Page 19 of Tattered Edges

I hesitated, trying to decide if I wanted him in my space. It didn’t take me long to conclude the flat had only been mine for a couple of days. Before that, it had been his father’s.Ourfather’s. He’d probably been upstairs plenty of times, so I nodded and continued to make my way toward the door. He followed me inside, and neither of us said a word as we climbed to the third floor.

I switched on the light in the front hallway, then the one in the kitchen before I discarded my purse and shrugged my way out of my coat. I draped it over one of the chairs at the kitchen table as I asked, “So, what did you want to talk about?”

He didn’t answer me at first, and I noticed the way he was looking around—his hands tucked into the pockets of his long, wool coat. I couldn’t tell if it was nostalgia, grief, or curiosity that had his tongue. It almost seemed like he might have been seeing the space for the first time, which was odd.

I didn’t have the chance to ask about it before he shook his thoughts away and leveled his gaze on me.

“I’m sorry about earlier. Leaving so abruptly.”

I nodded, not sure how else to respond. Ifthatwas all he was sorry for, my opinion of him wasn’t about to change.

“The truth is, learning who you are has been a massive shock.”

“Yeah. I can relate,” I replied, folding my arms across my chest.

“I’d like to know the real reason why you’re here. No bullshit. If this is just your way to play out some fantasy of living abroad,fine.But this isn’t some Netflix sitcom. This is real life. If at the end of this story you end up selling the bookstore, it would have been a waste of everyone’s time.”

I narrowed my eyes at him skeptically as I asked, “Do you thinkallAmericans are so shallow, or just me?” I didn’t give him a chance to respond before I continued, “Believe me when I say, if Ireallywanted to run away from my life, I would have gone somewhere that guaranteed a far more welcoming reception. But, to everyone’s surprise, thisismy life.

“What I told you this morning wasn’t bullshit. I want to be here. I want the store. It was given to me for a reason; and while I didn’t know Sawyer Blackstone, I have every intention of respecting his wishes and carrying on the part of his legacy he entrusted into my care. Ideally, you would help me. You and Eloise together.”

His mouth curved into a smile so fake, I knew for sure he was trying not to sneer.

“You said it yourself. I’m the eldest child in this family. I’ve not been longing for an older sister. If you want the store so badly, you’ll have to go it alone.”

I shouldn’t have been disappointed. I’d lived through this only twelve hours earlier—but it still sucked, all the same.

“Well, this has been great,” I said facetiously. “But it’s getting late. I think it’s best you go now.”

Archie stared at me, and I wondered if there was something else he wanted to say, but then he turned on his heel and headed for the door. He didn’t even bother with goodbye.

I remained in my spot in the kitchen, sighing as I reached up and let my hair down. Raking my fingers through it, I tried to make sense of how the Sawyer Blackstone Victoria described to me had spawned the man-boy who had just left. Victoria was sure I would have loved my father, but a small part of me wondered if that wasn’t true.

If he was anything like Archie, it was unlikely.

I grabbed my phone and double checked the time in Palo Alto on my way to lock the door. It was early afternoon, which meant Diane would be at the gallery. I knew she was probably busy, but I tried her anyway. When she didn’t answer my video call, I didn’t bother leaving a recorded message. Instead, I sent her a text, assuring her she didn’t need to call me back but that we needed to schedule a phone date soon.

Not yet ready to go to sleep, I decided to read a little. Except, rather than take out my e-reader, I headed for the bookshelves in the living room. I browsed through Mr. Blackstone’s collection for nearly twenty minutes—half hunting for something that struck my fancy, and half curious about his tastes. Not surprisingly, he owned every one of my mother’s books. The only one missing was her last. It made me wonder where he kept it.

After perusing most of the shelves, I slidTill We Have Facesby C.S. Lewis from its spot. I then made myself a cup of tea, curled up on the couch, and traded the worries of the day for a myth retold.

Four Days Later

BeforeIknewit,it was Friday.

Since the shop was only closed on Sunday, and business was at its best on Saturday, Victoria had Fridays off. This meant I was going to be on my own as the manager of Tattered Edges for the first time. I wasn’t worried. Victoria had been an invaluable teacher that week, and I felt confident I’d be fine. It wasn’t rocket science. Not only that, but it also wasn’t the mostboomingbusiness on the block.

What Juliet said about the store was true. I’d spent some time going over the numbers, and it didn’t look great. Rather than get discouraged, I couldn’t help but to believe I could do something about it. The store was a genuinely magical and charming place. It was all butbeggingfor readers and book clubs to come and spark a bit of life into it.

All week, after we closed up and I returned to the flat, I spent my evenings trying to brainstorm ideas. I’d been scribbling down my thoughts on a notepad, wanting to stockpile the best I could come up with before I shared them with Victoria. Some of the options were more ambitious than others, but it felt exciting to dream of the possibilities.

In spite of how my week had started, I was sure I was where I was supposed to be.

And that—thatwas a feeling I’d crossed the ocean to find.

After my shower, I dressed in a pair of fitted, dark green corduroy pants and coupled it with a simple, black ribbed sweater. Still living out of suitcases, I was very much looking forward to my shopping trip with Victoria that weekend. I didn’t think we’d come back to my flat with furniture, but I anticipated I’d at least find what I wanted while we were out and I’d be able to schedule a delivery date or two, and that would suffice.

I debated whether I wanted coffee before or after blow drying my hair, then decidedduringwould be even better. I hurried downstairs to procure myself a cup, then returned to the bathroom and plugged my dryer into the outlet adapter I’d been using. With any luck, I’d be ready to head down to the store early. There was a box of donated books I wanted to sort through before we opened.

---