“None, but it doesn’t take a marketing expert to know the space isn’t utilized well,” Grace countered. “Look, it’s like being married to someone for a long time and not noticing they’re going gray or gaining weight until someone else points it out to you. You get used to things looking a certain way, and it’s okay. Until it isn’t.”
“All right then. How would you rearrange things?” Liddy challenged.
“I’d take up the carpet. I bet there’s a wood floor under there, but it might need to be refinished.”
Liddy came out from behind the counter, glaring, her hands on her hips. Before she could speak, Grace continued her critique as she walked through the store.
“I’d turn the bookcases around so they’re facing the front of the store. Adult fiction in the very front—bestsellers on a table there in the center—children’s books all the way in the back.” Grace knew she was dumping a lot on Liddy, but she was on a roll. “These chairs are perfectly awful. Take Mom up on her offer to give you those chairs she isn’t using. You could have story hour here. Maybe get a small rug you can unroll just for story time. You know, like a magic carpet?”
Liddy acknowledged the suggestion with a sort of grunt Grace took to be agreement, though her hands were still riding on her hips.
“And over here . . .” Grace pointed to the wall of shelves on the left side of the shop. “The space is not utilized well. If you moved those bookcases over there”—she pointed toward the opposite wall—“you could have a little coffee bar. Nothing fancy, but just a place where your customers can pick up a little something while they look over their selections or chat with friends.” She gestured for Liddy to follow her to the back window. “You have a beautiful view out there. If that wild hedge was trimmed, you’d be able to see the harbor. I bet if you put in a patio, nothing expensive, you could have book club meetings out there in nice weather.”
“Huh.” Liddy tried to open the back door, but it was stuck. “Probably hasn’t been opened in years,” she grumbled.
“Let me help.” Grace put her shoulder into it, but it still wouldn’t budge.
“Do you need a hand there?” a male voice called from the front of the store.
Grace turned around in time to see a tall dark-haired man around her age make his way around one of the ill-placed shelves. He had a three-day scruff of beard and wore a blue T-shirt and cargo pants. The first word that popped into her mind when she looked at him was pirate.
“Damn door’s stuck.” Liddy stepped aside while the man wrestled with the door for several seconds before it opened with a groan.
Dried leaves and the ancient corpses of dead bugs danced in through the doorway on a light breeze.
“And now there’s a damned mess,” Liddy complained.
“You did want it open, right?” The man appeared to be fighting a grin. He winked at Grace. “I can close it back up again if . . .”
“Stop it.” Liddy gave his arm a light smack. “You always were a smart aleck.”
“I think you need a little WD-40 on those hinges, and it should be okay.” He knelt to get a closer look. “I might have some in my truck.”
He rose and started toward the front of the store.
“Got a broom in there, too?” Liddy asked.
“You’re on your own there, Ms. Lydia.” He kept walking and left the store.
Grace went out through the still-open door and walked around the grounds behind the bookstore. Judging by the overgrown hedge, the area hadn’t been maintained any more recently than the interior of the shop. But like the shop itself, it had possibilities. A few flower beds, a patio large enough for maybe ten or twelve chairs, and it would be perfect. Grace walked toward the door, then noticed the man had returned and was working on the hinges. She stood outside, watching him administer the oil.
“So how’s that cranky old grandfather of yours?” Liddy asked him.
“Old and cranky,” he replied. “That’s never going to change.”
“How’s his health?”
“He’s hanging in there.” He stood up and noticed Grace standing outside.
“Linc, you ever meet Grace Flynn? She and her sister used to spend summers at her grandmother’s house over on Cottage.”
“Our paths may have crossed when we were kids.” He turned to Grace, and the only thought in her head was that his eyes were the color of chocolate. Deep and rich and delicious. “Nice to meet you, Grace Flynn.”
“Same,” she managed to say.
He wiped his hands on a red bandanna he’d pulled from his back pocket, then held the door for Liddy. “You want to try it out?”
Liddy gestured for Grace to step inside—“Just in case he’s not as good as he thinks he is”—and closed the door. It reopened with ease. “Thank you, Linc. Put it on my tab. Now that you’re here, I want you to scrap the plans for the carriage house we talked about, and take a look around this place for me. My decorator here”—she nodded in Grace’s direction—“thinks we need a little work done.”
He glanced around the shop. “You really needed to call in a decorator to tell you that?”
Liddy rolled her eyes. “Grace, why don’t you tell him what you told me? Maybe he’ll have some ideas about moving stuff around.” Liddy walked toward the front of the store.
“Don’t you want to . . . ,” Grace began when she realized Liddy had removed herself from the conversation.
“No, I do not. You two decide what needs to be done and let me know.” Liddy continued on to the front counter.
“Oh. Well.” Grace felt slightly flustered. She’d offered her thoughts about the shop to Liddy because Liddy had asked. She hadn’t expected her observations to be taken as anything more than suggestions. “I mentioned that I thought the bookshelves should be repositioned—see how they block the light? Makes the place look dark and”—she lowered
