A mile before Candle Beach, the highway veered inland, tracing the far side of Bluebonnet Lake before edging back to the coast. Dahlia found herself caught up in the beauty of the lake and almost missed the turnoff. Her stomach churned as she drove the short distance from the highway to town. How had Candle Beach fared in the last decade? Had it been caught in the economic decline? If so, had she been foolish to pass up the only opportunity she might have to sell the bookstore?

In a few minutes, the speed limit decreased to 25 mph and she was driving on Main Street. It was as though she’d traveled back in time. Nothing had changed. The sandwich board outside the candy shop still offered a daily sweet treat, and the green-and-white striped awning over the café’s sidewalk seating was the same as she remembered. Fuchsias and impatiens cascaded out of flower baskets hung from lampposts, and a wooden bench outside the bus station offered a spot for weary travelers to rest before the next leg of their journey.

Upon closer examination, a few things in town were different. The grocery store a block off Main Street had been remodeled, doubling its size. She spotted a new gas station hidden away behind it. Evidently, Candle Beach had prospered in the last decade, even with a bad economy. Maybe there was hope yet to sell the bookstore after a year—if she chose to do so.

She slowed the car and then stopped to let an elderly man cross the street to the café on the corner. In the park in the center of town, small children sat on the swings licking ice cream cones, while their moms chatted with each other on a nearby bench. Through the car’s open window, the aroma of freshly baked cookies wafted out of a storefront, reminding her she’d have to stop in and visit her old friend, Maggie, who’d recently purchased the Bluebonnet Café. A few cars waited at the four-way stop on Ocean Avenue, patiently waiting for their turn. It was a welcome change from the bumper-to-bumper traffic back home.

She continued driving down Main Street, stopping in front of an early 1900s era standalone brick building with a red awning shading the sidewalk in front of it. Gold lettering on the glass front window provided the name of the business—To Be Read. The facade of Aunt Ruth’s bookstore was exactly as she remembered.

She found a parking spot between an aging minivan and a newer model VW Bug. She lingered in front of To Be Read’s front door for a long moment before reaching for the door handle. Her hand wrapped around the round brass knob and her fingers tingled with the memory of turning it hundreds of times before.

The door handle turned with a squeak and a bell over the door announced her presence in the store. A woman in her fifties sat behind the desk. A bulky green cotton knit sweater did little to disguise her pleasantly plump figure. Gold rings covered her fingers, including a particularly large diamond ring on her left hand. Rimmed reading glasses perched on her nose. The woman looked up from the mystery she’d been engrossed in and smiled at Dahlia.

“Hello, I’m Marsha. Can I help you find anything?”

“Hi, I’m Dahlia, Ruth’s great-niece. The property manager, Gretchen, said you’d be expecting me?” She walked closer to the desk.

“Oh yes, of course.” Marsha removed her reading glasses and let them hang on the chain around her neck. After placing a bookmark in the novel she’d been reading, she got up from her seat and came around to the same side of the counter as Dahlia. “It’s nice to meet you. Your great-aunt was a dear friend of mine.” She held out her hand in introduction.

Marsha didn’t appear to feel as much malice toward her as Aunt Ruth’s friend Agnes. Her handshake was warm and her smile genuine.

After shaking Marsha’s hand, Dahlia swiveled around and took a longer assessment of the store. While at first glance it appeared the same as she remembered, the years had taken a toll on the store. The heavy red velvet curtains around the bay window had a year’s worth of dust on them and the brocade-covered chairs scattered around the room had frayed seats and could use a coat of furniture polish. In the high traffic areas, the hardwood floors had lost their shine. Maintaining the store’s appearance hadn’t been high on Aunt Ruth’s priority list in recent years, and rightly so.

“So what do you think?” Marsha asked. “Is it the same as it used to be?”

“It’s beautiful,” Dahlia said truthfully. She pressed her torso against the back of a wingback chair, her fingers wrapping around the carved wooden trim at the top. In between the chair and its matching mate sat a glass end table, the scene of many impromptu tea parties with Aunt Ruth. She half expected to see Aunt Ruth come out of the back room to greet her with a steaming cup of Darjeeling tea and a plate of Danish shortbread cookies. Without warning, tears welled in her eyes. Marsha reached out, drawing her into an embrace.

“We miss her so much too,” she said, patting Dahlia’s back.

She murmured a thank you to Marsha while squished against her pillowy bosom. After a moment, Dahlia pulled away from the hug and strode over to a stack of books, running her hands over the covers. “I didn’t realize how much I had missed this place. I wish I’d come back sooner.”

Marsha nodded solemnly. “Well, you’re here now. Ruth would be so happy to see you here. She used to talk about you all the time, you know. We all heard about your adventures in the big city.” In a quieter, more confidential tone, she leaned forward and said, “I’m so sorry to hear about your divorce, but it sounds like you’re better off.” She pulled her close in another squishy hug.

Dahlia had, of course, told Aunt Ruth about the divorce in their weekly phone calls, but she’d never divulged many of the gory details. She’d tried to keep the tone light for Aunt Ruth, knowing she was going through so much with her illness. Had her mother told Aunt Ruth and her friends about the particulars of her divorce?

Marsha released her. “The other Ladies of Candle Beach and I are so glad you’ve returned to town to run To Be Read.” She beamed and reached for her purse under the counter. “The book on the desk in Ruth’s office should explain everything you’ll need to know. Please don’t be afraid to call me if you have any questions.” She secured the purse strap around her shoulder, picked her mystery novel up off the counter and walked out of the bookstore before Dahlia had a chance to react.

“Marsha?” Dahlia called out, but the door shut on her words and the older woman was gone. What had just happened? Did she just walk out on the job? Didn’t she work for Aunt Ruth? Marsha said Dahlia could ask her for help, but she had no idea what her phone number was, or even her last name to track her down. And what was this book she’d talked about?

She shook her head and walked back to the small office that was walled off from the rest of the storeroom. Outside of the office, shipping boxes were stacked in tall piles, ready to be opened. Overstock books lined rough-hewn wooden shelves on every free wall. In contrast, inside the tiny office, everything was in its place and the room was free of clutter.

She paused on the threshold of the office. It felt strange to intrude on her aunt’s private sanctum. Aunt Ruth had spent hours every day sitting in the feminine desk chair at the antique secretary desk pushed along the back wall. On a three-level corner bookshelf, her aunt’s prized collection of Russian dolls perched on dusty shelves. She flashed back to all the times she’d sat on a rug in the corner of the room, playing with some of the heartier dolls while Aunt Ruth tallied up the day’s receipts.

The writing surface of the secretary desk lay open; its numerous slots filled with documents, calculator tape, and mail. A printing calculator filled the back corner of the desk. There was no computer in sight. On the writing surface lay a navy leather-bound notebook. She picked up the notebook and turned to the first page.

Aunt Ruth’s neat handwriting filled every page, prompting more tears at the familiar sight. The notebook provided a detailed account of what she’d need to know to run the store, from how to operate the old-fashioned cash register, to the inventory and order management system. She’d thought of everything. Dahlia closed the book, resting her hand on its cover.

Next to the notebook was a work schedule, written in the same tight handwriting she had seen on Agnes’s notepad in the law office. It appeared Aunt Ruth’s friends had arranged to cover all the open hours of the bookstore between them. Based on what Marsha had said, they expected Dahlia to run the store from here on out.

She had assumed Aunt Ruth had hired a salesperson to operate the bookstore when she became too sick to work, and that the salesperson had stayed on after her death. Apparently that wasn’t the case. If there wasn’t a salesperson, there wasn’t anyone to manage the bookstore after she returned to her home in Seattle.

She sat heavily in Aunt Ruth’s dainty desk chair. The chair had fit her petite great-aunt perfectly, but it cut uncomfortably into Dahlia’s long legs. She had a sneaking suspicion that much like the chair, being a bookstore owner wasn’t a great fit for her either. Maybe Agnes had been right and she should cut her losses and sell the store as soon as possible. She shook her head. Giving in to Agnes wasn’t an option.

What was she going to do? She hadn’t expected for there not to be reliable help already in place. Judging from Agnes’s attitude about her ownership of and ability to run the bookstore, she couldn’t expect much help from Ruth’s friends, even though Marsha had acted friendly.

Was a weekend in Candle Beach long enough to hire a manager for the bookstore? She didn’t know what the chances were of hiring help, but to keep the bookstore running, she needed someone responsible enough to manage the place in her absence.

* * *

It was near dinner time and there had only been a few customers, so Dahlia decided to close the store an hour early to take her luggage over to Aunt Ruth’s house. The lack of customers concerned her. If this was a normal day’s business volume, there was no way the bookstore would be profitable in a year.

After consulting the blue leather operations manual, she shut down the cash register and made sure the back door was locked. Lastly, she locked up the front door with the key hanging on a hook next to the desk and walked over to the property management company located on the next block. She hoped her old friend Gretchen was still at work, as her impromptu shift at the bookstore had made her later than she’d planned. Candle Beach Real Estate had the key for Aunt Ruth’s house, so she crossed her fingers that even if Gretchen wasn’t around, someone would be available to give her the key.

An employee had propped the door open to allow the spring air to enter. The fresh air in the bright, clean office space made her realize how musty the bookstore smelled. She knocked on the open door.

A woman with shoulder-length auburn hair looked up from her desk and waved. She clicked the computer mouse a few times in rapid succession and stood up from her desk.

“Dahlia, it’s great to see you again.” Gretchen Roberts hugged her and guided her over to the chair opposite the desk, before sitting down in her own desk chair. “Come, sit down. How are things going with you? I was so sorry to hear of Ruth’s passing, although I must say I’m glad it brought you back to town.”

Gretchen had been one of her closest friends during her summers in Candle Beach. They had shared secrets during many a giggle-filled sleepover and attended a few parties together as teenagers. The longer she stayed in Candle Beach, the more memories flooded back. She’d had many good summers here—why hadn’t she made more of an effort to return once she started college?

“It’s nice to see you too.” She slumped down in the chair, suddenly exhausted from an emotional return and four hours of driving. “It’s been a long day.”

“I can see that.” Gretchen raised her eyebrows as she took in her old friend’s wearied state. “What would you say to dinner at the Bluebonnet Café?”

Dahlia sat up straighter. “That sounds wonderful. I’d planned to go to Aunt Ruth’s house before eating, but I think dinner first sounds like a better plan.” Her stomach rumbled in agreement and Gretchen laughed.

“Let me grab the key to Ruth’s house and we’ll head over to the café.” She walked over to a peg board full of labeled key rings and grabbed one of the sets of keys. “Okay, we’re good to go.” She picked up her purse and windbreaker, and they left the office together.

* * *

Dahlia started to relax soon after the teenage waitress seated them at a table in the middle of the Bluebonnet Café’s back room. In the front room, two domed bakery cases offered a surprisingly large array of pies for the evening crowd. From what she’d heard, they served excellent pastries, donuts and coffee cakes in the morning. Maggie, the café owner and an old friend of hers, had created a welcoming dining room for any meal of the day, with comfortable chairs and glass-topped tables. Under each glass top, inspirational quotes and thought-provoking questions provided conversation starters for customers while they waited for their food, or perhaps endured a dull blind date. In fact, the eating area may have been too welcoming.

As she turned away from Gretchen to view the rest of the dining room behind her, she saw Agnes, Marsha, and about four of the other Ladies of Candle Beach sitting around an oblong table in a side nook. Agnes saw Dahlia and nodded in her direction. She considered pretending she hadn’t seen Agnes, but gave in and returned the nod, before turning back to Gretchen.

Gretchen had placed her menu on the table and was sipping a steaming mug of coffee that the waitress had deposited on the table as soon as they sat down. “Do you know what you want to eat?” she asked. “I’m not sure why I even looked at the menu; I always get the same thing for dinner.”

Dahlia hadn’t finished reading the menu, so she randomly pointed at something on the left side of the page. “Eggs Benedict sounds good.” Breakfast food was comfort food, morning or night.

Gretchen flagged down the waitress and they placed their orders. The waitress scribbled their requests on her notepad and jetted away to the kitchen.

“Maggie’s done well for herself.” Dahlia motioned around the café. “I remember when this was Gus’s Greasy Spoon.”

“She’s put a ton of hard work into the business. After her husband Brian died suddenly a few years ago and left her with a new baby, she moved back to town to have support from her family. She started out as a waitress here and used her husband’s life insurance money to buy the place from Gus when he retired. I don’t think she’s slowed down or taken any time off in the last three years.” Gretchen stirred more sugar into her coffee. “Speaking of not slowing down, how’s your mom doing? I saw her around town a few times in the last few years and I wanted to send a sympathy card when Ruth died, but I didn’t have her mailing address.”

“She’s good,” Dahlia said. “Busy and in demand at work as always. Sometimes I feel like she has an endless supply of energy. When I get back home I’ll let her know you asked about her.”

“Wait, what do you mean, when you get back home?” Gretchen set her coffee cup on the table. “I thought you were staying to run the bookstore. Isn’t that why you wanted the key to Ruth’s house?”

“No, I’m only visiting for the weekend. I’m going to stay in Aunt Ruth’s house while I’m here.”

Gretchen’s eyebrows arched. “So what are you going to do about the bookstore?”

“I’m going to hire someone to manage the day-to-day operations. The terms of the will state I have to hold onto it for twelve months, at the end of which it must be profitable. I don’t physically need to be in Candle Beach that whole time. Of course, I’ll be here from time to time. I’m excited about taking some time off to get back into painting and I’d love to paint some seascapes.” Dahlia could almost feel Agnes’s eyes bore into her back.

“Who are you going to have manage the bookstore?” Gretchen asked. “With summer coming, everyone has hired their summer help already.”

Dahlia’s heart sank as she focused on what her friend had said. “If no one in town is available, do you think I can get someone from the local area?”

“It’s the same everywhere. We get most of our tourist dollars in the summer, so we prepare early for the onslaught of vacationers.” Gretchen’s eyes were wide and her lips turned downward in apology. “I’m sorry Dahlia, I think you’ll have a hard time finding someone trustworthy to work full-time at the bookstore on such short notice.”

For the second time that day, her hopes were dashed. The waitress delivered their food—eggs Benedict with extra sourdough toast for her, and a French dip for Gretchen. The food smelled delicious and the portions were plentiful. She ate a forkful of egg and English muffin, the hollandaise sauce exploding with flavor in her mouth. She’d just mopped up some liquefied egg with the toast and stuffed it in her mouth when a man walked into the café and stood waiting at the front counter. He turned to survey the dining room and she froze. It was the man she’d seen earlier in the day at the overlook. Before he saw her, he caught the attention of the teenage waitress who’d seated them. After a brief conversation with the man, the waitress disappeared into the kitchen.

Dahlia rapidly swallowed her mouthful of food and swiped at her face with the cloth napkin. “Gretchen,” she hissed under her breath, hiding her face behind the napkin. “Do you know who that man is?” She nodded her chin in his direction.

Gretchen rotated in her seat to look toward the front counter. Then she turned back to Dahlia and said, “Oh, that’s Garrett Callahan. He moved to town a few months ago. In fact, he’s renting the cottage just down the road from Ruth’s house. Rumor is he’s a writer.”

After the embarrassment of her first encounter with Garrett, Dahlia had hoped he was a stranger she’d never run into again. Now, it seemed they were neighbors. The way things were going in Candle Beach, she really shouldn’t be too surprised. Her cheeks flushed as she remembered how he had returned her eager greeting with a vacant smile.

Gretchen stared at her, an odd expression on her face. “Do you know Garrett?”

“On the way to Candle Beach I saw him taking pictures at the overlook. That’s all,” Dahlia said. She put a large enough forkful of food in her mouth to make further discussion impossible and cast a furtive glance over to the front counter. Garrett had received his to-go order in a white bag and was exiting through the door.

“Are you sure that’s all it is?” Gretchen asked. “You seem awfully interested in him. Not that I blame you.” She craned her head around to catch a glimpse of him as he passed by the café’s picture window.

“When I saw him earlier, I thought he was a tourist. I didn’t realize he lived here, that’s all,” Dahlia said. Gretchen nodded once with a disbelieving gleam in her eyes, but dropped the subject.

“Do you know where I should start to find a suitable manager for To Be Read?” Dahlia asked.

The waitress dropped off their checks and they pulled out their credit cards to pay the tabs.

“Your best bet is to ask the Ladies over there,” Gretchen said, pointing to Agnes and her cronies. “They know everything going on in town.”

“Probably not the best idea in this case. I’m not high on their list to receive a favor.” Dahlia explained to Gretchen about Agnes’s disdain for her, and her role in the terms of the bequest.

“Okay, well, the next best thing to do is to check at the newspaper office. Adam, the newspaper owner, has a finger on the pulse of things here. He may know if someone is looking for work.”

With the checks paid, they put their credit cards back in their wallets and stood to leave.

“Are you ready to go to Ruth’s house?” Gretchen put on her windbreaker to guard against the evening chill.

“Yes.” Dahlia rubbed her arms and wished she knew where one of the many sweatshirts she’d packed was, but with the car so crammed with everything, it could take a while to find it. She looked at her watch. “But you don’t have to come with me. If you give me the key, I can let myself in. I know it’s getting late.”

“No problem.” Gretchen handed her the keys. “I don’t mind. It’s not like I have someone to go home to. I’ll stop at my house to feed my dog and then head over. There are a few things I wanted to go over with you there.”

Aunt Ruth’s house was only a few blocks away from the café and Gretchen’s place, so Gretchen walked home while Dahlia drove alone in her car. Her passenger seat was too full for a passenger and she wanted to unload her luggage at the house.

It was only six thirty, but she was feeling the effects of the long day and planned to crash early that night. She didn’t know what Gretchen wanted to tell her at the house, but she planned on asking her what needed to be done prior to listing it for sale.