Garrett stared up at the wedding venue through his windshield. A boat? Lisa was getting married on a barge on Lake Union. For some reason that didn’t surprise him.

He exited his car and walked slowly across the parking lot. The white barge was docked next to a boathouse, where he assumed the reception would be held. The salty breeze off of the lake tickled his nose, reminding him of Candle Beach. He had to admit the location was beautiful.

He took a deep breath and entered the boathouse. Wedding guests milled around the reception area, waiting for the ceremony to begin. He caught sight of a few of his and Lisa’s mutual friends and waved. They waved back but continued their conversations.

“Sir?” a woman behind a table asked. “Would you like to sign the guestbook?” She motioned to the open book in front of her.

“Uh, sure.” His collar suddenly seemed too tight. What was he going to write to his ex-fiancée on her wedding day? Had he made a mistake in coming?

He gripped the pen and stared up at the ceiling. Finally, he settled for a generic ‘Congratulations’ and signed his name. Not a great example of his writing skills, but the best he could do under the circumstances.

An usher signaled that they were now seating guests. He followed the crowd out onto the barge and took a seat in a wooden chair on the bride’s side of the aisle. Around him, everyone else chattered in excited voices. He tried to appear happy, but his stomach tightened as they drew closer to the moment of his former love marrying someone else.

Music filled the air and the bridal party walked down the aisle. Lisa’s fiancé stood at one end of the barge, along with the officiant. Finally, the crowd stood as Lisa crossed onto the barge. His heart beat faster as she neared her groom. He watched as the wedding couple stared into each other’s eyes as they recited their vows and kissed. Then they walked down the aisle as husband and wife. He’d thought seeing Lisa get married would hurt, but he felt nothing. Nothing at all. Well, maybe relief that the moment was over and he could move on with his life. Definitely no regrets about not marrying Lisa.

He allowed himself to be carried along with the rest of the crowd into the boathouse. The wedding party had formed a reception line, but he decided to keep a lower profile. He’d gotten what he came for—a sense of closure that this part of his life was over. He had a new future waiting for him in Candle Beach—one that he hoped involved Dahlia. That is, if he hadn’t royally screwed that up.

The catering staff had set up a light lunch buffet and he filled a plate, sitting down alone at a table. He didn’t feel like mingling with any of the other guests. The drive back to Candle Beach was long and he planned to leave before the wedding festivities like dancing and cake cutting began. Should he say something to Lisa before he left? He glanced over to where the receiving line had been, but it had disbanded. He finished his sandwich and pasta salad and pushed back from the table.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to see Lisa standing in front of him in her wedding finery. She looked beautiful. He stood to greet her.

“Garrett!” She bent forward in her giant dress and wrapped her arms around him. He folded his arms around her instinctively. It felt familiar, but was like hugging a family member.

She released him and tilted her head back. “I’m so glad you came. It’s been a while.”

“It has,” he admitted. “You look gorgeous.”

She smiled. “Thank you. Have you met my husband, Daryl, yet? He’s around here somewhere.” She scanned the room to look for him.

“No, I haven’t. But I’m so happy for you. I can tell you’re perfect for each other.” He smiled, both at her and in realization that he meant it. Lisa was happy and he could move on.

“Well,” he said. “I’d better go. Not sure if you heard, but I’ve moved to a small town on the coast. It’s a long drive home.”

“I had heard that. Candle Beach, right? That’s a beautiful area.”

“Yes,” he said. “Next time you’re in the area, give me a call. I’d love to show you and Daryl around.”

“We will.” She hugged him. “Nice seeing you again.” She turned and walked away. He watched her stop at groups of guests, beaming as she accepted their congratulations. Then he walked out to his car and started for home, knowing that he’d made the right decision to attend her wedding.

* * *

With her business shut down by the health department until she could obtain a permit on Monday, Dahlia decided to use her downtime to find ways to make her mark on To Be Read. The first stop on the agenda was the Book Warehouse in Haven Shores. The large bookstore had opened in June, but she hadn’t made time to visit it yet. In all honesty, spending what little off time she had at another bookstore didn’t appeal to her. But in the name of research, she was finally going to see it. She hoofed it home to change her clothes and take a shower before setting out for Haven Shores.

The orange ‘check engine’ light blinked on when she started her car’s engine, and then flashed off. Annoyance pulled her brows into a frown, but before she could voice the curse that had formed on her tongue, it flashed off again. She debated putting off the trip to Haven Shores, but decided to not use it as an excuse to avoid her tasks for the day. She drove slowly through the fog that hung over the town. A gray mist shrouded the buildings and anyone who dared walk around in the pea soup. The weather forecast called for afternoon rain, but she hoped it would hold off until she had safely returned to Candle Beach.

Thirty minutes later, she pulled into a parking space at the side of the Book Warehouse. The parking lot stretched out behind the store for at least the length of two football fields. In front of her car, a shelving unit inside a wall of windows featured current mystery novels. Interspersed among the mysteries were artifacts straight out of a Sherlock Holmes illustration, like his famed deerstalker hat and cape. This was exactly the type of display she planned to create in To Be Read’s front bay window. Turning away from the display, she rounded the corner and noticed people milling around by the front doors. She had expected the store to be open, but their sign noted they wouldn’t open for another half hour. What was she going to do until then?

She turned away from the front door to check out her options. The shared parking lot of the Book Warehouse boasted a closed teriyaki shop, a shoe store, and a video games store—nothing that appealed to her. Across the street, the bright neon sign of an espresso stand beckoned. After her long night painting and cleaning, a cup of coffee sounded fantastic. She crossed over to the espresso stand and approached the walk-up window. No one appeared to take her order.

“Hello?” she called out.

A teenage girl poked her head out the window. The pink extensions in her platinum blond hair hung over the windowsill. “Oh hi!” she said, with the brightness of someone who’d been imbibing their own wares. “I didn’t see you there. We mainly get cars coming through the drive-thru.”

“No problem,” Dahlia said, as she perused the menu. Concoctions like the Haven Shores Spiced Mocha (with a dash of hot cayenne pepper) would normally appeal to her, but a few hangover effects persisted and she decided on a plainer beverage.

“What can I get you?”

“A triple shot non-fat latte sounds good.”

The barista told her the total and she paid cash, leaving a dollar tip in the glass jar on the ledge. She’d done her share of food service as a teenager and she always appreciated it when customers tipped her. The girl smiled and shouted, “Thanks” over her shoulder as she jumped over to the drive-thru side to help a customer who had just rolled up.

Dahlia sipped her drink, relishing the warmth that emanated from the cup. Rain drizzled down from the gray sky, and she covered her head with her purple raincoat’s hood to keep her hair from getting frizzy. She walked down the sidewalk, aiming for the covered overhang in front of the distinctive S shape of what used to be a Safeway grocery store.

As she drew closer to the building, she realized it was now an antique store and flea market. Rain leaked through the seams of the metal roof protruding from the building. She pulled on the door’s bar handles but they remained tightly closed. She peered through the window and saw displays of fine china, collectibles and furniture. An emerald-green, velvet-covered sofa caught her eye and she hoped the store would be open later in the day. A quick glance at her watch showed the bookstore would open in a few minutes, so she crossed the street to join the expanding crowd at the front door.

At ten o’clock sharp, a Book Warehouse employee unlocked the heavy double doors and stepped aside to allow the crowd to enter. Dahlia hadn’t seen that much interest in a store since she went shopping with her mom on Black Friday the year before.

With more trepidation than she expected, she followed the mob into the store. High ceilings and bright lights told her she wasn’t in Candle Beach anymore. Shelves of books and reading paraphernalia covered every available inch of space. Uncomfortable, yet stylish, aluminum and vinyl chairs stood next to small tables, discouraging customers from staying too long. Early birds had already claimed the overstuffed armchairs crowded into a few nooks on one side of the store.

She stopped at the cash registers first to ask a question. A man in his twenties stood behind the register. Large discs hung in his ears, dragging his ear lobes down towards his shoulders.

“Can I help you?” He managed to ask his question without looking up from the open comic book on the counter.

“I was hoping you could tell me where I might find the kids’ books.” She smiled at him in what she hoped was a winning manner.

“Against the back wall.” He still didn’t turn his attention from the book.

“Do you know if you have anything by local children’s book authors?”

“No. I don’t know.” He sighed. “Ma’am, if you have questions, you need to go to the information desk. We can’t look that type of thing up here.”

“Okay, where is that?” Dahlia scanned what she could see of the store, but the high bookshelves obscured her view of the information desk.

He sighed again loudly, finally looking up, but not meeting her eyes.

“Past the self-help section, in the middle of the store.” He gestured to the far side of the warehouse. “You can’t miss it,” he said, returning his gaze to the comic.

She left the front of the store and attempted to follow the man’s instructions. There were too many people in the store to see the signs well and she soon gave up hope of finding the information desk.

The aroma of freshly ground coffee traveled throughout the store, luring shoppers into the corner café. She allowed herself to be snared in its net. The coffee from the espresso stand had woken her up, but she needed more caffeine to sustain her for the day’s adventures. Her stomach grumbled and she selected a bacon and egg English muffin breakfast sandwich to eat from the pastry case. She sat down at one of the two-seater wrought iron café tables and nibbled her food while checking out the store. Even this early on a Saturday morning, business was booming.

From this viewpoint, she could see the fabled information desk. She watched as people used the self-service kiosks. Other customers lined up to ask for help from the single customer service associate behind the information desk’s counter. None of the users appeared to be enjoying the experience.

She took out her pad of paper and started making notes. To Be Read didn’t have a large in-stock capacity, but what they did have was a dedicated customer service associate, namely her. If she was going to beat the Book Warehouse, she needed to step up the personal aspect of the business.

Shoppers were gathered around one of the tables near the information desk, but she couldn’t quite see what it contained. She finished her breakfast sandwich, crumpled the wrapper and tossed it in the trash. Sipping her latte, she made her way over to the crowd. The table held books by a popular local author and a sign on the table noted that the author would make an appearance at the Book Warehouse later in the day. Would author signings work at To Be Read? Could she get authors to come all the way to Candle Beach? She made a note on her notepad and moved on.

Colorful walls and an oversized mural of Curious George led her to the children’s section of the store. The immensity of the space dedicated to children’s books surprised her. She supposed it shouldn’t have shocked her, as books for kids sold well at her store too. Parents needed something to keep their children occupied on rainy days when they couldn’t go down to play on the beach.

A table centered between two statues of characters from Dr. Seuss books caught her attention. Typed signs proclaimed this to be the ‘Local Authors’ table, and different age ranges and genres of children’s books were represented. She made a note of the authors, vowing to replicate the display in her own store. Tourists went crazy over anything ‘local’, and supporting local authors was a nice bonus.

The bright ceiling lights and the outside glare coming through the skylights hurt her eyes. She decided to end her reconnaissance mission and head for the exit. At the checkout, long lines wound around waist-high posts. A man carrying a cane shifted his weight from side to side, and a woman with two small boys struggled to keep them under control. The clerks behind the cash registers called out, “Next” in bored voices and the lines moved forward by a few inches. The twenty-something cashier who’d ‘helped’ her earlier had put his comic aside and was conversing with an elderly woman, a pained expression on his face.

Dahlia guzzled the remains of her drink, feeling the caffeine surge throughout her body. Tossing the cup in a garbage can next to the security detectors surrounding the double doors, she exited out into the parking lot. Almost every parking space was now occupied, and several cars circled around the entrance hoping for a closer spot. While she could see why people were attracted to the huge selection of books at the Book Warehouse, her small-town bookstore had two important factors that could keep the tourist dollars in Candle Beach: personal attention and a warm atmosphere.

As the doors closed behind her, she grew excited about the possibilities for To Be Read. Even in summer, sunshine wasn’t a guarantee at the coast. If she could make space to expand the children’s section, she hoped to draw in more parents searching for something to hold their kids’ interest when it rained. While their children checked out the kids’ books and perhaps played with some toys, parents could grab a cup of coffee and relax into a comfy chair. She hoped that the longer people spent in the store, the more books they’d buy. But first, she needed to create the intended atmosphere.

New paint, a coffee bar and furnishings would be the first step to making that happen. Across the street, the antique store’s ‘Open’ sign was lit up, and she decided to check out the store’s offerings. With any luck, the green sofa would be on sale and she could pick up a few new pieces of furniture without having to dip into Aunt Ruth’s savings account. Traffic had picked up in downtown Haven Shores, so she left her car in the Book Warehouse’s parking lot and picked her way around puddles and potholes to get over to the antique store.

* * *

Unlike the sense of dread Dahlia had experienced when she entered her competition’s bookstore, exhilaration and expectation rushed through her as she paused in the doorway of the antique store. As a teenager, she’d haunted thrift and antique stores for the perfect retro dresses for school dances. As she grew older, she had continued shopping for her clothes at such establishments and discovered a love for collectible salt and pepper shakers.

The antique store owners had divided the sizable grocery store building into hundreds of individual compartments in differing dimensions. On one side of the store crafted items reigned, and the other side offered antiques. She made her way past a display of old football memorabilia to the green sofa she’d spotted earlier through the closed glass doors.

It was even more beautiful in person. The crushed emerald-green velvet upholstery dazzled in the sunlight. The tufted back highlighted the sheen of the fabric and the rolled arms provided a sense of fashion that modern furniture lacked. Curved dark wooden feet completed the art deco feel.

“Do you like it?” a woman asked. Hope and pride tinged her voice.

Dahlia turned to see who’d spoken to her. The woman appeared to be in her fifties, but had a carefree air about her. The beginnings of laugh lines had formed on her makeup-free face and a curtain of wavy red hair in a shade not found in nature hung halfway down her back. The woman smiled, and Dahlia felt as though she’d known her for her entire life.

“Yes, it’s beautiful.” The sofa perfectly represented her own personal style. She ran her hand over the upholstery, marveling at the soft, rich texture. Then she noticed the price scrawled on a white tag hanging from the left arm of the couch. Her heart sank. Buying the beautifully restored antique couch would cost half of her remodeling budget, and she still needed to refinish the hardwood floors, set up an espresso counter and buy another armchair.

“I recovered it and stained the wood myself,” the woman said. “It’s one of my best pieces, if I do say so myself.” She held out her hand. “I’m Wendy Danville.”

Dahlia shook her outstretched hand. “I’m Dahlia, nice to meet you.” She stroked the velvety sofa again. “I would love to buy this, but it’s out of my price range.”

Wendy waved her hand over the sales area and the light glinted off of the half dozen rings she wore. “These are all my creations. Maybe something else would work better for you? What are you looking for?”

“I recently inherited a bookstore up the coast in Candle Beach and I’m doing some redecorating.” She gazed wistfully at the green velvet sofa. “This was exactly what I had in mind, but I’m open to other options.”

“Ah, Candle Beach,” Wendy said. “A beautiful area. I’ve got family up there.”

“Oh, are you from this area?”

“No, I’m from here and there. I like to rent a workspace for a while and work on a few projects. After they sell, I’m off to the next place.”

“That must be exciting, getting to see new places all the time.” Wanderlust slammed into her, followed rapidly by acid churning in her gut. She’d thought she’d repressed the urge to travel, but now it reared up, ready to lead her on a merry chase. Doubt spun around her. Was she ready to settle down in Candle Beach, even temporarily?

“It is wonderful,” Wendy said. “Well, most of the time. Sometimes it can be lonely. But if things aren’t so rosy after a while in one place, I can move on to greener pastures. I don’t like to stay in one place for too long.”

Dahlia said nothing.

“Are you alright?” Wendy asked.

“I’m fine. As a kid, I dreamed of living somewhere else. I always thought when I grew up I’d be free to do what I wanted.”

“What is it that you want?” Wendy asked. “You’re young; you should go for your dreams.”

“That’s just it,” Dahlia said. “I don’t know what my dreams are now. My great-aunt left me her bookstore, and it was her life’s passion, but I don’t know if it’s mine.”

Wendy regarded her with eyes full of years of wisdom. “Keep an open mind and you’ll find your path.”

Dahlia’s breath caught. Her mother had said the same thing when she had wondered whether to sell the store.

“Enough of that,” Wendy said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” She motioned to another piece of furniture in her space, a formal ruby-red brocade sofa with a matching high-back chair. “This set is stylish and would be a fabulous addition to your bookstore. What do you think?”

She stared at the red sofa, but barely saw it. The red set was beautiful, but she couldn’t get the green out of her mind. She could see people sitting on it, relaxing with a cup of coffee. It was exactly what she wanted for the store. The trust Aunt Ruth had set up for Dahlia’s living expenses provided enough for her basic needs and some wants. It would be tight, but she might be able to use some of those funds to pay for this sofa.

Wendy caught her hesitation.

“Tell you what. I’ll sell you the green sofa for the price of the red set. I’ll even deliver it to Candle Beach. How does that sound?”

“It sounds great, but why would you sell it for less?” It wasn’t the shrewdest business question, but it popped out of her mouth before she could wrangle it back in.

“Like I said, I have family up there and I think it may be time for a visit. And I like you. I think your bookstore is going to be a success and I can’t wait to see it when you finish the renovations.”

“Okay, then. Thank you so much.” Dahlia wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Can you deliver it by Monday?”

“Sure,” Wendy said. “I’m thinking about moving on up there this week anyways. My space lease is up in a few days and I’m considering selling at the summer market in Candle Beach for the rest of the summer. A few of my customers have mentioned it. Do you know anything about it?”

“Your furniture would sell well,” Dahlia said. “There’s a ton of tourists there who own summer homes and they’re always looking for new furnishings for their houses.”

“What about lodging? Is there a cheap motel with rooms to rent?” Wendy asked. “I suppose I could stay here in Haven Shores, but I’d love to get out of the fleabag motel I’ve been staying at.”

An idea formed in Dahlia’s head. “I have the perfect place!”

“Really? What is it?” Wendy cocked her head to the side.

“There’s a one-bedroom apartment over the bookstore. The kitchen and bathroom are small, but the bedroom is a nice size. It hasn’t been used in years, but it’s perfectly livable. I cleaned the whole place last night. There’s even space in the back room of the bookstore for you to work on your projects.” Well, there wasn’t currently space, but she intended to remedy that. The boxes in the hallway needed to find a new home and there were piles of books in storage that hadn’t sold since the eighties. It was time for them to go. “What do you think about a trade?” Dahlia asked. “The green sofa for two months’ rent?”

“I’ll take it. It’s been a while since I had a place to cook. I was getting tired of TV dinners warmed up in the motel’s microwave or dinners at the local greasy spoon.” Wendy’s eyes shone. “My horoscope said today would be a fortunate day, but I didn’t expect this. Hey, what sign are you?”

Dahlia grinned. “Pisces, why?”

Wendy nodded sagely. “Ah, a water sign. That explains the rainstorm today. And my horoscope said I’d interact with a Pisces today. We must both be having a fortunate day.”

Dahlia didn’t believe in horoscopes, but to each their own.

“You can move in anytime.” She plucked a pen and notepad from her bag, wrote down her address and cell phone number, and handed it to Wendy. “Just call ahead and let me know when you’ll be there so I can get everything set up for you.”

Wendy smiled, then took a red pen from her pocket and wrote ‘Sold’ on the green sofa’s tag. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Dahlia managed to make it to the next section of the antique store before she danced a few steps. Something about the green sofa spoke to her and made her vision for the bookstore more real. In one of the collectible booths a few spaces down, she found a salt and pepper set in the shape of books. She took it as a sign that things would work out. After paying for the shakers, she left the store, feeling more positive than she had in a long time.

To celebrate her new purchase, she stopped at a cute little café for lunch. She sat by the window and amused herself by making up stories about everyone who passed by. Before she knew it, it was after one o’clock. Lollygagging was fun but there was still so much to do. She paid her bill and hurried to her car.

Next on her agenda was a paint store, where she spent a couple of painstaking hours picking out the perfect shade of aqua for the wall next to the one she’d already painted. In a furniture store, she selected an expensive dark wood bar to use as the espresso area. Her wallet screamed as her money flew out, but she was getting closer to making the bookstore seem more like it belonged to her.

* * *

After picking up groceries and other odds and ends, Dahlia eased her aching feet back into the car. She sat in the driver’s seat and removed her wedge espadrilles to rub her toes. She hadn’t planned on walking so much in Haven Shores.

The drizzle that had stuck around all day turned into a downpour, pelting her with droplets of cold rain. She shut the door, turned the ignition and cranked up the heat to defog the windows. The sky had darkened with the storm and she wanted to get home before daylight faded completely. The winding coastal roads weren’t fun to drive in ordinary weather conditions, but in a thunderstorm, they were dangerously nasty.

About ten minutes out of Haven Shores, the engine light blinked on again, and stayed on. She groaned and pulled the car over into the entrance of an abandoned logging road. She turned on the emergency blinkers and popped the hood. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped outside, cringing as the icy rain hit her face. Her hair and clothes were drenched almost immediately. After checking the level of engine oil, she cursed and slammed the hood closed. The mechanics hadn’t fixed whatever had caused the Toyota’s oil leak, leaving her stuck now on an infrequently traveled two-lane road in the middle of a rainstorm.

One of the few cars she’d seen out on the roads passed by, waterfalls of rain lit up in its headlights. She assessed her options. She could walk back to Haven Shores, but walking over eight miles on a road without sidewalks during a storm didn’t sound safe. Then again, hitching a ride wasn’t safe either. Her throbbing toes reminded her that she wasn’t wearing sensible shoes. Hitchhiking it was.

She stood next to her car, feeling like a drowned rat. A semi flew by going ten mph over the speed limit and she jumped back. She leaned against the trunk of her car, hoping someone would stop.

Then a car rounded the corner and slowed. She moved over to the passenger side, ready to jump in and lock the doors if needed. The vehicle halted and parked behind her with its headlights on. She pushed sopping locks of hair away from her face and held her hand up to shield her eyes. A man stepped out of the car.

When she saw who it was, she half wished it was a serial killer who had stopped.