And neither was my husband.
* * *
The Lost StoryBookshop sure was a beauty.
Regal and mysterious, she sat on a street adjacent to downtown, as if she didn’t want to rub elbows with the modernized shops off the square. The old building had been reincarnated many times in its hundred-year life, including the first library the town had ever known.
At two o’clock, I opened the large wooden door that led me into the wonderland that was Lost Story. The scent of books—old and new—hung on the air like perfume. The last detail of the massive remodel had been completed last week, and the shop looked perfect thanks to Rosie’s vision and my heavy design input.
A corner of the shop held a coffee bar that featured Frannie’s cupcakes and other baked goods. Cozy seating areas of eclectic, overstuffed chairs and vividly colored vintage couches invited lengthy chats and page-turning moments. The interior was a stunning contrast of antique and modern, working with the old structure and the history of the building, yet incorporating comfortably chic decor. It was a reader’s paradise.
Especially for its owner.
“Rosie.” My high heels tip-tapped against the black-and-white honeycomb tile that had been rescued from the smother of two layers of laminate. “The place looks ready,” I said as I found my sister behind the cash register and gave her a hug. “But the question is, are you?”
Rosie pushed up her glasses, her blonde hair dangling like a drape in her eyes. “Oh, Olivia. Tell me it’s going to go okay tonight.” She hugged me fiercely, and I felt her every anxious trepidation.
Rosie had been through so much in the last year. She’d tragically lost her fiancé, bought a ramshackle store, and with the help of her sisters, built a dream. The Lost Story Bookshop was a labor of loveandgrief, a physical manifestation of my sister’s healing. The shop had a heartbeat and personality. It was life and abundance, while grief remained in smaller, less visible places, like the glue of the wallpaper and the hum of the old lights above.
I held Rosie’s hands in mine, trying to transfer confidence and encouragement into her limbs. “It’s really happening, Rosie, and it’s going to be wonderful.”
With a slight smile, my sister inhaled deeply and regarded the space around her. “It’s so strange to leave the dreaming stage and begin the reality of all the hopes and wishes.”
“The reality is going to be even more incredible. You’ll make sure of it.” I checked the time on my phone. “I only have an hour before my next appointment, but Sylvie asked me to meet her here to handle a catering issue.”
“Yeah.” Rosie frowned and averted her gaze. “About that…”
“Well, well, well.” Sylvie stepped out of the office door with Aunt Frannie behind her. “If it isn’t one of my favorite granddaughters. What a coincidence that you’re here and so are we.”
“You invited me.” I’d no more said the words than the front door swung open and Hattie breezed inside.
“Wow, is it chilly today.” Hattie shivered inside her jacket. “Did you see those gorgeous orange leaves on Main Street? I ask you, does any town do fall better than Sugar Creek?”
I looked from sister to sister to grandmother to aunt. “I’m not here to solve a catering dilemma, am I?”
“Sugar.” Sylvie clasped a hand on my shoulder and gave me that classic, cue-the-hijinksgrin. “We have called you here today because we were too lazy to come to you and because your house might not have cupcakes.” She nodded her head toward the coffee bar.
Frannie smacked her lips around a bite and lifted a cupcake in a toast. “Olivia, dear…welcome to your intervention.”
I did not have time for this. In the last ten minutes I’d received ten texts and three emails from Celeste alone. “An intervention?”
“You got it.” Frannie swiped a dollop of icing from her cheek and licked her finger. “Yeah, it’s my first one, so I’m not really sure what I’m doing.” She turned to Sylvie. “Do we inject her with truth serum now or save that for after the glitter bomb?”
“Don’t be silly, we won’t need any truth serum,” Sylvie said loudly at Hattie’s look of dismay. She then turned to Frannie and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I told you that comes later.”
“Let’s take a seat, shall we?” Rosie grabbed her teacup and gestured toward the two green velvet couches. “We won’t keep you long, Olivia.”
Frannie popped the remains of the cupcake in her mouth. “The intervention handbook I found online said a minimum of thirty minutes. Unless hitting and yelling ensued, then we would need to break out the blindfold and muzzle. Wait, that might’ve been my kidnapping manual. Never mind.” My aunt rolled a hand, her wrist of bracelets jangling. “Carry on.”
“I still have a lot to do to prepare for Sunday’s party,” I told them, “and Celeste just sent me another five emergency texts.”
“That woman needs to chill,” Rosie said.
“I totally agree.” Sylvie scooted beside me on the couch. “If you’re ever interested, we could make that happen.”
“The only thing I’m interested in is what I’m doing here.”
My grandma rested her hands in her lap and directed that probing stare on me. “We’d like to talk to you about Lachlan.”
