Libby nodded as she ran her hand along the smooth wood. “The shelves are custom built. They’re angled just enough to keep the books secure while driving, and each section has a bar that pulls across the front for extra security.”
Ivy was enchanted. “What a magical setting you’ve created. You seem to have thought of everything.” She touched a narrow retaining bar across a bookshelf. “Our parents have something like this on their boat.”
“Those are critical for rough seas and rocky roads,” Libby said.
“Your books are so well organized.” Ivy took note of the thoughtful, meticulous displays. She opened one, noticing the old-fashioned style pocket on the inside. The borrowing card featured a line of numbers and date stamps.
“Not all the books make it back, but I also get a lot of donations, so it all works out.”
Children’s picture books occupied lower shelves so little ones could reach them. Young adult novels had their own section marked with fanciful hand-painted signage. Fiction was arranged by genre, with small painted plaques marking different sections: mysteries, romance, thrillers, and science fiction.
Ivy noticed numbers on the spine, just like a real library. The Dewey Decimal System, she recalled.
“Old habits die hard,” Libby said. “I try to maintain my standards.”
“How can you leave this charmed life behind?” Shelly asked.
“It’s time I had a real job with benefits and contributed to a community.” Libby’s voice held a note of wistfulness. “I like making new friends but miss seeing familiar faces.”
“I understand.” Ivy felt like that when she moved away from home. She’d been a homesick student. Maybe that’s why she’dfallen so hard for Jeremy. Eventually, Boston became home to her, but it had taken time.
Across from them, Darla scooped up an armload of paperbacks and deposited cash into an antique wooden lunch pail. The vintage piece was markedHonor Barand painted with a stack of books and an icy drink with a lemon slice. An umbrella tilted above it.
Ivy squinted at the scene. “Looks like lemonade.”
“I was imagining a Long Island iced tea,” Shelly said. “Chill, swill, and read your fill.”
Libby gestured to an inviting chair near a window. “My favorite spot for that is right there. Sometimes, I park near a beach and read for hours.”
“I can see why,” Ivy said. “You’ve created a rolling oasis.” She wanted to tell Paige, who owned Summer Beach’s only bookshop, Pages Books, about this. She would love it.
“Look at this,” Louise called out, opening a narrow door featuring a steaming mug. “A coffee station.”
The small kitchen held a small under-cabinet refrigerator, an electric kettle, and a coffee maker. Tins of coffee, tea, nuts, and biscotti lined the small shelf above the counter.
“I often host book club teas,” Libby said. “Or under a canopy I carry in the luggage compartment. Readers like special events.”
At once, Daisy squealed, pointing to a basket of bright fabric books in the children’s section.
“Those are special,” Libby said. “Handmade for the youngest readers. Would she like to look at one?”
While Shelly helped Daisy explore the fabric books festooned with bright yarn and buttons, Ivy took in more details. A bookmark exchange, handwritten recommendation cards tucked into books, a printed card that readLibby’s Bookmobile. Children’s drawings and notes of appreciation posted to a corkboard. Ivy stepped closer to read them.
I didn’t like reading until the bookmobile came to town. Now I love it.
Come back soon. We love you, Libby!
The younger woman clearly loved books and knew how to make others love reading, too. How Ivy wished they had a library like this in town.
She turned to Libby. “You’re so talented and well organized. You’ve created such a sweet retreat here.”
“That’s what I wanted it to be.” Libby smiled, averting her eyes. “A place where anyone could find an adventure or a safe space.”
Ivy detected conflicting emotions in Libby’s face. Pride in what she’d accomplished yet edged with something unsettling.
Ivy wondered what she was concealing.
As an innkeeper, her job was to welcome visitors, give them shelter and kindness, and see them on their way. Still, some people shared their secrets, confiding in her because she was a kind stranger. They would return to their lives refreshed, their burden lightened, trusting Ivy wouldn’t share their confessions with anyone they knew.
