Page 16 of A Novel Summer
“Duke, I feel terrible. I never, ever intended for that storyline to be connected to you. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” she said.
Duke shook his head, avoiding eye contact. Shelby’s stomach tightened. What could she do to fix this?
“Duke, maybe I can revise it for the paperback.” She didn’t know if that was actually an option, but she’d ask her editor.
“I appreciate the offer, but sadly, the damage is done,” he said, his blue eyes crinkled with disappointment. “That was a very painful time for me, and to see it in print like that—commodified for entertainment...”
Shelby covered her eyes with her hands. “Duke...”
“But I didn’t come here tonight to complain. At least, notjustto complain.”
Hearing a hint of levity in his voice—more like his old self—she looked up.
“You didn’t?” she said, hopeful.
“One of my authors is coming to town in August. Can Land’s End host a reading?”
“Of course! Absolutely,” she said, relieved to be able to offer him something.
“Great,” he said, standing up. “We can do it in my backyard. As you well know, the bookstore has limited space.”
Shelby nodded. As lovely as her event at the Red Inn had been, she wished they’d had space to host her at the actual bookstore. “I know. I wish the store could host more events, but it’s too small.”
“I said the same thing to Colleen. Land’s End needs event space. Outdoor space. But in her condition, she obviously can’t take that on this summer.”
The beach behind Land’s End wasn’t zoned for commercial use—a source of frustration for Colleen every summer they worked together. But Colleen’s parents, Annie and Pam, had no interest in changing the way the store had operated since the beginning. They’d only reluctantly replaced shelving and floorboards when needed, trying to preserve as much of the original aesthetic of the space as possible.
“I just don’t think that’s something the Millers ever planned for,” Shelby said. “They’ve done fine without it. I think they like to keep their in-store events intimate.”
“Well, they’ve never had competition before. Now Land’s End has to step up its game. And it seems you’re the only one who can do that at the moment.”
She didn’t know what he was talking about. “What competition?”
“A new bookstore is opening this summer. Hendrik’s Books from Boston. And no offense to your ex-boyfriend, but his the-more-the-merrier attitude is short-sighted.”
Okay, Duke lost her there. What did Justin have to do with the bookstore? Before she could ask, he said, “We need to support the long-standing businesses here so we don’t see our entire way of life and our community erode. It can happen, you know.”
She couldn’t imagine another bookstore in town. And how could Colleen fail to mention that to her? Forgetting to tell her about Mia was one thing. But a competing bookstore?
“Of course I want to help. But I don’t see what I can do,” Shelby said.
“Come to a town council meeting. Petition for beach access. Someone has to get the ball rolling. And apparently, you’re our bookseller for the summer. So that someone is you.”
“I want to help. I do. But I’m only here temporarily,” she said. “I don’t think I’m the right person to—”
“Shelby, may I offer some words of wisdom? As someone who has had his fair share of experiences and mistakes?” he said. “This is a special place. And in order to hold on to it, we need to give more than we take.”
Ouch. Okay, message received. She’d “taken” his story for her book. And now it was time to do something positive.
Maybe managing Land’s End was more than a chance to help Colleen. It might be her chance to redeem herself.
Thirteen
Justin’s parents, Carmen and Bert Lombardo, lived in a middle Georgian built during the whaling era, complete with a widow’s walk. A fence bordered the property, and he opened the gate to the stone walkway leading to the rear of the house. No one used the front entrance, and considering his family’s entire world centered around their restaurant, entering the home through the kitchen was fitting. The windows were wet with condensation from his mother’s cooking, and the air was pungent with fresh garlic.
Tuesday night was the Lombardo family dinner night. It was the slowest night in town, after the weekenders left and before the next crop of visitors arrived, and therefore the only time his parents were willing to leave the restaurant in the capable hands of the managers.
“Hello?” he called out, checking his phone for the time.
