While visiting a cousin in Tacoma, he’d seen something like what he had in mind—an old industrial building divided into small shops selling everything from lingerie to goth gear to handmade stationery and artisanal comics. With some cheap dividing walls, he hoped to construct something similar in Gus’s building, maybe even add seating areas out front where customers could relax and enjoy Garrett’s baked goodies before diving into…
He leaned against an ornate lamppost and scribbled ideas:The Old Tar’s Treasure Trove? Buccaneer’s Bazaar? Captain’s Booty?Snickering, he crossed out that last one. No doubt about it, TC’s quirkiness was warping his brain.
As he wandered up the street, he continued turning over possible names in his head.Mariner’s Marketplace? Ye Olde Curiosity Shoppe? Cave of Wonders?No, he’d heard how litigious Disney was.Mall of Magic?Nah, that sounded like a magician’s supply shop.
A couple dressed head-to-toe in designer athleisure gear cut across his path, followed by four stair-step blond children. The littlest one dawdled at a toy shop’s window.
“Mo-oom, I want a kite.”
“You have a kite, darling.”
“Madison broke it yesterday,” the kid whined.
Rigid with outrage, his sister glared. “Did not.”
“Did too!”
The father rolled his eyes and herded them into the toy store.
Toys!Xander pulled his notebook out and scribbled furiously. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? Trappers Cove’s souvenir shops offered plenty of beach toys, but it lacked a dedicated toy shop. If he stocked those snooty educational toys from Europe, status-conscious customers would eat that shit up.
Hannah might have a nose for news, but Xander had a knack for spotting opportunities, and right now, his intuition was ringing like a Vegas jackpot bell. If he could inject a skosh more sophistication into Trappers Cove, he’d lure upscale visitors like these folks crowding Carroll Beach—an impressive crowd for a weekday before Easter. And that would benefit all the businesses in TC, even Hannah’s newspaper.
Before continuing his fact-finding mission, he stopped to quell his stomach’s rumbling with an overpriced “hand crafted” ice cream—lavender and honey. Pretty purple color, but it tasted like a scented candle, and he gave up after a few bites. There must be something edible nearby.
After downing an over-salted smoked salmon chowder in a sourdough bread bowl and an extremely hoppy IPA, he rubbed his overstuffed belly and waddled forth again, regretting his choice.
“Salad for dinner, my gluttonous friend,” he told his reflection in an art gallery window. Hmm. Those blown-glass ocean waves were striking. He noted the artist’s name. Maybe he could stock those in the artistic tchotchke corner of his new shop.
And then, reflected in the plate glass, he saw it—a bright, glimmering vision of his future. A setting so perfect, customers would want to linger all day.
Mouth agape, he spun and stared. Across the street, a driftwood arch invited visitors onto a winding, brick-paved path. Lush planters flanked a carved wooden sign:The Galleria. Simple. Elegant.
Tourists streamed through that arch. From somewhere down that path, the seductive notes of a saxophone beckoned, along with the rich scent of coffee.
As if in a trance, he stepped into the street and nearly got flattened by a Range Rover.
“Watch where you’re going, numbnuts,” the driver yelled. In the back seat, a preteen kid flipped Xander the bird.
Dodging cars, he zig-zagged through traffic until he reached shopping nirvana.Not a bad name for my place.Grinning like a happy drunk, he ambled up the brick walkway whose twists and turns revealed a dozen or so mini shops, each with paned windows and redwood shake facades. Some brilliant planner had taken a large lot—about the size of Souvenir Planet, in fact—and turned it into this wonderland.
“Freakin’ delightful!” he crowed, drawing stares—but who cared? The answer to his entrepreneurial dream was right here!
Each tiny building bore an old-fashioned sign framed in curlicue wrought iron. There was a wee coffee shop, a Belgian waffle place, a “chocolatier” with a window display of jewel-like bonbons in satin-lined boxes, and a tiny wine bar with a chalkboard menu of mouth-watering small plates. The enticing food scents pulled visitors like bees to blossoms.
Among the non-edible offerings, one shop sold only white linen clothing—loose, comfortable, classic pieces that would wrinkle like crazy but looked so elegant on the slender mannequins.
Another sold handmade paper goods—journals and planners and fancy desk accessories, along with a huge bouquet of feathered quill pens in the window. Yet another sold “organic, earth-friendly” smelly candles and bath stuff. And the shoppers were eating! It! Up!
Vibrating with excitement, Xander snapped photos of the décor and layout, including flowery planters ringed with benches, clusters of café tables and chairs, and even a trickling fountain with a sexy stone mermaid whose smile was a dead ringer for Hannah’s.
He photographed all the shops, inside and out, and chatted up shopkeepers, then dropped onto a bench and wrote it all down, his pen flying over the page until it ran out of ink. After equipping himself with a new one from the stationery shop, he ordered an overpriced coffee, sat outside the tiny café, and interrogated passersby. Few seemed to mind his manic questions, glad to show off their purchases and point out their favorite shops.
Finally, Xander closed his notebook, stretched out his legs, and sighed. Trappers Cove had nothing like this. If only he could afford to, he’d knock down Souvenir Planet’s skeleton and duplicate this setup on the lot. But for now, he’d do his damnedest to create this atmosphere inside Gus’s old building. It wouldn’t be easy. He’d need a forest of potted plants and a textured cement floor to simulate bricks, but at last, his vision was clear.
“Who knows?” he remarked to a fat bumblebee dive-bombing his coffee cup. “In five years, I bet I’ll have enough capital to knock the old wreck down and build a galleria just like this one.” Anticipation buzzed in his veins, making him want to chuck his mini-vacation, zoom back to Trappers Cove, and get started immediately.
But it was Friday afternoon, and he wouldn’t meet with the new foreman until Monday, so he might as well enjoy his visit, take a walk on the beach and indulge in a fancy restaurant meal—possibilities that rang flat and unappealing without Hannah. Giving her space was a challenge to his impatient nature.
