Dahlia Winters shifted in the squeaky leather executive chair and crossed her legs. She stifled a yawn as the suited lawyer standing at the end of the boardroom table droned on and on. The last time she’d been in a law office was to finalize her divorce. Unlike the dissolution of her marriage, this visit resulted from less happy circumstances.

Spring sunlight filtered through the newly green trees outside, reflecting off the window and creating a lacy pattern on the table. Dahlia regretted not bringing her sketchbook in to capture the moment, but she settled for drawing in pen on the lined notepad in front of her. She wished she were anywhere but in the Seattle area law office of Schmidt, Anders and James.

“Dahlia, heads up,” her mother whispered, kicking her daughter’s shins under the table with the toe of her high-heeled shoe.

Dahlia pulled her attention away from the window and scanned the room. All eyes were on her, from the paralegal and attorney at the end of the table to Great-Aunt Ruth’s best friend, Agnes Barnes. What had she missed?

“Ms. Winters. Do you understand the terms of your great-aunt’s will?” Larry Anders asked. He transferred his tablet to one hand while maintaining eye contact with her as he sipped from a glass of water. Condensation dripped from the glass as the seconds ticked away.

Across the table, Agnes’s eyes bored into Dahlia, her thin lips pursed in disapproval. A tightly wound bun pulled at the elderly woman’s facial features, giving her an impromptu face-lift and increasing the severity of her countenance. In front of her, tight, scripted handwriting covered a yellow legal pad. What had she written?

“I’m sorry. Can you please restate the terms?” Dahlia asked. Why was the lawyer asking her if she understood the terms? Her mother was Aunt Ruth’s sole heir. She flipped over the first page of her notepad, tucked a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear, and lifted her pen as if to take notes.

The lawyer half-smirked, half-frowned and made a show of scrolling back several pages on the document he’d been reading from on his iPad. His custom-tailored, pin-striped suit hung perfectly on his lean form as he moved a few steps closer to her. He’d probably never been caught daydreaming in his life.

“Ms. Winters. Your aunt has left you the majority of her assets, including her house and the To Be Read bookstore in Candle Beach, Washington.”

Blood pounded in her head. She must have misheard him. She pushed herself back from the table and gaped at the attorney. “I’m sorry. Did you say she left me the house and bookstore?”

He nodded in assent.

She turned to her mother, Vanessa. “Why didn’t she leave them to you? You were her closest relative.” Ruth Wright and her husband, Ed, had raised Vanessa after her parents were killed in a car crash when she was a small child. Before Ruth died, Dahlia’s mother had visited her in Candle Beach almost every weekend while she endured chemotherapy treatments.

Vanessa shrugged her shoulders under a crisply ironed white blouse. “You always loved the bookstore when we visited in the summers. I’m sure she had her reasons.”

Dahlia scrutinized her mother’s face. She didn’t appear to be upset about the slight, although she must have expected to inherit all of Ruth’s assets. She struggled to process the lawyer’s words. The summers she’d spent in Candle Beach would always be special, but her life was in Seattle now. What would she do with a bookstore and a house in a town three hours away on the coast? Could she sell the properties?

With the money from the sale, she could travel to Paris and paint for a year, or backpack through Europe. Jeff, her ex-husband, hadn’t managed to quench the travel bug that had bitten her at a young age, although he’d certainly tried throughout their three-year marriage. While she’d yearned to travel the world, his idea of a daring adventure was a one-week, all-inclusive Caribbean cruise for their honeymoon. He’d been appalled by the poverty and filth in some of the ports and refused to participate in any excursions off the ship. When Dahlia had gone on shore without him, he’d acted like a spoiled toddler.

Now, all her dreams of traveling the world could come true. Aunt Ruth’s bequest could make them a reality. Exhilaration raced through her body, followed closely by a nagging feeling. Aunt Ruth had loved the bookstore. Could she really sell it to an outsider?

At the front of the room, the lawyer cleared his throat and put his tablet on the table. “There are however a few stipulations to your aunt’s bequests. Firstly, you must keep the bookstore open for twelve months and it must be profitable at the end of that year. If you choose to sell the house or bookstore prior to the end of twelve full months, you are entitled to only fifty percent of the profits. Secondly, Agnes Barnes is to be the executor of these provisions. It is in her power to adjust the terms as she sees fit to best meet your aunt’s wishes. All of Mrs. Wright’s financial assets will be kept in trust for you and other than a stipend for basic living expenses, Mrs. Barnes will need to approve any expenditures out of that trust.”

Dahlia leaned forward, twisting her hands underneath the table. She glanced over at Agnes, who glared at her. Unless the woman changed the terms, there wasn’t much chance she’d be traveling anytime soon. She remembered playing cards with Agnes on visits to Candle Beach as a child. After Ruth’s husband had died when she was only fifty-four, her friends, who called themselves the Ladies of Candle Beach, had been her rocks. In her great-aunt’s memory, if Dahlia decided it made sense to sell, Agnes would be reasonable, right?

“If I sell the assets, who receives the other fifty percent of the proceeds?” Dahlia asked the lawyer.

He nodded to his left. “Mrs. Barnes is entitled to the remainder if you choose to not fulfill the full terms of this provision.”

Agnes peered directly at Dahlia with a self-satisfied expression, and primly adjusted her green cardigan sweater. Dahlia turned away from her gaze. The chances of Agnes being reasonable were slim if she stood to inherit.

Okay, so she now owned a bookstore in an idyllic small town on the Washington Coast. When her mother had implored her to come to the will reading, Dahlia had hoped Aunt Ruth had willed her the Royal Doulton tea set that had been a daily fixture in her childhood summer visits to Candle Beach. Now she owned not only the tea set, but the house that came with it. The thought was daunting.

“I told your aunt she was crazy when she informed me she planned to give you the bookstore,” Agnes said to her. “Candle Beach is a special place and the bookstore should be owned by someone who is a part of the community, not some outsider.”

Dahlia sat up straight and her blood boiled. Agnes may have been right that she wasn’t the best choice to own To Be Read, but it wasn’t her decision. “I’m not an outsider. Candle Beach has been a part of my life since I was a baby.”

Her mother smiled and leaned back in her chair.

“The other Ladies and I agree that you aren’t the right fit,” Agnes said. “We think you should sell the bookstore. Wouldn’t you prefer to stay here in Seattle? Candle Beach isn’t exactly a booming metropolis. If you sell the bookstore, half of the profits should be plenty to let you travel the world, at least for a short time.”

“Aunt Ruth left her property to me. I’m going to do what is best in this situation.” Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure what was best. Did she have it in her to live in a small town and own a bookstore for the rest of her life? The thought of settling down made her sweaty and nauseous. She reached for the pitcher in the center of the table and poured herself a glass of water. She savored the coolness of the glass before drinking deeply.

The lawyer cleared his throat and her mother nudged her again.

“Dahlia, what do you want to do?” Vanessa folded her French-manicured hands together and leaned across the rectangular table toward her daughter. Behind her, a designer suit jacket hung neatly over the back of the chair. Dahlia knew that before her mother had come to pick her up for the will reading, she’d been in a client meeting in her role as one of the leading commercial real estate brokers in Seattle.

“I need to think about it.” She pushed her pen around on the table. The pounding in her head eased and she relaxed her unconsciously clenched jaw. A faint glimmer of what could be mistaken as approval appeared on Agnes’s rouged face.

“I’m afraid I need a decision by five o’clock. There is a purchase offer on the bookstore that expires today.” The lawyer separated a document from the pile of paper in front of him and held it out to her, face down. “This contains all the details of the offer.”

The digital clock on the wall opposite the door read three o’clock. Dahlia stood and accepted the document from the lawyer. “Is there anything else we need to go over today?”

He looked at the paralegal, who shook her head. “No, we have your contact information,” he said. “But please call us as soon as possible to let us know your decision, so we can relay it to the prospective buyer.”

“I’ll let you know by five,” she said.

The lawyer motioned to the paralegal. Without saying a word, she handed Dahlia a business card and a copy of Aunt Ruth’s bequest, including the stipulations of the will. Dahlia palmed the card and shoved it into the back pocket of her jeans. She refrained from reading the real estate purchase agreement and folded it in half along with the stapled bequest, gripping the sheaf of papers in sweaty hands. The ultra-short time frame for the purchase offer immobilized her for a moment. Agnes brushed past her, almost knocking her over in the process.

Vanessa slid her chair back and stood, smoothing the hemline of the linen skirt that completed her suit ensemble. Her heels clicked rhythmically on the tile floor as she joined her daughter at the door with her jacket draped in neat folds over one arm. She put her free hand on Dahlia’s back to guide her to the door. “I know this is a lot to take in, but Aunt Ruth wanted you to have the bookstore.”

“Ms. Winters,” the lawyer called out to her before she exited the room. “There isn’t a huge demand for commercial real estate in Candle Beach. I don’t know if another offer will come anytime soon. I suggest you seriously consider the offer currently on the table.”

She nodded and followed her mother out, her mind humming with the decisions to be made.

* * *

Dahlia walked to the car in a dazed state. She waited outside of the passenger side of her mother’s gray Lexus long after Vanessa had unlocked the doors.

Vanessa rolled down the passenger side window and called out, “Are you going to get in?” She glanced at her gold wristwatch and tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “I’ve got to get back to work, but I’ll drop you off first.”

Dahlia opened the car door, sat down on the buttery leather seat, and fastened her seat belt on autopilot. She stretched out her legs and reveled in the space on the passenger side. The old Toyota Corolla she’d owned since college didn’t have nearly as much space for her five-foot-nine frame. The spaciousness of the car was wasted on her petite mother.

“Honey, are you okay?” Vanessa glanced sideways at her daughter while expertly turning from the side street onto the highway.

“I’m fine.” She gazed out the passenger side window. In this part of the city, houses from the early twentieth century lined the streets, much like in Candle Beach. On one of the porches, two old women sat together at a table, drinking coffee. They reminded her of Aunt Ruth and her friends. The women had always treated her well, saving small treats for her as a child and cajoling her to sit with them to gossip when she grew older.

Her mood darkened as she remembered Agnes’s harsh opinion of her, which apparently was shared by the other Ladies of Candle Beach. She’d failed her aunt. With this realization, tears spilled down her face, and she swiped them away with her hand.

“You’re not fine,” Vanessa said, her voice tinged with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel horrible. I didn’t have time to visit Aunt Ruth in the last few years and only saw her once when she was going through cancer treatments in the city. Okay, the truth is, I didn’t make time to see her in Candle Beach.” She quieted and looked out the window again, not seeing any of the passing cityscape. “And now she’s given me this amazing gift and I don’t know what to do. I was obviously a disappointment to her and her friends.” The tears fell faster and she wiped them away with a facial tissue from the travel box her mother kept in the car’s center console.

“Honey, Aunt Ruth knew you were busy with your own life. I know how much she appreciated your weekly phone calls.” Vanessa signaled left, then merged into traffic heading onto the northbound freeway lanes.

“Why do you think she wanted me to have the bookstore and house in Candle Beach?”

“Maybe she thought it was time for a change for you.”

“A change? My life is fine, I don’t need a change.” She squirmed. The seat that had felt spacious minutes before now felt as hot and confining as a coach seat on an airplane with broken air-conditioning. She reached forward to turn on the fan and directed the air vents to blow at her face.

“Dahlia, I say this as your mother, someone who loves you and wants the best for you,” Vanessa began, shooting quick glances at her daughter as she drove. “You’re thirty-two, divorced, and working at a travel agency that gives you fewer hours of work each week. You can barely afford that rat-trap basement apartment you call home. You talk about traveling, but the closest you get is purchasing airline tickets and hotel rooms for clients. You need a change.”

Her mother had a point. After the headiness of being free of Jeff had worn off, she’d floundered in indecision about the future. The inheritance from Aunt Ruth would change her life for the better, no matter how she proceeded with the sale of the property.

“But what should I do? I don’t know if I can run a bookstore. What if I can’t sell the bookstore after twelve months and then I’ve lost my chance? But if I sell now, I lose out on half of the money. And there’s no way Agnes will agree to let me out of the terms of the bequest earlier, unless I want to give her half of the assets.”

The decision was too immense. She focused on the candle-shaped, vanilla-scented air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror and took a deep breath of the calming scent.

The image of a candle reminded her of Candle Beach. She’d loved to go there as a child and through her teenage years, only stopping when she entered the University of Washington and had to work full-time during the summers. She remembered the bustling main street leading down to the marina, the pounding surf outside of town, and the lazy summer days spent lounging on a grassy knoll in the town square, eating blueberry ice cream. Although she had been a visitor to town, the kids who lived there year-round had been friendly because her Aunt Ruth was well-known in town.

She shifted in the seat and reached into her back jeans pocket, pulling out the flat white business card the paralegal had provided. She traced the number with her finger and took a deep breath. She knew what she had to do.

She couldn’t even think about selling the bookstore without returning for a final visit. Aunt Ruth deserved that courtesy. “I’m going to make arrangements to see the bookstore and stay at Aunt Ruth’s house this weekend.” Somehow, after making the decision, she felt lighter and filled with a blend of excitement and curiosity about seeing Candle Beach after a fourteen-year absence.

“Honey, that’s great.” While stopped at a red light, Vanessa reached over and hugged her daughter with one arm. “I think that will be great for you and maybe bring some closure. Maybe you’ll even like it enough to stay.”

“I seriously doubt that. My life is here.” From what she remembered about the town, it wasn’t exactly big on nightlife or cultural experiences, two things she enjoyed about living in the University District. “But it will be nice to see the old house and maybe drop in on a few old friends.” She’d kept up with a few people from her summer vacations in Candle Beach through social media, although she wasn’t close to any of them after so many years apart.

“And hey, maybe you’ll meet a nice guy. You certainly aren’t going to meet anyone at work.”

She chafed at her mother’s intrusion into her love life. With the average age of her travel agency clientele hovering around seventy, she didn’t meet many prospective suitors at work. It didn’t really matter. It had only taken a few years of marriage for her to see that she was better off single.

But a little male companionship wouldn’t hurt. She missed snuggling on the couch watching TV, but she didn’t miss fighting for control of the remote. And while their love life hadn’t been mind-blowing, she did miss the intimacy she had once shared with Jeff. Getting to that point in a relationship with another man seemed implausible unless she relinquished her independence. Never again would she give up her dreams for a man.

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Dahlia said wryly. “But I’m fine on my own. I don’t need anyone telling me what to do or how to live my life.”

She’d spent too many years striving to be the perfect wife that Jeff required, too many years not following her own passions. When she’d expressed an interest in rekindling her high school love for art with a sculpture class, he’d asked her why she wanted to do something so useless. Back then, she’d dreamed of moving somewhere new and exciting after living all of her life in the Seattle area. Jeff had pooh-poohed the idea, saying his finance career was in the city and it would be foolish to move. She laughed. Candle Beach wasn’t exactly an exotic locale, but right now it seemed her best prospect to get the life she wanted.

Vanessa pulled into the scrubby grass-and-gravel parking spot outside of Dahlia’s rental apartment. In Dahlia’s opinion, the reserved parking spot that she didn’t have to fight students for on a daily basis was the best part of the entire rental agreement. It certainly wasn’t her actual apartment. Her car was in the shop for what seemed like the umpteenth time, but the mechanic had promised she’d have it back by Friday. She unclipped her seatbelt, gathered her belongings and got out of the car.

“I’m not saying I’m moving to Candle Beach,” she said through the open car door. “With any luck, I’ll be able to arrange for someone else to run the bookstore and I can manage things from here. If not, there’s always the option to sell. The bookstore and house must be worth quite a bit. Fifty percent of the profit from selling them isn’t anything to sneeze at.”

Vanessa smiled at her daughter.

“What?” Dahlia asked.

“Nothing,” she said with a glint in her eye. “Keep an open mind. I know you think you don’t need anyone or anything to make your world complete, but something is missing in your life right now.”

Dahlia sighed. “Goodbye, Mom.” She pushed the car door closed.

Her mother pulled out of the parking space and circled the block. As she drove past the house, she shouted, “Keep an open mind!”

Dahlia waved and blew her a kiss. Then she trudged down the broken concrete steps to her basement apartment and stuck the key in the rusty lock, jiggling it from side to side. The door wouldn’t open. This happened sometimes. She removed the key, blew on the lock and tried again. Nothing. She repeated the process and the key finally turned in the lock, releasing the door. Third time’s the charm, she thought.

She entered the apartment and the door swung closed behind her, blocking out much of the sunlight. She squinted as she reached for the light switch. The living area windows, or rather what the landlord called windows, didn’t illuminate much. Even with the single overhead light and the travel posters plastered on the walls, the room depressed her.

Her grumbling stomach reminded her that lunch had consisted of a cup of coffee at the law office. She opened the refrigerator to check what there was to eat. It contained only a bottle of ketchup, a jar of capers, and something fuzzy in the vegetable drawer. She plucked a paper towel off the roll hanging from a cabinet, gingerly removed what used to be a vegetable and disposed of it in the trash. She’d forgotten to hit the grocery store on the way home from work last night and her snack options were limited.

Grabbing a spoon and a jar of peanut butter, she flung herself on the old maroon recliner that dominated the small living room. She was starting to feel like a lonely old spinster. A cat, she thought, a cat would be nice. Someone to keep her company. She finished her fourth spoonful of peanut butter and dropped the dirty spoon into the sink before collapsing on her bed in the alcove. On second thought, maybe no cat. It was a slippery slope. One cat became two, then three, and soon she’d be a crazy cat lady. She jumped off the bed, grabbed her phone and dialed the lawyer’s office.