As if summoned, Robbie Claflin came into view at the top of the stairs, the stack of books in his arms reaching almost to his chin. His countenance took a downward shift at the sight of Julian. “Father, what are you doing here?”
Since Julian and Clara’s father had been half-brothers, Robbie was her half-cousin, though they’d bonded more like siblings or even best friends. Both only children. Both book enthusiasts. Both on the odd side of normal. So when Robbie showed interest in working at Blackwell’s to get away from his overbearing dad, Clara’s father took the young teen without hesitation. He’d worked alongside Clara ever since. “Weren’t you here last week?”
“Can’t a father come see if his son wants to join him for lunch?”
Robbie’s brow crinkled beneath his fiery red curls and he shared a knowing look with Clara.
Julian Claflin was up to something. “Well, that’s a first.” Robbie attempted to shift the books as he finished his descent down the narrow stairs, his signature lopsided grin crooking as Clara rushed to assist him. “I’m free right after I shelve these fairy tales in the right place.”
“I had them in the proper place upstairs, Robbie.”
“Proper place, my eye.” He winked, his grin spreading in elf-like mischief. “How many times do I have to tell you that the fairy tales should be downstairs in the children’s section not upstairs in the adult section?”
She plucked four of the books from his arms and narrowed her gaze at him. “Only because you keep moving them.”
“To the right place.”
Their continual banter about fairy tales being for adults versus children had been ongoing for years. Robbie’s presence, his constant teasing, brushed away some of the chill his father’s presence brought into the charming bookshop. She hadn’t realized how much she’d come to rely on him, until her father’s death rocked her world. But he’d been a rock, guide, or clown as Clara learned to navigate the painful transition that included taking care of her aging mother alone. Well, not completely alone with Robbie nearby.
“Come now, Robbie, I haven’t got all day,” came Julian’s retort as he buttoned up his coat and took a few steps back toward the doorway. “What does it matter where the books go? Though, in my opinion, fairy tales have always been for children. Not that I recall reading any of them. They didn’t make any sense.”
“Well then, Father, you just solved our dilemma.” Robbie’s brows rose to his hairline before he shot another wink to Clara. “Once I place the books upstairs, I’ll be ready for lunch.”
Clara’s grin slipped wide and she placed the books back in his arms, leaning close as she lowered her voice. “I should have your father visit more often. See how well he helps us solve our disputes?”
Robbie chuckled and disappeared up the stairs.
“I hope the shop is doing well with all the new…er…businesses in the vicinity.”
Clara spun around. Hadn’t Uncle Julian already voiced his pessimism about Duncan’s? His attention was on Mother, who donned her brightest smile. “As I said before, Blackwell’s is doing just fine.” She waved a graceful hand to the busy storefront. “Can’t you tell?”
“Well, you know how these things go though. Smaller shops can only compete so long with discount prices.” His forehead wrinkled into dozens of frowns to match the one under his mustache. “Have you considered what you could do if you sold the place? Retire? Give Clara a dream wedding, assuming she could ever find a husband.”
He said the latter under his breath, but Clara made out the grumblings. How did Robbie come from such a man!
“Blackwell’s isn’t for sale, Julian. Christopher loved this place, and Clara and I promised to keep it in our family for as long as possible.” Mother sighed as her gaze trailed the room, from the unique Celtic carvings framing the front room to the colorful stuffed creatures lining the rows of bookshelves. “Granny Sadie once told me that Blackwell’s was built out of love and will continue to thrive from love. Love for story and community. And since there are so many wonderful books in the world, I don’t see why a new chain bookstore should threaten us.”
“Fairy tales, indeed. My half-brother and his grandmother didn’t foresee the competition.” He sniffed the air and gave his head a slow, consolatory shake. “Times are changing, my dear Eleanor, and we must change with them. Brick-and-mortar independent stores are as old as some of those dusty books on the shelves that no one ever buys but everyone admires.”
“And that, my friends, is why you should shop at Blackwell’s,” Robbie announced as he reached the bottom of the stairs and waved toward the onlooking patrons. “Stories matter, and Blackwell’s has been a part of the story of Biltmore Village for years. Keep us celebrating books by doing more than admiring the dusty shelves. Take some of those lonesome stories home with you.”
Robbie’s pitch loosened the tension in the room, and with one sweeping gesture, he and his father disappeared into the cool December afternoon, leaving a jingling of bells and a hesitation of disquiet before the room resumed its happy book murmurs.
“That was odd.” Clara leaned forward with her elbows on the counter, watching through the large front window as Uncle Julian and Robbie disappeared down the street.
“Your uncle has been odd for ages.”
“True.” Clara released a sigh. “But he twirled his mustache more than usual, which made him particularly odd.”
Mother chuckled and returned to her chair behind the register, a resting spot Clara made sure to keep at the ready in case her mother grew tired, which happened more often than it used to.
“I can’t believe he doesn’t like books,” Clara said. “That feels almost unnatural.” And his spiel about Duncan’s and Blackwell’s? The cold wind of the afternoon seemed
