Page 41 of The Ruse of Romancing
“Welcome!” A cheery voice called from off to the side, and a petite woman with purple hair and tattoo sleeves walked toward me, her arms full of what looked to be vintage coats. “I’m Maisie. Anything I can help you find today?”
Her last sentence was technically a question, but she said it with such confidence that it felt more like a statement, like she knew I’d be leaving the store having purchased something amazing.
“No, just looking. I didn’t think I was big into thrifting, but a couple days in Oregon and I’m reevaluating that stance.” I joked.
“Oregon will do that to you,” she said, depositing the coats on a table next to a stack of hangers. “But if you start thinking you should start a thrift store, run the opposite direction. Trust me.” She said this last part cheerfully with a giant grin that told me she loved what she did, despite the warning, which I understood full heartedly.
“That’s how I feel about writing. In theory, being an author is an amazing career. In reality, it’s a ton of work that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Yet, I wouldn’t give up my job for the world.” And after the last couple of days where I’d actually been able to make solid progress on my novel, I felt like I was telling the truth with my assessment.
“You’re an author? Written anything I’ve heard of?”
I winced, remembering too late that I was trying not to tell people what I did for a career. And maybe it was the magic of Cascade Harbor or finally finding my groove with writing again or spending yesterday with Allen who made me feel confident and seen, but I didn’t really want to hide what I did. I wouldn’t be shouting it from the rooftops, but what could it hurt to tell people if they asked? Maybe sharing who I was more confidently would bring me one step closer to banishing the imposter syndrome from my life. Though, I’d felt less like an imposter lately now that I was finally writing again.
“Maybe. Do you read fantasy?”
The woman shook her head, sending her purple curls dancing around her face. “Not really. I’m more of a nonfiction fan,especially if it’s true crime or a juicy memoir. I’m here for all the celebrity gossip!”
“Read anything good lately?” I asked, moving to the racks of clothing, looking through the different options as I spoke. A beautiful, deep-green dress caught my eye. It was definitely vintage, the wear around the zipper indicating it was well-loved, but the cut and color looked exactly like something Doris Day would have worn inPillow Talk.
I must have gasped out loud or given some other kind of reaction because Maisie was suddenly standing next to me, examining my find.
“Isn’t she beautiful? I picked that one up at an estate sale. The lady it belonged to had made it herself years ago. She had all kinds of gorgeous pieces like it, though I think this might be the only one I have left. Do you want to try it on?”
“Yes please!” If this dress only even sort of fit me, I was buying it. I had no idea when or where I’d wear it, but I’d figure that out later.
“Right this way.” Maisie grabbed the dress and led me back to the dressing room, which she unlocked for me.
I quickly changed into the dress, loving how it hugged my curves. The zipper was a bit sticky, but the fit was perfect. All I was missing was a blonde bob and I’d look just like my favorite actress. Even Maisie raved about how I looked in it when I modeled for her.
I purchased the dress, thanked Maisie, and dropped the dress off at my car. It was a completely unnecessary purchase, but I’d find an excuse to wear it while I was here in Oregon, even if I just had a fancy writing day at the bakery.
Deciding I wasn’t quite ready to drive back to the duplex, I headed over to the bookstore. I was hoping Spencer would let me work in one of the many armchairs I’d seen dotted around the space when I first visited. Maybe he’d let me use his spacein exchange for signing more copies. Though I did worry about him hovering or asking me out. But I didn’t want to leave town without hearing back from Allen, and I couldn’t spend another minute in the bakery with Joane’s knowing looks.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the store and was greeted by the cheerful door chime. I took a deep breath of the familiar scent of books as I looked around, trying to remember where I’d seen the chairs.
It didn’t take long for Spencer to appear from around one of the bookshelves.
“Welcome to Seabreeze Reads! How can I help,” he paused when he saw me before choking out the last word, “you?”
“Hi Spencer,” I said with a friendly, but hopefully not overly inviting, smile.
“Hi Danielle Baldwin,” he said, and I winced, praying we were the only people in the store. Maybe I wasn’t quite ready to share my identity with everyone in Cascade Harbor quite yet after all.
“You know you can just call me Dani, right?” I asked, rubbing the back of my neck. “If you call me ‘Danielle Baldwin’ every time you see me, the whole town’s going to think I’m weirdly conceited or something.”
“True!” His voice broke, the word coming out high and squeaky. I genuinely felt bad for the man. He clearly was interested in me, but I had no idea how to tell him that his efforts were having the opposite effect.
Looking around the store for something to talk about, my gaze caught on a framed print I hadn’t noticed on my first visit. In purples and blues, a fairy danced from the pages of a book, her wings so delicate they looked almost iridescent.
I moved closer to it, reaching up to brush my fingers along the simple frame.
“This print is gorgeous. Is the artist local?” I asked, wondering if Spencer supported local artists in his shop like his mother did at the bakery.
“Funny you should ask. That was actually designed by your neighbor.” Spencer said, this last part coming out almost like a braying, nervous laugh.
“Really?” I was shocked to think the man I’d been doing my best to avoid could produce something so beautiful. The art style reminded me of my book cover. Avery was still looking for another artist to do my sequel and a part of me wondered if I should pass his name onto her, as much as the thought pained me. “You know, I wouldn’t mind asking him about his artwork.”
I internally flinched, knowing I was potentially signing myself up for an incredibly uncomfortable interaction, but also needing to know more about Mason’s work. If I could come back from this trip with both a completed manuscript and a potential new cover artist, Avery might just forgive me for all the stress I’d put on her with how much I’d struggled to write this second book.
