by J. L. Berg
Maybe this was his link to her and everything she’d left behind.
I HADN’T SEEN Sam since having the weird dream the night before.
Okay, that wasn’t true.
I hadn’t spoken to Sam since having the weird dream in which he was a boy version of himself, lost and confused in the crappy apartment I’d once shared with my mom.
I’d seen him plenty.
Or at least the back of his head.
I’d spent the better part of sixth period staring at it while I tried to figure out what it all meant. I’d dreamed of that apartment, the place I used to call home many times before, but it never wavered.
It was always the same.
The same summer night, the door creaking open…
I was so deep in thought, I barely noticed the awkward footsteps behind me as I made my way to the bookstore.
“Wait!” Allison called out, breathless.
I stopped to turn and saw her running after me, her clunky UGG boots slapping against the damp pavement.
“What are you doing?” I said as she finally caught up to me.
Her cheeks were red from the cold air and the exertion she’d obviously just put out to catch up to me.
“Why are you walking so dang fast?” she asked as she gulped in air.
“I’m on my way to work,” I explained, grabbing my phone out of my pocket to check the time.
Crap.
I normally would have given her a minute longer to recover from her jaunt across town, but I didn’t have one to spare.
“I know that; that’s why I’m following you.”
“Okay…”
She laughed, a sort of strained laugh, as she tried to regain her breath. “I wanted to see you in action, you know. Plus, I haven’t seen Sam in a while, outside of school, so I figured a trip to Page Turners was in order.”
“You were bored.”
She nodded. “Yeah, basically that. Is Sam some sort of evil overlord or something? Why are we walking so fast?” she asked, quickly noticing I wasn’t waiting for her. She hurried to catch up.
“No, he just likes me to be on time,” I explained.
She looked at her own phone, and by the expression on her face, she must have figured out the time I was expected to be in the store. “But that’s ridiculous. You’d have to basically—”
“Run,” I said, finishing her sentence.
“Why would you do that? I would tell him to bite me unless…”
“Unless what?” I said, giving her a sideways glance.
The bookstore was within reach now. Just another block, and I’d be at the door.
“You like him!” she exclaimed, nearly loud enough for the whole block to hear.
“What? You’re crazy!”
A sly grin crept across her face. “Maybe, but you didn’t dispute it.”
“I do not like Sam Shepherd,” I lied. “Besides, it would be totally wrong, considering your history with him.”
She rolled her eyes, digging her hands into her warm coat. “Please, don’t use me as an excuse to get out of this. You know as well as I do that whatever delusion I was under at the beginning of the school year was a one-time thing. Believe me, it will never happen again.”
I suspiciously eyed her. “How do you know?” I asked.
“Because it shouldn’t have happened in the first place. I mistook Sam’s affection for me as something more. But it is what it always has been — brotherly. When I actually thought about it? Like kissing him? Gross.” She shook her head, her face scrunching up. “But you though?” she said, giving me a quirky grin. “I bet you don’t feel that way at all, do you?”
“About what?” I asked.
“Kissing Sam,” she clarified.
My eyes ventured toward the bookstore before turning my attention toward her again. “I’ve honestly never thought about it.”
She gave me a hard stare.
“Okay, maybe once or twice. But look at me, Allison,” I said, holding up my stupid gloves, the ones that still had little chunks of hot glue I couldn’t get off the fingertips.
“Do you think Sam cares about that kind of stuff?” she asked.
“He probably would if he tried to kiss me, and I ran away — or worse… my glove got stuck in his hair,” I said.
She took a step forward, mindful of the distance between us. “Just allow yourself the opportunity, Willow,” she said. “Maybe it will be nothing more than a crush or a world-class friendship. But maybe… just maybe, it will become one of those epic adventures you read about when no one else is looking.”
I bit my lip, embarrassed to find she knew me better than I’d realized.
“You’ll never know unless you try.”
I looked toward the door one more time.
“I’ll come visit Sam another day,” she said. “You should go to work alone today.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, finding her gaze once more.
She nodded, smiling. “Yep, I think I’ve got some homework to catch up on. Besides, you’re going to be late, and I don’t want to see my good friend Sam turn into a beast,” she joked.
“Noted.”
“Good luck, and remember… try!”
“Do you always meddle this much in your friendships?” I asked as I walked away.
“Only the ones that are this much work!” She laughed.
She couldn’t see, but I was smiling in return.
And glad she never stopped making the effort.
“YOU’RE LATE, MITTENS.”
Still smiling from my encounter with Allison, I felt it only grow wider. His words were said from a distance, and I was curious to find him.
“How’d you know it was me?” I asked, finding him in the stockroom, holding the yellow notepad to his chest. I dropped my backpack to the floor as I began to inspect some of the inventory that had come in.
I’d noticed less and less had been arriving in the last few weeks, which felt odd to me. As we geared up for the holidays, I would have guessed it should have been the opposite. Didn’t people buy books as gifts?
“The way you open the door,” he said absently, counting several boxes before scribbling something down.
“What is that?” I finally asked, pointing to the messy pale yellow notepad.
“What? Oh, nothing. Just something I’m working on.”
“And you don’t think I’m able to help?” I challenged, feeling a flutter of confidence.
Maybe it was what Allison had said.
Maybe I was just sick of him carrying that stupid thing around and excluding me.
Maybe I was just bored.
Who knows? But, suddenly, his eyes met mine — those dark green eyes — and I could see him rise to the challenge.
“Okay then,” he agreed. “It’s notes I’ve been taking on the state of the bookstore.”
“The state of it?”
He nodded. “My father has given me until the end of the school year to make it profitable again. If it’s not, he’s going to close it for good.”
My mouth fell open.
This was his store.
His only son.
How could he do such a thing?
“What will happen to it? If it closes, I mean?” I asked, still shocked beyond measure.
“A coffee bar or something equally as stupid. He thinks it would bring in tourists — the antique shoppers and the B and B crowds.”
“I don’t even know what you said in the last part of that sentence,” I confessed.
“Believe me, I wish I didn’t either. But it’s not going to happen. I’m going to keep this store open if it’s the last thing I do. Maybe just to spite him,” he said with a sly grin.
“Well, what can I do?” I asked, more than happy to help.
He seemed genuinely pleased, and he shared his thoughts with me. He’d been busy. There were pages and pages of notes.
Deciding our conversation was better suited for the front of the store, we headed towar
d the register. I watched as he leaned against the counter, dressed in dark denim and an Avengers T-shirt. While everyone else in Sugar Tree had adapted to the colder temperatures, throwing on wool coats and scarves, Sam seemed perfectly fine in his short-sleeved shirt.
“You look cold. Do you want my jacket?” he asked, stopping in the middle of his explanation on revamping inventory.
“What?” I said, feeling a wave of déjà vu crash around me.
“You’re cold, right?” he confirmed.
“A little,” I admitted.
Before I had the chance to say anything else, he dashed in the back and reappeared within seconds with his jacket, a name-brand fleece everyone in our grade seemed to have. After a moment of hesitation, he simply handed it to me, and I slipped it over my shoulders.
I couldn’t help but notice it smelled like him — a mixture of pine and mint. It smelled clean and comforting and—
Dear God, Willow… do not smell the jacket!
“So, you were saying something about the inventory?” I asked, trying to save myself from utter embarrassment.
His eyes were still on me as he slowly nodded. “Yeah,” he finally said, “I was thinking about switching up our stock. You know, appeal to the younger generation and stock stuff we like to read. Maybe then we could get more traffic in here.”
I nodded in agreement. “I think that’s a good start, but it’s not enough.”
He blinked in surprise. “Not enough? What am I missing?”
I could see he was slightly hurt by my comment, and the last thing I wanted to do was bruise his ego. What he’d done so far was nothing short of a miracle. Most kids our age couldn’t keep a store like this running, much less care about it. But, if I was going to help, I wanted to make it count.
“I’ve had the unique experience of growing up a bit differently than most of my peers.”
His eyes dropped to my gloves for a brief moment.
“No, not the… mittens, as you call them. Those are actually a fairly recent addition. I mostly meant, I’ve been kind of an outsider for a long time. It’s given me time to observe.”
“So, you’re the trainer, and we’re all the zoo animals?”
I smiled. “Kind of, I guess. Monkeys maybe?”
He laughed. “With Snapchat and iPhones?”
“Exactly! Anyway, not a lot of kids our age read. Offering books they might like isn’t enough to get them to walk through the door. And, as much as you hate to admit it, I think your dad does have a point. A coffee bar is really appealing. So, why not have both? I mean, it’s not reinventing the wheel by any means, but if big chains can do it, so can we.”
“So, you want to sell coffee?”
“Not just that. Make this a place for people to hang out. If we can get students here after school, doing their homework, there’s no end to what we could accomplish. Soon, we could be the place for stay-at-home moms to meet or a sweet spot for local artists to hang out.”
“Wow, that’s actually a good idea.”
“And, while they’re here, drinking their coffees and eating their scones or whatever, they will happen to see that book Oprah or Ellen talked about, and rather than ordering it online, they’ll grab it before they leave!”
“Genius!”
“I know. I really am. Why didn’t you think of this?”
“Honestly, the second my dad said coffee bar, I couldn’t even say the words without becoming angry. This is my store… my life. This is where I grew up.”
I fell silent for a moment, unsure of if I should say anything.
“Allison told me about your mom,” I said.
He nodded. “I’m glad it was her. God knows what horrible story you might have heard from someone else. But I’m surprised Addy didn’t tell you.”
I gave him a confused look. “Why would she?”
“She and my mom were really close. It’s why I got my hair cut by Addy. Well, until she left, that is.”
The memory of him saying something about Addy cutting his hair when he was little fluttered through my mind.
“I’m sure she would love to give it another go,” I said, looking up at his disheveled locks.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
The door rang just then, signaling the arrival of our first customer for the afternoon. Knowing Sam had a lot on his mind, I took the lead, greeting the elderly lady and offering any assistance. After ushering her to the small section of cookbooks, I found my way back to the front.
“Willow?” Sam said from his new spot behind the counter.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for today. The help, I mean,” he said, slightly stumbling over his words.
I smiled, feeling heat rush to my cheeks. “Anytime,” I answered.
Rushing into the stacks, I found my phone in the pocket of my hoodie and quickly sent a text to Allison.
I did what you asked. I tried.
I got an immediate response back — a heart-eyed emoji which meant she was happy, or proud. I don’t really know.
Rather than go into details, I didn’t bother sending her a long-winded explanation.
I didn’t even send her a single word.
Just a happy face emoji back to match my own.
“ARE YOU KIDDING me?” I said, staring up at the giant tree that now took up half of our living room.
“What?” Addy said casually. “It was on sale.”
“It touches the ceiling!”
“Barely.”
I’d just arrived home from another shift at the store.
School had ended for the month among howls of joy as every student, staff member, and teacher ran from the building, celebrating the holiday season.
And the blissful two-and-a-half-week vacation.
After school, when I’d gone to work as usual, I’d brainstormed more ideas to keep the shop going. The obvious problem to our great plan? Neither of us knew the first thing about a coffee house. How much did the equipment cost? Should we start small? Were we even licensed to sell food and beverages? Was that a thing?
It was overwhelming, and I’d left feeling slightly less useful than I had when I first arrived in the tiny shop.
Greeting me at the door the second I’d stepped inside was an overly enthusiastic guardian with tinsel wrapped around nearly every part of her body, begging me to help her decorate.
“I thought we weren’t doing this,” I said, sitting among the boxes of ornaments, as I continued to gaze up at the tree she’d snuck into the house while I was away.
“Why would you think that?” she asked, fiddling with the radio.
The old speaker crackled and faded in and out as she tried and failed to find the local station that was dedicated to playing holiday music twenty-four hours a day.
I hated that station.
Sam had insisted on playing it around the clock basically since the minute Halloween had ended. He thought it would remind customers about their holiday lists and convince them to purchase more.
All it had done was slowly drive me insane.
“Well,” I said, referring to her question, “it’s so close to Christmas. I figured we were just skipping the decorations. I mean, half of my friends had their trees up the day after Thanksgiving, some even before. I thought maybe you weren’t into it.”
She stopped messing with the radio. The static sound of the radio went silent as she found her way to the floor, sitting next to me near the tree.
“When we were little — your mom and I, I mean,” she clarified, “our daddy would always show up days before Christmas with the biggest tree I’d ever seen. It would take up the entire parlor of the grand house downtown, and we’d need a ladder to get to the top. When I asked him why he’d waited so long, he would shrug and say that was the way his parents had done it, and he wanted to continue the tradition. I guess I do, too.”
I thought back to all the stories she’d told me about her growing up. Most hadn’t made it into the pages of Sam’s report. It
had been a lot to swallow.
It still was.
“Even after everything he put you through?” I asked.
She nodded. “My daddy was a good person, Willow — or at least, he tried to be. He just made a lot of bad choices.”
“Like my mom,” I said quietly.
“My sister blamed the world for our misfortune. She couldn’t let go of everything we’d lost — the money, the house… the lifestyle. She was Daddy’s little girl. Prim, proper, and always neat as a pin. She loved growing up in a lavish home. Me? I was happy as long as we were together.”
“And when everything fell apart?” I asked, remembering the story quite well.
My grandfather, the gambler, had destroyed a family dynasty with his obsession.
“After Daddy died, years after, we lost our mother, and Evie went off in search of someone who could give her everything that had been taken from her. I tried to reason with her… tried to show her we didn’t need any of that when we still had each other. But I wasn’t enough for her. I hoped she’d found it — whatever she was searching for.”
“She had me instead,” I said.
“Maybe, one day, she’ll realize what a treasure you are.”
Doubtful.
“Now, come on, let’s decorate this tree.” She hopped to her feet, and I followed.
Still covered in garland, she handed me several handmade ornaments. I recognized a few — the ones I’d helped her make when I first arrived. Tiny felt flower bouquets with glittery tips. The ribbon felt heavy on my finger, and I wondered if it was as soft as it looked.
Part of me wanted to pull my hand out of the glove… just for a moment… to feel the satin run through my fingertips.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I hung it on the tree, careful to keep the branches from catching on the loose strings of my gloves.
“Did you make all the ornaments?” I asked, looking at the pile behind me.
“No,” she replied. “Some are bought; others are gifts. And those,” she said, pointing to the box on the bottom, “are from the old house.”
“But I thought you said everything had been sold?” I asked, my eyes now frozen on that single box.
Now that I got a good look at it, I noticed the obvious wear around the edges. There was staining along the bottom, and unlike the other boxes my aunt had obviously saved from previous online purchases, this one had a perfectly shaped lid.
