themselveswhile I gripped the side of the table and took a few steadying breaths. I was the one in charge here. And I just needed to sort a few things out, and apparently, delegate better to my unasked-for volunteers.

My eyes caught on the Celtic heart book and, despite my need to dig into the ledgers, I reached out and traced my finger over the etching on the cover.

A shiver of…something…zipped up my arm. It was stronger than static electricity, but not as strong as being electrocuted. Chalking it up to nerves and excitement, I bent my head to the ledgers, letting the women’s chatter fall into the background behind me.

Highland Hearts. My new home. It felt…right. Like maybe I’d finally found the path that I was looking for. I might even have time to keep writing that fantasy novel I’d given up on two years ago. I was in charge of my time now, and nobody else, and that alone was worth celebrating. Looks like I’d be planning a party for sure now.

Chapter Seven

Rosie

By the time I’d ushered the Book Bitches out of the shop, declining their invitation to the pub because, honestly, I just needed some silence, my energy was waning. However, I couldn’t complain. Not in the slightest. The Book Bitches had blown through my list at a terrifying speed, and I had to admit, their help had been invaluable.

Half the time I hadn’t even needed to speak. They’d chattered in the background, and despite struggling to understand what they were saying given their brogue, I managed to absorbsomeinformation both about the village and my great-aunt Moira. Clearly,Outlanderslowed down the Scottish speaking so the non-Scots could actually understandthem.I must tell Jessica that.

Turns out that my great-aunt had been eccentric—a label I’d secretly coveted.How can I lean into that more?

Certainly the bookshop reflected an eccentric personality. Even though the shop had been dusted and polished until she shone, there still wasn’t much logic to…well, anything really. At best I could say, the books seemed to be separated by genre, but they weren’t in alphabetical order by author or title name that I could discern. At one point, I’d hoped they were shelved by color when I found six pink books in a row, but nope, that had been an anomaly. Esther had suggested that Moira had thought bookshops should be a discovery for people. An adventure. But the lack of organization made my skin itch a bit and I vowed to at least categorize the books by author name and keep them separated by genre.

Still, I had boxes and boxes of odds and ends to go through on top of stock that needed pricing, piles of secondhand books, and at least ten bins of holiday decorations. I was told Moira had gained notoriety for her decorating prowess, and many people made a stop on holidays—any holiday, it seemed—just to see what she’d come up with. That part gave me pause, since I’d never quite had a hand for decorating, but I hoped I’d find inspiration in the copious amounts of bins in the stockroom.

I hoped people would like me.

The thought struck me as I bent beneath the table and pulled out another box, and I leaned back on my heels in surprise.

I hadn’t much thought about being liked back home.Madison was a fairly big city full of students and businesspeople, and it was easy to fade into the background without needing or wanting to make an impression on anyone. But here? Where it was clear the community was tight-knit? Yeah, I wanted to be liked. Even if I wasn’t ready to go to the pub or start dating, I wanted Highland Hearts to be a welcoming spot for everyone where I was in control of the atmosphere.

And I couldn’t wait for discussions with customers about literally anything other than plastic tableware. For that to happen, my patrons needed to like me.No pressure or anything, Rosie.

Humming, pleased I didn’t have to unbox a new shipment of Live Laugh Love faux wooden signs, I bent to the box again.

“Ow!”

The Celtic heart book, which had been perched on the front table, smacked me on the back of the head before it fell to the floor. I’d been meaning to look at it all day today, but I’d gotten caught up in ledgers and business paperwork. Thank God for good solicitors, because William Stuart was a blessing in disguise. In the top ledger, he had noted the up-to-date bank balance, as well as the information for the bank accounts, utilities, and internet services. The benefit of living in a small town? One phone call and I’d arranged a quick meeting at the local bank to verify I was the new owner of Highland Hearts and I’d been cleared for business. The credit card machine still worked, internet was back up and running,and my Spotify playlist now played Lumineers through the small speakers tucked on a shelf behind the table.

The bells over the door jangled and I winced, annoyed that I hadn’t locked up after the Book Bitches had left. Rubbing the back of my head, I pasted my customer service smile on.

“Hello?” A woman in her mid-fifties or so with a tense expression and a whisper of faded laugh lines at her eyes glanced around the shop. She wore a serviceable black canvas coat, jeans, and Wellies. She took a step forward, and then back, and then forward again before firmly shutting the door behind her against the rain that pummeled the side of the shop.Interesting. She seemed nervous.

“Hi, sorry, I was just cleaning out from under the table.” I stood up.

“Oh, there you are. When I heard you were open again, I just had to make a stop here before I lost my nerve. I’d been working myself up to this for months now, you ken?”

I tilted my head at her, unsure how to respond. She’d been nervous to visit a bookshop? Pursing my lips, I thought it over. Perhaps she experienced some form of extreme social anxiety? I’d seen it with several people in my literature program in college. Most had been happier buried in a book than speaking to actual humans, and honestly, I couldn’t say that I blamed them at times. I supposed it would be natural for some customers here to be more on the timid side. Determined tobe a welcoming environment for anyone who stepped over my threshold, even if I wasn’t yet open, I waved her closer.

“Well, I’m not technically open yet. I just arrived last night and I’m getting the lay of the land myself. Is there something in particular that I can help you with?”

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