Page 22 of Spotlight
“I will be a perfect gentleman. Just like my big brothers taught me.”
This time when he lets out a low groan, I laugh. Making your older siblings sweat is one of the few perks of being the youngest.
6
OLIVIA
Every first Saturday of the month, there’s a farmers’ market at the end of the block. It brings in a big crowd and all the nearby businesses open early, some set up outside, and people wander up and down the streets. We always get a lot of foot traffic, and it’s a good opportunity to remind the community that we’re here and welcome them inside.
I’m lingering near the front of the store adjusting displays that are already perfect. I can’t help it. I have this nervous energy, wishing I could just drag people inside and gush to them about books and make them love this place as much as I do.
Ruby is here signing new stock of her books we got in yesterday. My favorite display in the entire store is the one that’s dedicated to her books. I’m so proud of everything she’s accomplished.
Greer is with Gigi at the market and the store is still empty.
Ruby yawns next to me and then declares, “I’m done.”
“Oh, uh, there’s actually another box in the back room.”
Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun and she gives me a wry expression.
“If I get coffee, will that help?”
“Only if it comes with a scone,” she replies dryly.
“You got it.” Laughing lightly, I take off out the open front door. The air has a nip to it, but the sun is shining, and seeing so many people milling around makes warmth spread through me. It’s an even bigger crowd than normal.
Maybe news of the market is starting to reach a wider audience?
I’m smiling as I walk along the sidewalk, exchanging hellos and good mornings. It isn’t until I get closer to Plot Twist that my stomach clenches. While our store is empty, this one is bustling with people already.
“How?” I whine quietly.
My steps slow as I approach. There is a line to get inside. Again, hooooooow?!?!
Two women stand at the back of the line, grinning and careening their necks to see to the front.
“What’s going on?” I ask them.
“That hot new baseball player for the Mustangs is here.” Her face is flush with excitement.
“Hot new baseball player?” I ask, mostly to myself. I walk around the line to the front and then push my way through the door to get inside.
“Excuse me. Sorry. I’m not butting in line. I promise,” I say when I get more than a few dirty looks.
I’ve never been inside Plot Twist,and it feels a little like crossing into enemy territory, if I’m honest.
The bookstore is smaller than ours and has a more dated feel, like a library or your grandfather’s den. The lighting is dim, and the color scheme is all wood and dark colors. I glance around for Walter, the store owner. He’s a grumpy old guy who has perfected his resting asshole face.
When I don’t see him, I go back to scrutinizing the space. The shelves are packed too tightly with books, and the table displays are basically just piles of books with no clear indication as to why they were bunched together. The signage denoting each section,historical,non-fiction,sports,fiction,children, look like they were handwritten. To be fair, the penmanship is artsy and beautiful, but it still strikes me as something a bargain store would do instead of a place that won best bookstore the last two years.
It takes me a few seconds to catalog all this and then turn off the critical eye I usually reserve for my own work. I’ve worked so hard, and it’s difficult not to look around and see the ways I believe our store is better.
Still, it has that same sense of home and joy that all bookstores have. I love the smell of books—old and new. When I was a kid, I’d go to the library, open a book, and stick my nose right in the center to take a deep inhale. Ruby said it was gross, but I just love everything about books. They’re family and friends, connection to a big world out there.
Music plays from the speakers, something classical but lively. The line of people snakes through the right side of the store past recipe books and through the minuscule romance section. Without thinking, I search for my sister’s books. I’m not all that surprised when I don’t find any. We have pretty much covered that market. Our Ruby Madison books come signed and with anecdotes about the author. Things like, “she wrote chapter twenty-two right over there in that chair” or “I was with her when she got the call that this one hit the New York Times Bestseller List!” People love those little insights, and Gigi and I are so proud of Ruby that they slip from our lips easily.
Finally, I spot the front of the line. Under the handwritten SPORTS sign a man stands in front of the bookshelves. He has a Sharpie in his right hand and his left is draped around the shoulders of a little boy wearing a Mustangs jersey.
