Page 96 of Authentically, Izzy
She swung her attention to his face. “Because of me?”
He dipped his head before lifting his familiar gaze back to her. “I want you to fall in love with Skymar.”
Her breath had paused on the “fall in love” part of his sentence as if baited to the happily ever after the word promised.Love.They’d tiptoed around the idea but neither voiced anything with certainty because, well, in Izzy’s mind an entire ocean kept the idea of “till death do us part” in a precarious state of uncertainty.
“And especially Sutherland’s,” he finished, searching her face. “In fact there’s a part of me that cannot wait for your assessment and another part that’s rather fearful of it.”
“Fearful?” A laugh burst from her. “I don’t scare anybody, Brodie. Not even when I wear my shark hat.”
“You underestimate yourself on quite a few levels, Karre.” His focus grew in intensity as if he peered through her plethora of excuses, and somehow, instead of his X-ray vision stinging at the sight of all her insecurities, she wanted to step forward into whatever he saw that made him smile. “Just from the few conversations we’ve had about the business of independent bookstores and your vast knowledge on the subject, I have a strong feeling our untouched bookish world will fall terribly short of where it needs to be. And I value your opinion.”
The sincerity in his words tried to find a place in her heart, but she wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. It was so sweet! “Don’t put too much stock in my knowledge.” She shook her head and took his hand, giving it a squeeze. “You’re pretty smart already, but you know that I’d love to help if I can.”
“Yes.” He squeezed her fingers back. “One of the many reasons I admire you. Your generosity.”
She opened her mouth to negate another compliment, because since she’d been there he kept pelting her with them. And he seemed to really believewhat he said about her. It was like walking into the warmest, safest hug over and over again. Why was she constantly surprised by his responses when she knew he was who he seemed to be? The way he was fully committed to their conversations. Or his seemingly genuine interest in her. And how he saw things in her she’d never recognized in herself, or if she had, she’d found a way to dismiss them.
His authenticity shook her. But why? She blinked. Wasn’t this how a relationship was meant to be? Had she lived through so many broken relationships that when a good, interested man acts the way he’ssupposedto act when dating a woman, she is shocked? Or near tears?
How had she allowed all those wrong men to destroy her confidence? Steal her belief in her own knowledge and abilities? How had she pushed the real Izzy beneath a quiet, meek, compliant librarian, afraid to voice her deepest thoughts or be brave enough to be genuine?
Was that the reason she’d never really fit into her very own world?
“You really don’t have to work so hard for me to like you. I think you’re pretty great already.”
“Being nice to you is never work.” He tipped a brow and offered his arm. “Are you ready to meet Sutherland’s?”
Her grin split wide, more at her charming escort than the idea of stepping into a seventy-five-year-old bookshop... and that was saying something. She slipped her hand into the warm crook of his elbow. “Lead the way.”
She stepped through the door and was immediately encased in the entire spirit of the room. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she breathed it in. The bookshop might have been over fifty years old, but the building boasted centuries. There was something captivating about a sense of place that few people slowed down enough to feel anymore,but the aura of books and time and thousands of stories permeated the paper- and leather-soaked air.
Izzy had visited dozens of bookstores in her life, and every time she welcomed the invitation to join the story the bookshop told. She always felt as if she had been ushered into a place of old friends and familiar haunts. But she’d never crossed a threshold into a different time before—nonfictional, that is. Perhaps it was the fact that the buildings in Skern were several hundred years older than anything back home, or maybe it was because this bookshop had been around for decades. Or maybe the leathery spice of Brodie’s cologne added an enticing swirl of fairy-tale-ish delight, but it all simply meant Sutherland’s bones were meant for books.
And then her feet bumped into something, and her eyes flew open. A bookshelf stood only a few feet within the doorway. A used-book bookshelf. As her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit space, the immensity of bookshelves and books nearly pushed her back a step. Huge shelves, on every wall, filled with all sorts of stories. To her left, windows complete with window seats lined the wall, except that the window seats were covered with books instead of colorful pillows to invite curious folks to sit for a spell.
A black iron staircase spiraled to the far right of the front door, adding a unique bit of additional charm amidst the rows and rows of books. With used books at the front and new books at the back, the shop already set itself up as a deterrent for most tourists. Not book enthusiasts. Treasures were treasures to them, but your average tourist usually wanted straightforward, easy, and engaging. But if they could add in some modern ideas and create an atmosphere that caused folks to linger, Sutherland’s had the potential for something special.
Sutherland’s did not need to change its wonderfulness—it merely needed a little sprucing up to engage with the current century. Enhanced “magic,” so to speak.
The lack of social media and online presence plus the layout andoptions of the store had to be two of the main contributing factors for Sutherland’s drop in sales—Izzy’s lips tipped and a twitter of excitement spun through her middle—which were things she knew how to improve. It was as if she’d been waiting for this opportunity her whole life, or at least since she’d started researching independent bookstores.
“How wonderful to see you here, Isabelle dear.” Brodie’s mother materialized from the back room, resplendent in a pale-blue summer suit of some sort of silky material. The Julie Andrews vibes swelled to full chorus. “Welcome to Sutherland’s.”
“Thank you.” Izzy cast the room another appreciative look, only pausing her vision on a leaning bookshelf in the corner. “What a wonderful collection of books you have.”
“Yes, books and memories.” She nodded, sending the room a loving look. “And our dear bookshop may need the tiniest bit of updating here and there, perhaps new wallpaper upstairs, but otherwise it’s as perfect as when Brodie’s grandfather opened its doors.”
Brodie swung his attention to Izzy but she avoided eye contact for fear he’d see every hesitation her body felt at his mother’s adoration. Yes, the shop held a certain indescribable appeal intrinsic to its structure and history, but “perfect” wasn’t a description Izzy would have used. “Classic” perhaps, but definitely in need of some tender loving care to raise its competition with current bookshops and online competitors.
“I didn’t realize you’d be at the shop today.” Izzy stepped forward attempting to redirect the conversation. “I thought we were going out for tea this afternoon?”
“We are, dear, but I’m seeing to the shop this morning while Brodie gives you a tour of Skern before his afternoon meeting.”
Izzy raised a brow to her charming escort.
“Monday and Wednesday mornings are my workdays here.”
At her continued stare he expounded. “One of grandfather’s rules was that each family member who remained in the Sutherland’sbusiness had to work at least two half days in one of the bookshops each week to keep a “finger on the pulse of the people” as he'd say. So my usual days are Monday and Wednesday mornings, which leaves the weekends open for me to travel or to visit the other shops, as I’m the liaison.”
