Page 21 of A Novel Summer
Like something out of a novel.She realized, in that moment, what was wrong with her new book.She didn’t feel emotionally invested in the story. She couldn’t relate. And ifshefelt that way, how could she expect her readers to connect to it?
Maybe she was just avoiding the discomfort of the moment, but her mind started racing with ideas. What if she changed the competing bed-and-breakfasts in her novel to sparring bookstores instead? And maybe add some kind of romantic tension—not that there was romantic tension between her and Justin. But seeing him with his new girlfriend, the irony of the bookstore situation—it gave her the idea for raising the stakes in her novel. For the first time since she started writingGuest Rooms(the title would have to change), she felt it had a heartbeat.
Her return to Provincetown was already paying off creatively. And, as Justin wished her a good night and went to be seated in the restaurant, she felt it was paying off emotionally, too. Closure was important.
But the thing with Kate Hendrik. The stakes had been raised in real life, not just her work in progress. As Duke said, Land’s End had to up its game. And she was ready to swing big for Colleen.
After running into Shelby at the restaurant, the night never fully recovered. At least, not for Justin. He had to hand it to Kate—she kept it classy. Clearly, she wasn’t the type of woman to be threatened by an ex. And she didn’t seem to notice that Carmen was clearly more interested in talking to Shelby. But hours later, he was still riled up and decided to stop by the Bollard before heading home.
He spotted Doug at the bar. If anyone would understand why the night left him feeling off-kilter, it was Doug. But when Justin walked over and tried to fist-bump, Doug left him hanging.
“Everything okay, buddy?” Justin said.
“They’d be better if your girlfriend wasn’t opening that bookstore. Colleen’s taking it hard.”
So hewaspissed. Mia had been right. “I honestly didn’t think of it that way. I’m sorry.”
“Is there any other way to think of it? I mean, it’s direct competition.”
Justin realized he should have been more sensitive. But he’d lived in Provincetown his entire life, and knew that when it came to retail, Commercial Street was like Noah’s ark: two of everything. Especially in the summer, when the year-round population swelled from under three thousand to up to sixty thousand people.
Feeling bad and unsure what to say, he stood with his back to the bar and watched two guys throw darts across the room. Shelby came to mind again—the first night he’d brought her to the bar. She’d never played darts before, and he could still remember the gingerly way she’d held them at first, and how by the end of the night she was throwing them with precision and let out a delighted laugh when she hit the bull’s-eye. They hadn’t stopped playing until the lights flickered at closing time.
He turned back to Doug.
“Andyoucould have given me a heads-up about Shelby coming back to town.”
Doug furrowed his brow. “Fair enough. The truth is, Colleen didn’t want me talking about it to anyone.”
“Why not?”
“Because she doesn’t want to broadcast her situation. She sees it as some sort of failure. She was determined to prove to her parents that keeping the store open was worthwhile, that she had the energy and focus to make it work. Now she’s not allowed to do much more than walk inside.”
“Look, I’m sorry about the bookstore,” Justin said. “I know what it seems like from your end. But if Colleen was working, if it were a normal summer, I don’t think Hendrik’s would bother you. And I had no way of knowing it would be like this.”
Doug signaled for two beers and nodded.
“Don’t let Shelby get to you, man,” he said.
“I’m not. Things with Kate are solid.”
Doug took a swig of his fresh bottle of Modelo. “So why are you here with me?”
“Why aren’tyouhome with Colleen?” Justin said.
Doug touched his bottle neck to Justin’s. “Touché,” he said. “Let’s just get through this summer.”
Sixteen
The only downside to working in a beautiful beach town was that Hunter had to go to the office when almost everyone else was going to play.
She passed couples walking hand in hand, men jogging with dogs on leashes, groups laughing on restaurant patios over breakfast cocktails. It was warm, and sunny, and to her right, the bay was in near constant view the entire stretch of Commercial. Hunter had to remind herself that the people behind the counter at Joe Coffee and the front desk at the Anchor Inn or selling trinkets at the Shell Shop were also working. That many of the people biking, sailing, and brunching were only there on vacation, while she got tolivethere. For the summer, at least. She was lucky to have a publishing job at the beach. She might not be where she wanted to be professionally, but at least she was somewhere she loved geographically.
And she had to admit, her office in Duke’s house—a lavender Queen Anne’s cottage on Franklin Street—was a lot nicer than her cubicle at her last job.
Still, Hunter stalled that morning by going out of her way to stop at Scott Cakes, a bakery that only made vanilla cupcakes with pink frosting. She ordered a dozen, and she could feel through the box that they were still warm even by the time she reached Duke’s.
The front door was open.
