Page 3 of The Bookbinder's Guide to Love

Sitting among the stacks of books that lined the back room of her shop, Sera felt at home and safe in a way that nothing else had ever made her feel. She glanced at the letter she had just received, written on very official-looking letterhead from Sitwell & Associates, Attorneys at Law.

It forbade her from attending the funeral of Ford Sitwell, being held on Saturday at 10:00 a.m. at St. Luke’s Catholic Church, right in the heart of the town of Birch Lake, Maine. Could theybanher from church? She was pretty sure Sister Mary Edward would disagree. No one was banned from the church.

A wave of sadness rolled over her, engulfing her. Ford had treated her like she imagined a grandfather would have. He’d been kind and funny, sharing his library and the books he’d loved. Though Sera had always been well-read, he’d introduced her to authors she’d never heard of and to worlds that had dominated her dreams.

They’d talked about books and bookmaking; Ford had been a bookbinder in his twenties. Long before he’d settled down and had a family. He’d regaled her with stories of that time in his life and taught her techniques that had fallen out of use. She’d used those techniques to start making her journals and had seen the quality of her product begin to change.

Ford had been the one to tell her she was never going to produce a quality book if she kept buying the cheapest materials on the market. She’d spent every Thursday morning for the last two years visiting with him. He’d been the first man to give her a gift on her birthday, and Sera knew she’d never forget him.

It didn’t matter that he’d turned ninety on his last birthday and that she’d known he wasn’t going to live forever. Her entire life had been marked by the fact that she was alone. Ford had left an indelible mark as well, so it made her angry that this Wesley Sitwell, speaking on behalf of his father and brother, was now trying to keep her from saying goodbye to her friend.

“There you are. You know the shop is packed, right?” Liberty Wakefield asked, sitting down next to Sera on the overstuffed love seat that she’d wedged into this back room between the bookshelves. Liberty had a cup of her morning mud water, some kind of functional mushroom drink that was supposed to improve concentration.

“I do.”

“And? What are you doing?”

“Truth?”

Liberty lifted both eyebrows at her as if to say,Duh!

“I’m trying to conjure a spell to turn Wesley Sitwell into a toad,” Sera admitted, dropping the letter onto her lap and reaching for her own cup of Earl Grey tea.

“What’s he done? Sitwell... Is he related to that old guy you visit?”

“Used to visit. Ford died yesterday,” Sera said. “His funeral is on Saturday morning.”

“Oh, Sera,” Liberty said, hugging her.

“I can’t believe he’s gone.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t get your relationship, but I know you liked him and he treated you like a surrogate granddaughter,” Liberty said, taking the letter and skimming it. “He left you something?”

“Yeah, some old journals and books. That was our thing. But his son and grandsons are ticked and don’t want me at the funeral.”

“So what’s their deal? Do they want the old books?” Liberty asked. “Do you want me to put a spell on them?”

“The books or the Sitwells?”

“Both,” Liberty said, grinning at her.

Sera smiled at her friend, glad she’d found Liberty when they’d both been working for a national coffee chain, dreaming of something bigger. “No to the spells for now.”

But the old books weren’t just a box of paperbacks that no one wanted to read. The books were antiquarian and possibly valuable if they were repaired. Sera was still a bit shocked that Ford had left them to her, but he’d been showing her the techniques needed to restore them, so she suspected that had been his motivation. Last week he’d told her he didn’t want her skills to get rusty when she’d mentioned that the new crowds at WiCKed Sisters meant she barely had time to do anything but make her journals.

She had asked him if she could have the old books he’d shown her in his attic. They were water damaged, and some of the pages were torn or folded over. The paper aged better because of that, and it had a nice—Well,patinawasn’t the right word, but it looked pretty in the journals after she worked her magic on them.

“What are you going to do?” Liberty asked.

She’d never been one to cling to people. She knew most of them weren’t going to be in her life for a long time. In fact, her longest relationship was with Liberty and Poppy, and she’d only known them for five years. It was probably why she loved books so much.

Books were always available. When she’d had no money, she’d gone to the library, and when she had a little bit of money, the used bookstore. Now, when she was making more money than she’d ever dreamed of, she could afford to buy new books and she had a huge stack of them piled in her bedroom next to the dresser and on her nightstand.

But this gift from Ford wasn’t about money; it was special to her. He had left her books because they’d talked about stories and even read together. Books had created a bond between the two of them. But apparently his family wanted her to give the books back, and they were sending Wesley to discuss the issue.

“I’m not sure. I mean, I don’t have any family, so I’m not entirely sure how I’d feel if a stranger—”

“You weren’t a stranger to Ford. You were family to him,” Liberty said. “Seriously. Do you want me to deal with the toad?”

---