by Bella Andre
“It sounds like it was a really great store while he was alive. Even my taxi driver yesterday told me it was his favorite bookstore in London.” Grief hit her again, a stabbing pain to the solar plexus. “I tried to find out about it over the years,” she admitted, “but Charlie didn’t have a website, so it was hard to glean much information. It sounds like you spent quite a bit of time there.”
“I did. And so did my grandmother. She and Charlie were quite close.” When Mari’s eyebrows went up, Owen clarified, “As far as I know, they were just friends, but she loved his bookshop so much it inspired her mystery series.”
“Your grandmother is a writer?”
She could see from his smile how proud he was of his grandmother—and how much he adored her. “She writes the Bookshop on the River mystery series.”
Mari was floored. “Your grandmother is Mathilda Westcott?” When Owen nodded, she said, “I can’t believe I didn’t know Charlie’s store was the inspiration for her series. I’ve read all of her books multiple times.”
“It was one of the few things they argued about,” Owen told her. “She wanted to put his name—and the shop—in the acknowledgments of her books, but he refused to let her, even though it would surely have brought him more business. He did relent about allowing the TV series to be filmed in the shop, however.”
Mari worked to shake herself out of her mixed emotions over everything she was learning about her father. “You’ve made a TV series out of your grandmother’s books? And filmed it in the store?”
“Not yet,” he clarified. “Actually, it’s something I was hoping to speak with you about at some point. I manage Mathilda’s career, and we were in the final stages of negotiating with the network when Charlie got sick.” He paused, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry. You’ve asked about your father, and here I am telling you about plans for a TV program.”
“It’s important, though, isn’t it?” Though she felt swamped by emotion from everything she was learning, Mari had to be pragmatic. “Filming a TV show in the store might go a long way toward the feasibility of keeping it open. Depending on what I find in his account books, that is. I’m not sure what you already know about me, but I’m an accountant.”
He looked contrite. “I did already know that about you.”
“Don’t feel bad. I realized last night that you—and everyone else who was close to Charlie—would have wondered who the mystery daughter was and worried enough about my plans for the store to look me up online.”
“I’m not going to lie to you, Mari. We were all curious—and worried. But as you said, it’s not easy to find out much about someone unless they’re active on social media. I didn’t know what to expect yesterday.”
“And?” Though she didn’t blame him for being curious, she couldn’t quite keep the challenge from her voice. “How did first impressions measure up?”
“You’re very beautiful.”
She flushed, his comment taking a great deal of the wind out of her sails. She could feel the heat on her cheeks as she asked, “What does that have to do with anything?”
“You asked me for my impressions, and the truth is that the first thing that struck me is how lovely you are. The second is that you don’t seem the least bit mercenary.”
Okay, then, he certainly got points for honesty, after making it clear that he both found her attractive and had been half expecting her to be a gold digger.
“I had no idea Charlie would leave me his bookstore and home.” Her chest tightened. “I had no idea he thought of me at all, actually.”
“Mari.” Owen put his hand over hers. “I know we haven’t spent much time together yet, but something tells me you’re going to do the right thing by Charlie. Even if he didn’t do the right thing by you.”
Owen’s faith in her shouldn’t have meant so much. As he’d just said, they barely knew each other. But relief flooded her nonetheless.
“I’m sorry I was suspicious of your motives at first,” he continued. “And I want you to know that I’m going to do whatever I can to make sure Charlie’s friends here know you mean no harm.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Just as she couldn’t help but appreciate the warmth of his touch.
“Are you up for hearing more about your father?”
Nodding, she said, “I do have one big question about him: Did he drink during the years you knew him?”
“No.”
“He didn’t?” She couldn’t wrap her head around it. “I assumed that was the reason…” The reason he never came back.
Realizing Owen was waiting for her to continue, she decided there was no point in trying to keep it a secret any longer. “According to my mother,” she explained, “Charlie was an alcoholic when they were married.”
“I figured as much. Otherwise, it’s likely he would have imbibed every now and again. But I never asked why he didn’t drink. No one did, as far as I know. Is that why your mother and father split up?” he asked in a gentle voice. “Because of his drinking?”
“Partly.”
She could keep holding her cards close to her chest. But then Owen would never truly understand why she hadn’t seen her father in all this time, not unless she gave him the full, unvarnished truth.
And she found that she wanted to tell him. Somehow, she trusted him. Maybe it was the help he’d given her yesterday. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at her now—with understanding, but not pity. And with enough warmth that she almost felt like she was heating beneath his gaze.
“My mother had a job at an accounting firm in Santa Monica—the same one I work for now, actually. Charlie worked part time at a bookstore in the evenings so that he could take care of me during the day while my mom was at work. Even then, I think he dreamed of opening his own store. In any case, I was so young that I don’t remember much, just snippets of having fun together playing conkers.”
“That’s a proper British game.” Owen was clearly impressed. “Do you still play?”
“I haven’t since he left.” She took a sip of her drink before telling Owen the rest of it. “One day, he passed out and I left our apartment. The owner of the restaurant downstairs found me outside, about to cross a busy road by myself just as a truck came barreling down the street. I was three.”
Owen looked shell-shocked.
“My mother kicked him out that night,” Mari continued. “I don’t know if he ever forgave himself—but my mom definitely hasn’t. From that moment, she never wanted me to have anything to do with him…and he must have agreed, because he didn’t want me again. One moment I had a father, the next I didn’t. Even now, the bookstore isn’t mine because he left it to me in his will. It’s simply because I’m the only surviving blood relative the solicitors could track down.”
“Guilt can turn people inside out,” Owen noted in a low-pitched voice. “I’m sure the last thing Charlie wanted was to lose you. But…is it possible he didn’t feel he deserved to be your father anymore?”
Mari wanted desperately to believe that explanation. Without proof that it was true, however, she just couldn’t. “If he thought letting me run out into traffic was the worst thing he ever did, he was wrong. Walking out of my life forever was far worse.”
“If I had known about you, and about what he did, I would have told him the same thing—that leaving you was wrong.” Owen shook his head, still looking disturbed by her revelations. “I know that doesn’t count for much now that it’s too late.”
“Actually, it does count. More than you know.”
Mari looked down and realized their plates of food must have been delivered during their intense discussion. Her stomach felt tight and twisted, but knowing she had a lot of work ahead of her inside the bookstore, she made herself take a bite of her chickpea and avocado omelet. It was so delicious that her appetite magically made a resurgence.
“How did you come to manage your grandmother’s business affairs?” she asked, hoping to take the spotlight off herself. “Was g
oing into the family business always the plan?”
“As soon as I started at a tax law firm to finish my training, I realized I hated it. But after my parents had scrimped and saved for my education, sending me to the best schools, I couldn’t stand the thought of letting them down. It wasn’t until my grandmother threw me a lifeline and asked me to come on board with her book business that I felt I could step away from the law. Her previous manager had embezzled from her, and she wanted someone she could trust implicitly.”
“Do you enjoy what you do now?”
“Very much. No day is ever the same, and once you meet her, you’ll see why she always keeps me on my toes.”
“Meet Mathilda Westcott?” Mari couldn’t wrap her head around meeting one of her all-time-favorite authors. Then again, since Owen’s grandmother and Charlie had been close, Mathilda would surely be another good person to speak to about him. “First thing I’m going to do when I get back to the store is find where Charlie kept the mysteries so that I can reread your grandmother’s books.”
“I’ve got meetings in Soho this afternoon, but I can come over tonight if you’d like some help.”
Mari had thought she would be taking care of everything on her own. She’d never counted on meeting someone she would want to spill her guts to, who actually seemed to understand her reticence to accept her unexpected legacy, and who would be so willing to lend her a hand.
“I’d like that.” A beam of sunlight crossed their table as they smiled at each other.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It seemed fitting to begin with the mysteries.
After all, there were two choices Mari could make right now. She could wash her hands of the bookstore and flat by passing them over to be sold by the solicitors, with whom she had just met, then head back to California. Or she could stay in England and try to run Elderflower Island Books as her own business.
Unfortunately, like all well-written mysteries, she couldn’t for the life of her visualize the ending of the story.
Was it crazy of her to hope that perusing some of her favorite Mathilda Westcott novels could help her figure things out? Not only was Owen’s grandmother a master at building plots that twisted and turned, she was also intimately familiar with the bookstore and island that provided their setting.
After breakfast, when Owen had headed to the train station to attend a meeting in central London, Mari had enough time to make a quick stop at the island’s corner grocer before the solicitors came by the store for a meeting to discuss the details of her inheritance in person. The grocery was a surprisingly upscale place, with reclaimed wood shelves, organic produce, and baskets with mouthwatering home-baked scones and honeycombs. Given that the island’s population couldn’t be more than a few hundred people, Mari assumed there must be a large tourist population to support stores like this, the tea shop, and the boutiques.
Even on a weekday morning, there were plenty of people crossing the bridge with large cameras around their necks, or carrying walking sticks and wearing mud-encrusted hiking boots. Not to mention several people in neoprene carrying water shoes and blow-up paddle boards.
All around her, life moved forward. Tourists discovering a beautiful new part of the world. Locals appreciating their own waterways and parks.
And then there was Mari. A daughter who was only just beginning to discover who her absent father had been. And a woman who had been hit by an instant attraction—and connection—to Owen Sullivan.
She was looking forward to seeing Owen again tonight. But she was also nervous. Because falling for a charming Englishman was something her mother would never be able to accept. Even if Owen was nothing like Charlie.
In any case, Mari was getting way ahead of herself. Just because Owen had said she was pretty didn’t mean they were going to launch a full-fledged love affair.
Besides, the meeting she’d just had with the solicitors had brought her down to earth. Way down. Inside the store, it was a relief to temporarily shove the legal and tax details of her inheritance into the back of her brain and turn her focus instead to the packed and untidy shelves.
Unsurprisingly, Charlie had stocked multiple copies of all twenty-five books in the Bookshop on the River series. Mari was in the middle of organizing Mathilda’s books when she heard a knock on the door. Since Owen wasn’t going to return until that evening, who was here to get a look at her now?
Wiping her dusty hands on her jeans, Mari went to open the door and found a pretty woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties standing outside.
“Hi, can I help you?”
“Actually, I was wondering if I could help you.” The woman stuck out her hand. “I’m Alice Sullivan. You’ve met my brother Owen already.” Alice’s smile was totally genuine and disarming. As were the smudges of dirt on her face, hat, and clothes. “I’m not afraid to get dirty, as you can see, and I’m sure this feels like an awfully big job to tackle on your own.”
Yesterday, Mari hadn’t been sure that she wanted anyone else involved in her mess. But Owen had been so kind—and spoken so warmly about his family—that she knew it would be a mistake to turn away his sister.
“Some help would be great. And please call me Mari.” She stepped aside to let Alice in. “I’m working on the Mysteries section now. Any preference for which section you’d like to take a crack at organizing?”
“I work at Kew Gardens.” She pointed in a westward direction. “It’s only a five-minute bus ride away if you want to come for a personal tour. Which is my long-winded way of saying I would be happy to dig into the gardening section. Charlie always had a nice selection of titles, but I’ll admit I wished I could have taken charge of his shelving decisions.”
“Considering I don’t know a primrose from a peony, I’d be delighted for you to have at it.”
Mysteries and Gardening were close enough for the two women to chat as they took books off the shelves, dusted, then reshelved the books in their proper places.
“How are you liking England so far?” Alice asked.
“I love it as much as I thought I would. Even more, actually.”
“I’m really glad to hear that. But I’m so sorry you couldn’t come under happier circumstances. We all miss your father.”
“I didn’t really know him.” Mari had barely spoken of her father for most of her life. But now that she was in his home, she couldn’t keep the words from spilling out. At least when it came to the Sullivans. Though she didn’t know what Owen had told his sister, she suspected he wasn’t much for gossip. “He left when I was three.”
“I had no idea.” Alice leaned away from the shelf she was reorganizing so that Mari could see her face. “You must have really mixed feelings about being here—and not just because it’s such a mess.”
“I do.” Mari appreciated the way Alice immediately understood. “Although today is a lot better than yesterday.”
“Good. And hopefully, tomorrow will be even better than today.” With that, she tucked back into the Gardening shelves.
Mari liked Alice—her sunny outlook, her honest and straight-to-the-point emotional responses, her willingness to pitch in. “Owen said he was one of five. Do your siblings all live close by?”
“Everyone is in London, but we don’t see much of Fiona. We haven’t seen much of Owen for the last year either,” she added.
What had happened a year ago in Owen’s life? Mari wondered. Had he also been hit with a massive life change from out of the blue, just like her?
“Has my brother already given you the family rundown, or should I?” Alice asked.
“I know your names and, of course I’m a huge fan of your grandmother’s books, but I’d love to hear more.” Learning about the people Charlie had been close to made Mari feel a little closer to him.
“Okay.” Mari could hear the smile in Alice’s voice as she began to run through the details of her family. “If you didn’t already know, Owen is the oldest and in charge of running Gran’s business. He works all
the time. His office is just down the road in Gran’s cottage, where she’s probably sitting at her desk in the window right now, working on her next novel. Malcolm is next oldest and does big business deals. Then there’s Tom and his little girl, Aria. She’s five and the most beautiful angel you’ll ever see.” Alice was full of pure love for her niece. “Tom puts on concerts all over England. Pop, rock, jazz, classical—pretty much whatever takes his fancy. There’s a venue on the island that we’ve been trying to convince him to take over. The Rolling Stones, The Who, and tons of other bands got their start there. The concert hall is starting to crumble from years of neglect, unfortunately, but I’m thinking if he took it over, he and Aria could move to the island for good.”
“What about his wife?”
Alice snorted from the other side of the shelves. “Don’t get me started. Tom and Aria’s mother never married—which wasn’t at all a bad thing. Especially since she barely stuck around long enough to give birth. I really hope you don’t like Lyla Imogen’s songs.”
“Your brother has a daughter with Lyla Imogen?”
“It was before she was famous. He’s the one who gave her her big break. Anyway, then there’s my sister, Fiona. With her fancy house in Chelsea and all her couture gowns for the charity events she chairs, everything looks perfect on the surface. But I’m not sure she’s happy. Especially with her husband, Lewis.”
Hearing about Owen and Alice’s family made Mari realize she wasn’t the only one with a complicated life story.
“You’re not afraid to tell it like it is, are you?” Mari had never met anyone quite like Alice, someone who held nothing back and expected the same from others.
“It’s always easier to diagnose someone else’s problems, rather than look at your own,” Alice replied. “At least that’s what my mum always tells me.”
“Are your parents close by too?”
“They’re just across the river in St. Margarets. I’ll take you exploring, if you like.” She leaned back so that Mari could see her sparkling eyes as she added, “Unless Owen beats me to it.”
