Page 6 of The Nook for Brooks
I grinned, pulling a crumpled twenty from my wallet. “Mate, I wouldn’t dream of depriving your beautiful little bookstore of my hard-earned travel funds.”
He took the note like it might be contagious, smoothed it flat on the counter, and rang up the sale. With almost forensic care he slid the book into a paper bag. I’m surprised he didn’t put on gloves.
“There,” he said, handing it over. “Your first purchase in Mulligan’s Mill. Maybe it’ll inspire you to actually visit Patagonia one day.”
“Actually, I leave next month. Have you been?”
He straightened his bow tie. I knew an insecure twitch when I saw one. “No. Truth be told, I’ve never left Wisconsin. No, I tell a lie. When I was eleven years old my Aunt Delia took me to Minnesota. Unfortunately, two miles over the border we hit a patch of ice, crashed into a ditch and had to get the car towed all the way back home.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You mean, you’ve never traveled anywhere? Except two miles into Minnesota.”
His condescending tone returned. “Mr. Cameron. I assure you, I travel far and wide, every day.” With that he gestured to the thousands of books that surrounded us.
I smiled. There was no arguing with that.
By the time I wandered back to the BnB, the scent of fresh coffee had found its way into the hallway. Benji was behindthe reception desk, tapping at the keyboard with one hand and holding an oatmeal cookie in the other. Bastian leaned over his shoulder, pointing at the screen and brushing cookie crumbs off Benji’s shirt like it was the most natural thing in the world.
They both looked up when I came in. Even their smiles were the same.
“Morning!” Benji said. “How was your walk?”
“I found the bookstore.”
Benji’s face lit up. “Oh, you met Brooks.”
“That’s one way to put it. I think I might’ve startled him. Either that or he’s just naturally wound tighter than the lid on a Vegemite jar that refuses to budge.”
Bastian chuckled, breaking off a piece of Benji’s cookie and popping it into his mouth. “He’s like that with everyone. Give him a week and he might upgrade you from ‘mild suspicion’ to ‘reluctant tolerance.’”
Benji tilted his head. “What did you say to him?”
“Nothing outrageous. Just asked about travel books, gave him a friendly slap that nearly knocked him off his feet and sent a few books flying. Oh, and I might have inadvertently questioned his method of categorizing his sections too.”
“Ooooooh,” said Benji and Bastian together, their faces scrunching up into a grimace.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought too…afterI did it. Hopefully he’ll let me set foot inside the store again sometime. I’ve got a thing for bookstores.” I wanted to add I might have had a thing for that particular bookstore owner too, but I’d only been in Mulligan’s Mill a few hours. No need to rock the boat any more than I already had, at least not yet.
“Well, make sure you take a stroll and check out the rest of the town when you get a chance,” Benji said. “The pastries atPascal’s Patisserieare to die for… although if my parentshappen to serve you, just pretend you don’t speak English, that should avoid any lengthy unnecessary conversations.”
“Then be sure to visitBud’s Bloomsnext door to Pascal’s,” Bastian suggested. “Although if Maggie serves you, try not to take offense to anything she says. She’s got the filter of a busted coffee machine.”
“And make sure you stop by for a drink atAunt Bea’s Barnyard Bar,” said Benji. “Aunt Bea is our local one-person pride parade, complete with sequins and stilettoes.”
“This town has a drag queen?” I beamed, instantly impressed.
Benji nodded. “Uh-huh. She can pour a whiskey sour with one hand and give Maggie a full makeover with the other. And that’s no mean feat, considering Aunt Bea herself once described Maggie’s hair as a possum having a seizure.”
I gave a happy sigh. “I knew I was going to like this place.”
“Welcome to Mulligan’s Mill,” said Bastian, spreading his hands like the whole town was his to present. “We collect quirky characters the way some people collect stamps.”
I went upstairs to my room to chill for a bit, taking with me a set of fresh towels and a little basket of handmade chocolates they’d given me.
I couldn’t help but think how cute Benji and Bastian were together.
They had that thing couples get when they’ve been through it all and come out stronger—the ability to communicate with just a look, the shorthand language they shared, the little touches, the way a sentence starts in one mouth and finishes in the other.
Inside my room, I stood by the window for a minute, looking down at the front garden. Benji was out there now, snipping blooms from the flowerbeds and dropping them into a wicker basket Bastian held at his side. Every time Benji leaned in to cut another stem, Bastian shifted the basket just enough to catch it, like they’d rehearsed the move. They worked in sync, an easy rhythm that made the whole thing look almost choreographed.
