After she’d received her food and beverage permit and reopened the bookstore on Monday, she’d proceeded with her plans to remodel it. The handyman had promised to refinish the floors sometime that week and she’d made arrangements for him to install the espresso bar after it arrived the next week.

By Saturday, her first day at the summer market, she was feeling pretty good about things. Gretchen had volunteered to manage the bookstore for the weekend, leaving Dahlia to run To Be Read’s brand new summer market booth. She leaned back in a metal folding chair inside the booth and surveyed her surroundings. On an average summer weekday, children and dogs ran amok across the grass of the Francisco Lorenzo Memorial Park, or as the locals called it, the Marina Park, for its location just above the town marina. During summer market weekends, canopied tents offering a variety of wares covered half of the park. This close to the water, the briny ocean air mixed with the blossoming white gardenias that bordered the park, creating an intoxicating seaside aroma.

Tourists and townspeople alike milled around the booths, hoping to find the perfect locally crafted accent piece for their home or to fill their basket with organically grown produce. Their chatter filled the area and shop owners smiled in anticipation of big sales. A nice sunny day like this could work wonders for their bottom lines. She hoped her sales would increase as well. Unfortunately for her, mixed in with the heavenly scent of flowers and salt was a hearty dose of the meaty odor of bratwurst.

Agnes had assigned her a booth at the far corner of the market, sandwiched between a recycling coalition and the local non-profit animal shelter, on a small offshoot pathway at the edge of the food vendors. On the plus side, she didn’t have to leave her booth for long to grab lunch, but the location left much to be desired for a for-profit bookstore.

She straightened her display of bestsellers and stood as a tourist straggled over to her booth.

“Hello,” the woman said. Her tone was bright, but there were dark bags under her eyes. “I’m so glad to see there’s a bookstore in town. We arrived late last night and after I unpacked, I realized I’d forgotten to bring something to read while the kids play on the beach. If I have to spend the whole afternoon watching them bicker about the other child destroying their sandcastle, I’ll scream.” She frowned at the thought.

“Oh, no,” Dahlia said. “Well, I can help you with that. What are you looking for? I have some mysteries, some local history books, and some romances here, but I have more at my bookstore, To Be Read. It’s just up the hill.” She held up a few books, but the woman waved them off.

“Oh, this one will be fine.” She surreptitiously picked up the latest Susannah Garrity novel. Her children joined her and she flipped the book over to hide the steamy cover image.

“A very popular choice,” Dahlia said. “You know, I’ve met the author.”

“Really?” The woman’s eyes widened and she handed Dahlia her credit card. “You met Susannah Garrity?” Her children tugged at her shirt, but she brushed them off, intent on hearing Dahlia’s response.

“Yes, Susannah was very nice and accommodating. A pleasure to meet.”

“Is she as pretty as her picture? She looks so glamorous.” She had a far-off look in her eyes, as though imagining Susannah living it up at a cocktail party, surrounded by gorgeous men.

“Uh…” Dahlia said, flipping open the back cover of the book to see an image of a forty-something woman with lustrous auburn hair and full makeup.

Where did they get that photo? It definitely wasn’t Garrett. She placed the book in a paper sack emblazoned with the bookstore’s logo before answering.

“Yes, the author is quite attractive.” She tried unsuccessfully to hide a smirk as she ran the customer’s credit card through her point of sale system, but the woman didn’t seem to notice her amused expression.

“Oh, I knew she would be.” She accepted her bagged book and allowed her children to drag her away.

By noon, only one other customer had made a purchase. Most of the shoppers didn’t venture off the main pathway unless they were stopping at one of the food booths. Agnes was winning again, which Dahlia didn’t like. She opted to close her booth for lunch and made a stop at the Bluebonnet Café, armed with a plan.

* * *

Dahlia’s grin stretched from ear to ear when she left the Bluebonnet Café. She carried a half dozen bakery boxes back to her booth and pushed the stacks of books to one side of the table. She opened a box and the aroma of Maggie’s freshly baked cinnamon rolls wafted out of the box. From one of the boxes, she removed a paper sign that read ‘Desserts’ and a handful of napkins. She hung the sign from the top canopy of the booth. Most of the food offerings at the market were savory, and people soon flocked to her booth for dessert. At least half of them left with a book as well. Ironically, having obtained her food license due to Agnes’s complaint to the county health department was the reason for her success.

At the end of the day, she retrieved a caramel apple muffin she’d ferreted away in an otherwise empty box and unwrapped it while surveying the other booths. The sellers appeared exhausted, but an undercurrent of satisfaction reverberated through the aisles. She bit into the muffin, savoring the crunchy brown sugar topping and the slight tang from the juicy nuggets of apple buried in each bite. Thank goodness she’d hidden the treat. Every pastry box lay empty, save a few forlorn crumbs. The baked goods had been a rousing success, drawing patrons to her booth who wouldn’t have visited otherwise.

She calculated her earnings in the bookstore’s office and was pleased with the total. What would Agnes throw at her next? Whatever it was, she could handle it.

* * *

For Sunday, Dahlia restocked her booth with a fresh supply of pastries and books. The local history books had proven popular the day before, so she doubled her inventory of those. On the way to her booth, she passed Wendy’s booth. A boldly lettered sign proclaimed her as a purveyor of hand-restored furniture and custom upholstering services. Wendy smiled and waved at her as she walked by with her armload of boxes containing books and baked goods.

After she set up her booth, she returned to see Wendy. She ran her hands across a striking carved oak end table.

“You can’t afford it, remember?” Wendy teased her.

“Yeah, yeah.” Wendy had a point. “But I already bought the best piece.” She still loved how the green velvet sofa set the tone for the bookstore. Once her handyman installed the dark espresso bar over the next week, the store’s remodel would be near completion.

“Hey, my son is stopping by this morning,” Wendy said. “I’d like for you to meet him.”

“Sure, I’d love to. I didn’t realize you had a son here in town.” Although Wendy had mentioned having family in Candle Beach, she’d been uncharacteristically secretive about them. Dahlia sat down in one of the matching blue-and-white striped high-back chairs. “When’s he coming?”

“There he is now,” Wendy said. She pointed at a man picking his way through the piles of inventory strewn throughout the aisles as the vendors set up their booths.

“Garrett Callahan is your son?” Dahlia asked. They didn’t share a last name, so she’d never have put that together on her own. What were the odds?

“Yes, why?” Wendy cocked her head to the side. “Do you know him?”

“He comes into my store every week for more books.” Had Wendy been the mystery caller?

Wendy laughed. “Sounds like my son. He always was a reader. Oh, and he’s a writer, you know.” She put her hand up to shade the side of her mouth and lowered her voice. “Although, I can’t tell you what he writes, but let’s just say he’s passionate about his work and is wildly popular.” A proud mama smile lit up her face.

Garrett approached, wearing a noncommittal expression. “Hi, Dahlia. Wendy.” He nodded at them.

“I’ve just learned Wendy is your mother,” Dahlia said. “Did she tell you she’s living in the apartment over To Be Read?”

“No, she didn’t mention that last time I saw her, or say much about why she’s here,” Garrett said. “Wendy, are you staying in town for a while?”

“I’ve decided to stay at least a few months, maybe put down some roots. Dahlia’s been kind enough to rent me her apartment until the end of September.” Wendy eyed him. “Is that okay with you?”

“Of course.” His wooden speech contradicted his affirmation. “It’ll be nice to see you living in the same place for more than a week.”

Wendy smiled faintly at him, in a very un-Wendy-like way. Then she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. He stood straight, with his arms pressed to his sides.

“I’m so glad to see you again. You left so abruptly after our lunch on Monday,” Wendy said.

Garrett’s jaw clenched and irritation flickered in his eyes. “So what did you need me for today?”

Wendy didn’t seem to notice his attitude and motioned to the panel truck parked behind the booth. “I need help moving the last piece of furniture. I thought maybe you could help.”

“I can do that,” he said.

Wendy pulled car keys out of her pocket and walked toward the truck. Garrett turned to Dahlia. “Nice seeing you again.”

Dahlia looked at him. She’d never seen him so on edge. Usually he gave the impression of being at ease in all situations, but something about Wendy had him rattled. “Nice seeing you too,” she said with equal politeness. “Thank you again for your help with the bookstore. Maybe we could get together sometime this week to discuss some other ideas?”

“Yeah, sure.” His expression softened. “Give me a call and we’ll set something up.”

“Garrett?” Wendy called from the back of the truck. “I’m ready.”

“Coming,” he said, shaking his head.

Behind him, the other vendors had cleared their wares from the aisles and people were gathering around the market entrance. Nearby, the kettle corn vendor had started the giant rotating vat and the sound of popping corn echoed throughout the marketplace.

“I’d better head back to my booth. The market’s about to open,” Dahlia said. “I’ll call you soon.”

“I’d like that.” He smiled at her, then turned back toward his mother.

She watched as he made his way over to the truck. His muscles were tense as he strode through the grass and he held his head so stiffly she’d be surprised if he didn’t have a killer headache later.

From Wendy and Garrett’s interaction, she’d gleaned that they weren’t exactly close. She remembered him talking about his mother when he drove her home after her car broke down. He’d mentioned his mother’s flightiness and inability to stay in one place for very long. Wendy’s history fit his assessment, but she did seem to be trying to make amends for past wrongdoings.

Was Garrett painting her with the same brush as his mother? That would explain why he ran hot and cold around her. Dahlia wasn’t like Wendy and she didn’t know how to make that any more apparent to Garrett. However, she wasn’t about to change anything about herself to please someone else. She’d done that before and never would again.

* * *

A constant stream of customers kept Dahlia busy for the rest of the day. Maggie’s pastries had drawn so much business that she had to order more after lunchtime. Maggie had discounted the second batch of sweets in exchange for having a placard advertising the Bluebonnet Café affixed to the edge of the table.

Dahlia packed up the remaining merchandise and tore down her canopy tent. She fought to roll the canvas around the folded tent poles and stuffed them into the too-tight bag.

I did it, she thought, as she cinched the drawstring at the top of the bag. The unsold books fit into a single box and the second batch of pastries had almost sold out. She slung the tent bag over her shoulder and picked up the boxes.

As she left the market, she stopped at the animal shelter booth. “I thought you might like these.” She opened the pastry box to reveal a half dozen muffins and placed the box on the table.

“Thanks!” The female booth worker grabbed one as soon as Dahlia set down the box. “I saw people with these earlier and wondered where they were getting them from.”

“You’re welcome. Next week I’ll remember to bring you a few earlier in the day.”

The woman nodded enthusiastically. “We’d love that.” She offered the muffins to her male co-worker, who was stacking promotional materials in a box.

Dahlia lugged her cargo to her car and drove to the bookstore, exhausted but thrilled with another successful day. Participating in the market had been worth all the trouble she’d had getting signed up for the weekend.

She entered To Be Read through the back door and propped the tent bag against a wall in the storeroom. She walked into the main bookstore, where Gretchen was shelving a few books.

“I’m almost done,” Gretchen said as she placed the last book on the appropriate shelf.

“Thank you so much for volunteering to help me on summer market weekends,” Dahlia said. “I don’t know what I’d do without you and Maggie.”

“That’s what friends are for,” Gretchen said. She gave Dahlia a quick hug and stood back to regard her friend. “You look bushed. The store’s closed, but I made a fresh pot of coffee. Grab a cup and put your feet up. If you aren’t sick of Maggie’s baked goods yet, there’s a few left from this afternoon.”

“Coffee sounds amazing,” Dahlia said. She poured from the carafe into one of the mismatched mugs she’d bought from the thrift store and selected a cherry and cream cheese Danish. At this rate, she’d need to sign up for a gym membership soon. The only thing keeping the weight off was the amount of nervous energy she’d expended to make the bookstore successful.

“I think I’ll join you.” Gretchen grabbed a funky flowered mug and a donut, and plopped down on an armchair in the seating area. “The store was so busy, I barely had a chance to sit down all day. Whatever you’re doing to bring in business is working.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Dahlia said. “Whew.” She sat on the green sofa and put her feet up on the coffee table. “I feel like I’ve been running around like a hamster in a wheel.” She pointed at a tear in the sole of her sneakers. “Look, I’ve even got a hole in my shoe from all the running.”

Gretchen laughed. “Seriously though, I think this is going to work.”

“We’ll see. We had the tourist business over the weekend. I’ll have to run the numbers once we get a week of business on the books after the remodel. The espresso bar is going in this week, so the construction may put off some people, but I bet we’ll get some townspeople in to see what’s new in the store.”

“Yeah, this will be the biggest thing since the wine bar opened.”

“I hope so,” said Dahlia. “I’d love to show Agnes how wrong she was about me.” And Garrett too.

At the thought of Garrett, she scanned the room. “Is Wendy back yet?” She set her coffee cup down on the table.

“No, not yet, why?” Gretchen asked, leaning forward.

“I found something out today about her. Did you know she was Garrett’s mother?” She ran her hand through her hair.

“Garrett? Your Garrett?”

“He’s not my Garrett. We’re just friends.”

“Yeah, friends with benefits.” She wiggled her eyebrows at Dahlia, who retaliated by throwing a cushion at her. Gretchen laughed and threw her hands up in the air to ward off the cushion attack. “Okay, okay, you’re just friends. But you want to be more, right?”

“I don’t know. I think so. He kissed me once, last week, but every time I think something will come of it, we argue or something else happens and it never does.”

“Maybe I should start dropping hints to him. He came in here yesterday and seemed disappointed not to see you. I think he’d forgotten you’d be at the market.”

“Anyways…” Dahlia said. “Wendy is his mother. Small world, huh?”

“I’d never have guessed. She’s so bubbly and outgoing, and he’s so…” Gretchen’s voice trailed off. “Well, not a hermit, but definitely not an extrovert. But then again, he’s a writer and all.”

Dahlia smirked. She wanted to tell Gretchen about Garrett’s secret identity. But she’d promised him she wouldn’t tell anyone.

“Do you think it’s strange that Wendy never mentioned him before?”

“Eh, you’ve only known her for a week. It’s not like she forgot to mention she was a mass murderer or something.”

“You’re probably right,” Dahlia said. Time to change the subject and turn the tables on Gretchen. “You know, Adam was a big help in getting my application for the summer market approved.”

“Uh-huh,” Gretchen said. “He’s a nice guy. I’ve known him my whole life. Very dependable.”

“Dependable is good,” Dahlia said, watching her friend carefully.

“I guess.” Gretchen didn’t sound so sure.

“He asked about you.”

“He did? What did he say?” She seemed more interested now.

“Adam wanted to know what you were up to and asked me to put in a good word for him. Gretch, he really is a good guy.”

“I know, but he’s not very exciting. I feel like I went to college to get away from everything in this tiny town and then I failed to launch and had to come back to work for my parents. As much as I love real estate, this hadn’t exactly been my life plan.”

“I know how that goes,” Dahlia said. She threw her hands up in the air. “Who would have thought I’d be a bookstore owner?”

“Aunt Ruth,” Gretchen quipped. Dahlia threw the other cushion at her.

A noise in the back room drew both women’s attention.

“Hello?” Wendy called out.

“We’re in here,” Dahlia answered.

Wendy entered the room and Gretchen stood. “I’d better get home.”

Dahlia nodded at her and thanked her again for her help. She locked the front door after Gretchen exited.

Wendy flopped down on the couch. “It’s been a long day. Profitable though. I sold almost every piece. I’m going to need to hit up some garage sales and flea markets for some ‘before’ pieces.”

“I had a great sales day at the market too. And Gretchen said the bookstore was full of customers today.”

Wendy looked up at her. “Sorry about the awkwardness with my son.”

“Don’t worry about it. That seems to be a common feature of most of the interactions between Garrett and me.”

Wendy’s head jutted up and her keen gaze pierced into Dahlia. “How so?”

Dahlia squirmed under her scrutiny. “He seems to run hot and cold with me. One minute he wants to be friends, the next, he’s racing out the door.”

“I was afraid of that.” Wendy frowned. “He has a habit of not letting people get too close to him. It’s my fault. I wasn’t the greatest of mothers to him.”

“I’m sure you were fine,” Dahlia said. She was getting increasingly more uncomfortable talking about Garrett.

“No, I wasn’t there for him when he was a child. I was working on my business and thought I had to be moving around to all the flea markets and craft fairs to be successful. Not exactly a great way for a child to grow up.” Wendy’s usually cheery face had crumpled and tears shone in her eyes.

Dahlia walked over to her and patted her shoulder, unsure of the appropriate response.

“I can tell he has feelings for you though,” Wendy said, swiping her eyes with a facial tissue.

“For me? Why would you say that?”

“I may not have been the mother of the year, but I can tell when my son is interested in a girl.”

Dahlia stared at her. This conversation was growing stranger by the minute.

“You two must be pretty close if he’s trying to push you away,” Wendy said.

“I don’t know about that.”

“Time will tell.” Wendy stood, yawned, and stretched her arms high over her head. “I think I’m going to head upstairs. This weekend has worn me out.”

Dahlia said goodnight to her and sat down on the sofa, pulling her legs up underneath her. What was going on with Garrett? His mother, who barely knew him, seemed to think he was interested in her, so why were things so difficult between them? She leaned back against the sofa’s curved arm, closed her eyes, and relaxed her shoulder muscles. She’d had a long day too. Enough thinking about Garrett.

The weekend at the market replayed in her mind. Although physically draining, she’d never experienced such a thrill as she’d received by selling books to customers and, most of all, outwitting Agnes.

She opened her eyes and looked at the bookstore anew. This could actually work. The local handyman had fit her into his schedule and had already refinished the floors. The dark wood planks shone with love and polish, and she’d finished painting the rest of the walls. Her espresso bar would be installed during the week and the remodel would be complete. Aunt Ruth would be proud.

Contented, she closed her eyes again and fell asleep on the warm velvety sofa.