Chapter 11

Dell dughis fingertips into a sheet of sandpaper and focused on the irritating sensation, each tiny prick of skin.

He just needed to finish a bookshelf.

He had taken the rest of the day off yesterday, mostly drifting in and out of consciousness in bed with the dogs. He was still exhausted, his whole body one strange ache: neck tight, muscles sore, as if he'd run a marathon. But if he didn't get back to work today—well, he might be useless today, too. But it'd be worse if he didn't try.

Most of the pieces of red alder were already cut and shaped; all he needed to do now was assembly. He just needed to build a fucking bookshelf, one of the easiest things a person could do. And he was almost there, with the first one. Almost there.

The door to the back deck opened behind him. Dell closed his eyes before he turned.

"Mae."

She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. It was hard to read her face. She wore an incredibly fuzzy purple sweater, a turquoise skirt. She looked like a muppet.

"Dell."

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm the shake in his fingers. He'd been preparing for this, what he would say. He hadn't seen her again yesterday, even if he kept looking out the window, watching to see if her car had returned to the drive. It hadn't until late, until the sun had gone down. His chest had finally unclenched when he'd seen her headlights coming up the road, sweeping across the corner of his living room.

And when the hell had that happened? He'd spent three years at the top of that hill precisely so that he could be alone. And there he'd been, unsettled without Mae's car parked next to his.

"Did I hurt you?" he blurted. It wasn't how he'd planned to start, but it was what he needed to know most. Even if, with relief, he noted that her face wasn't bruised, cut anywhere.

She kept her stare level. He felt comforted somehow that she was looking at him at all. That he hadn't freaked her out enough to be unable to hold his gaze.

"No," she said. "But you scared me."

He swallowed. "I'm sorry, Mae. I wasn't myself."

"I know," she said. She was so…calm. A very calm muppet.

And then she added, "I knocked. Loudly. On the glass. I'm sorry for that, too."

Dell let out a breath. That had been his best guess, but it helped to have it confirmed.

"You shouldn't have to be sorry for knocking."

It was a miracle, he now realized, that this hadn't happened earlier. He had told her, when she'd first moved in, to text if she needed anything, but he should have been clearer.

She merely raised a shoulder.

"Still."

She was being so understanding. Too understanding. Like she already knew there was something wrong with him.

He couldn't believe, at this point, years later, he couldn't survive a fucking knock on the door.

But, the rational part of his brain said, when was the last time someone knocked on your door?

He'd given Liv a key, once he knew the Luca situation would be an ongoing thing. She always let herself in quietly through the workshop door. There had been that miserable month he'd attempted to be an Airbnb host, when his awareness of other people on the property had always been on high alert, but that felt like forever ago. And other than that…

Other than that, Dell had never had any visitors.

Until Mae.

"Something fucked up happened to me," he forced out. "A while ago. So I'm susceptible to triggers now when I get surprised. Which I should have told you when you moved in. That's on me."

Mae only nodded. But her eyes appeared to soften.

Her eyes, Dell realized now, seemed puffier than usual. Like she'd had trouble sleeping, too. He frowned.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked. "To help you now, or in the future?"

"No. I'm usually…slower. At getting things done, afterward. But I'm almost done with this one." He gestured to the bookshelf behind him. "Want me to install it when it's ready?"

"The Gutierrez boys are coming back today to fix some of the floorboards inside," Mae said. "But once the floor is no longer a tripping hazard…absolutely."

"All right." Dell scratched his head. He should just let it go, but—"You're not pissed at me? I know I threw a fucking mug, Mae. You should be pissed at me."

Mae had been pissed at him for—god, how long had she been here now? A month? It felt longer. Either way, she'd been pissed at him every step of the way for weeks, and now he had done something actually worthy of her ire, and she…what, pitied him? It turned his fucking stomach.

"Oh, I was," she said easily, and shit, he could've kissed her for that.

Which…was not what he should be thinking, right now. Or ever.

"But"—she shrugged again, just as easily—"now I'm not."

He released a half laugh. He didn't know what else to do. God. If only his body could switch gears so freely.

"Let me know if you need anything," she said. And then, looking toward the sky, "It's getting colder out here."

He didn't reply. Cold was good. Cold kept his senses awake.

Even if cold also made his shoulder sore. Made the sinew of his thigh ache louder than in the summer.

She'd turned to go back inside when he asked, "Why did you knock?"

A month, and she hadn't knocked on his door until yesterday.

She paused on the threshold, back to him. Her hair was up today in the high bun she often wore it in, soft tendrils that didn't quite reach whispering over her exposed neck. The longer she stood frozen there, the longer he couldn't stop staring at them. Something stirred in his half asleep body. This feeling that had been stealing over him more and more, whenever Mae closed her mouth long enough for it to grow. An awareness of what the creamy skin on that neck would feel like under his mouth. How easily his body would curve around the back of hers.

"I was going to invite you over for a mimosa."

It took a second for her words to penetrate through his mind fog.

An obvious second too long, because she said, "It was silly," stepping inside and closing the door before he could respond.

* * *

The next morning, Dell plunked a bottle of champagne onto the counter.

Mae blinked away from the computer screen.

He lifted his other hand and placed a bottle of orange juice next to the champagne.

"I'm going to finish a bookshelf today," he said, voice gruff. His face looked just as rough as it had yesterday, eyes just as bloodshot. Any time she'd peeked her head outside after their morning conversation, he'd been puttering around the back deck, muttering to himself.

"The Gutierrez boys going to be done with the floors today?"

Mae moved her stare from Dell's face to the champagne.

"Yeah. They only have two more boards to replace. Said they'd be done by noon."

Dell grunted. "Good." He turned to look at the room. "Where do you want it?"

Mae blinked again. "The bookshelf?"

"Yeah. Walls are done over there, yeah?" He gestured to his right.

Finally forcing herself to snap out of it, Mae stood, walking around the counter. "Yeah." She only had a bit more wallpapering to do on the opposite wall. "I was thinking the first shelf could go…" She walked toward the door, pivoting on her heel in front of the window. "Here."

Dell moved to her side. Grunted again. Stepped forward, withdrawing a stud finder and a tape measure from the bag stretched across his chest. Mae watched him take his measurements, the movement of his shoulders underneath his flannel. She should be excited to get back to the computer. She was about to press Submit on her first official book order. But yet…

Dell took a pencil from his bag and made a mark on her new beautiful wallpaper.

"Hey!" She stepped forward with a frown. Dell made another mark.

He walked away without another word, until he paused by the counter.

"When it's up," he said, nodding toward the champagne, "we'll do that."

And he was gone.

* * *

Mae put the champagne and OJ in the small fridge she'd installed in the office. The Gutierrez boys finished the floor. She submitted her book order.

Something changed inside her, once she did.

Somehow, every uncertainty that had risen to the surface two days ago about her existence in this town, every bit of grief she'd cried into the sand next to her parents—it all felt lighter. It all felt a bit more okay, when she remembered books.

Getting to buy books and sell books. Getting to exist alongside them.

When she remembered books, she remembered this would all be worth it.

Thinking of her conversation with Liv, she decided to finally try The Bay Diner for lunch. To say hi to someone new. It was mediocre, but the waitress was nice to her, even when Mae introduced who she was, so she counted it as a win.

And when she returned, her bookshop had a bookshelf.

"Oh my god." Her bag dropped off her shoulder to the floor.

Dell turned. And for a second, he smiled. Just the slight twitch of his lips that Mae had come to learn was a Dell smile. His eyes, a bit brighter than they had been in days.

And then, like that, it was all gone as he frowned.

"Uh." He hugged his elbows across his belly. "I hope it's okay. I realize, now, that I should have waited for you before I actually put the screws in."

Silently, Mae walked to the shelf, firmly secured against the wall. She ran a hand over the smooth wood, almost soft in the lack of varnish. After a minute, she squatted down to run her fingertips over the detail Dell had carved into the center of each low cabinet door: little flowing waves.

She stood. Turned.

"I have a bookshelf," she said. The smile tugged its way back to Dell's mouth.

"With more to come," he said.

"With more to come!" she shouted, like a dam suddenly bursting. She bounced on the balls of her feet, cupping her cheeks with her palms. "Oh my god." She twirled back to the shelf. "Okay." She forced herself to stop bouncing, to think of her floor plan. "I'm going to put local interest stuff here. Guidebooks and travel and non-fiction. History. Kids' books about whales and seashells and clams. And then!"

Mae twirled again.

"Right where you are."

She stepped forward. Dell raised a brow, retreating just before she collided with his chest.

"Right here." Mae spread out her arms. "A beautiful table for new releases. And a rug. I want a gorgeous rug, running all the way from here"—she skipped to the counter—"to here. Oh my god." She covered her mouth with a hand before dropping it. "The floors are done. I have a bookshelf."

She restrained herself—barely—from launching her body at the beautiful burly person in front of her and shaking his shoulders. Didn't he see?

"I can get the rug and the table now. Right now. That's what I'm going to do." She took a breath, her day suddenly, brilliantly reconfigured in her head. "I'm going to go see Olive."

Dell nodded.

"Her store's got a dumb name for the quality of the stuff she's got in there," he said. "Well, some of the stuff. It's a good idea."

Mae stared at Dell a moment more. All of the doubts, all of the sadness of the past few days felt ever further away.

"Sorry I can't do mimosas right now," she said after a beat. "I'm too full of adrenaline."

Dell nodded again. "Me too."

Mae laughed.

"This is you full of adrenaline?"

Dell's smile grew as he rubbed a hand over his face.

"Very tired but full of adrenaline, yeah." He looked over at the shelf, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "It looks good." And then, looking back at Mae, "Maybe we meet back up in a few hours. For the champagne."

"Yeah." Mae smiled back. "I like that plan."

"All right," Dell said, voice still gruff, but lighter, somehow. "See you soon."

And then he walked past her into the office, until she heard the back door slam, followed, soon, by the familiar whir of one of his power tools.

She knew exactly what he looked like back there, by now: safety glasses, a light sheen of sweat on his brow. Forearms on display, T-shirt stretched across his wide shoulders. Perhaps a bit of sawdust in his beard.

It didn't affect her at all.

Mae shook her head, grabbed her bag and her keys. She was still smiling when she locked the front door behind her, turning to walk down Main Street, ready again to say hi.

* * *

Olive Young recognized Mae the minute she walked into This and That.

"Mae Kellerman!" Olive whipped a tea towel she'd been examining onto the massive counter in front of her. "Owner of Greyfin Bay's new bookstore. Am I right?"

Finally, Mae thought, trying to tamp down the enthusiasm of her grin so as to not appear as manic as she felt. I've met one of them.

Olive Young, with her graying hair swept into a bun behind a flowing, floral headwrap, her vintage glasses hanging around her neck on a chain, and a voice so loud and distinctive you could sense her personality within a single sentence, finally filled the void of quirky townsperson Mae had been conditioned to believe existed in small towns through an adulthood of romance novels and Hallmark movies.

Even though Mae, in childhood, had herself lived in a small town, and could only remember a lot of tired people who weren't very quirky at all.

Still, she was glad to meet Olive.

"You knew my full name," Mae said. "Impressive."

Olive navigated around the three-sided counter in the center of the room to reach Mae with a handshake.

"A gal like you moving to town is memorable." Olive perched the glasses back on her nose to give Mae a better look.

"Actually," Mae said, still a little high on bookshelf adrenaline, "I don't really identify as a gal."

"Ah. Nonbinary, then?"

Mae shrugged. "Whatever you want to call it. I'm good with she or they pronouns."

Olive flicked herself in the forehead.

"Gotcha. Got it locked away in my noggin now."

Mae realized, while holding in a laugh, that she recognized Olive's distinctive accent.

"Olive," she said, "Are you from?—"

"Jersey?" Olive stood taller, put her hands on her hips. "Sure am."

"What brought you out here?"

"Oh, you know." Olive deflated a touch, rolling her eyes and flopping a hand in the air. "A man. Didn't last forever, but he gave me my babies and this store, so I can't complain. Are you an East Coast defector, too? Well, not that I should say I'm a defector." Olive winced, rolling on before Mae had a chance to answer. "Still go back every year around the holidays for a few weeks, but I'm pretty well settled here now, y'know? This place sticks its claws in ya."

"Yeah. I never lived in Jersey, but I did spend a year in Brooklyn, a long time ago."

"Well, of course you did."

"Couldn't quite afford it, I'm afraid."

"Of course you couldn't! And Jersey's just as bad these days!" Olive threw up a hand. "And the taxes! Out of control, absolutely out of control. Don't even get me started. Anyway, anyway, come on in, Mae Kellerman."

This and That was both dark and warm, so full of things that daylight from the street hardly made its way inside, but this reality was offset by the abundance of lamps, lit from all corners of the room. Their golden light highlighted the stacks of bookshelves and end tables, the velvet chairs and the plastic milk crates full of old records, photographs, postcards. Glass vases rested on every available surface, some full of seashells, others, buttons.

It reminded Mae of her old favorite thrift stores on Hawthorne Boulevard, except a touch less vintage, more heavy on old lady, coastal kitsch.

She was in love.

"Olive. This place is incredible."

Olive's face brightened. "Why, thank you. I do rather like it myself. Is there something you're looking for, or did you just stop by to say hi?"

"Both. I really should have stopped by to say hi earlier. So, hi!"

She waved, even though they were standing three feet from each other, and Olive laughed.

"Oh, I knew I would like you. What you looking for, then?"

"A table." Mae glanced around the shop. "And…you don't by chance sell any rugs?"

"I do, actually, but I don't always keep ‘em out front. Too easy of access for kids' sticky fingers and their grownups' spilled coffee. Here, follow me."

Mae followed Olive through the narrow pathways of the store until they reached a door in the back corner. After a bit of fiddling with a jingling key ring, Olive opened it up, and Mae held in a gasp as she walked through.

The room was much bigger than she had expected, almost as big as the main room. And almost as cluttered, if less purposefully cozy.

"Store everything in here that's not quite ready for the floor yet," Olive said, fists on her hips again, "or that I don't trust to be on the floor. The rugs are way there in the back, but if there are any tables here that look promising too, let me know."

Distantly, the bell above the front door jingled.

"You just feel free to look around, all right? Make yourself at home. Let me know if you need anything."

Mae didn't waste any time in exploring.

None of the tables matched exactly what she was picturing—something heavy, circular, easy to wander around while anchoring the front of the shop—but magically, she fell in love with the first rug she saw.

It looked about the perfect length, full of turquoise and pinks, faded just the right amount.

It was perfect.

She took a slow walk around the main store while Olive chatted with her other customer; she tried to hold in her excitement. None of the tables out here quite met her exact dream either, but she discovered a little sea-green console table that would be perfect for the shop's bathroom, the last part of Mae's remodel plans she had yet to truly tackle. But she had a vision, and this table was a good start.

"I have a delivery boy who can get these over to you early next week, if that works," Olive said as she rung Mae up, and Mae's elation deflated, just a bit.

"Oh." She had walked here, not fully thinking through this part. "I was hoping to at least bring the rug over today. There's no rush on the table. Maybe I can bring my car around?—"

"You know what?" Olive slapped Mae's receipt onto the counter. A grin curved the corner of her mouth. "12 Main Street ain't so far away. Think you and me could manage it?"

Mae looked around. "I wouldn't want to make you leave the shop unattended."

"Please." Olive waved a hand once more. "It's a Thursday in October, Mae. You're the most exciting thing that's going to happen to me today."

And that was how Mae found herself struggling with one end of a rolled up rug while Olive led them down Main Street.

Olive was walking backwards and seemed hardly winded.

"Olive," Mae panted. "This rug is heavy. Are you secretly ripped under that sweater?"

"Of course I am," Olive answered, sounding offended. "I spend half my days moving furniture around. Old furniture, the kind that's not made of particle board. Why wouldn't I be ripped? Sixty-somethings can be ripped, you know. Hey, Cara! Cara, do you know who this is?"

Olive came to an abrupt halt, and Mae almost dropped her end of the rug. Again.

Good god, they weren't even to the bigots' candy store yet. Her arms were going to be Jell-O for the rest of the day.

"I don't believe I do," the short Black woman Olive had stopped to talk to said.

"This here is Mae Kellerman. They're the one who's moving into your old shop!"

Cara turned to look at Mae. "No shit," she said, and Mae liked her immediately.

"Yeah!" Olive enthused. "We're taking this rug over there right now. Want to get an early look at the bookstore?"

"It's still really a work in progress—" Mae attempted to interrupt.

"Hell yeah, I do." Cara ambled to Mae's side. "You need help here?"

And before Mae could answer, Cara was tugging up their end of the rug, and Olive was on the move again.

"It's a great space, eh?" Cara asked Mae as they walked. "I miss it, sometimes, but it made sense to go online."

"Yeah," Mae breathed. God, there was just nowhere good to grab ahold of this thing. "Thanks for leaving it for me, I guess?"

Cara snorted. "You're welcome. Although I suppose we should all be thanking Dell. If he's letting you have it, he must really believe in you."

"Well—" Mae felt herself flush, even more so than she already was. "He's not letting me have it, exactly. He's letting me lease it, with conditions. Even though I wanted to buy it outright."

Now both Cara and Olive laughed. "Sounds about right," Cara said. "Still, my statement stands. Hey, Freddy!" she shouted at the bar as they passed it, even though Freddy wasn't actually anywhere to be seen. "Miss being next to that bastard," she said with affection, and Mae felt a streak of…something, that Cara and Freddy had apparently gotten along.

But then she stopped caring, because they were passing Freddy's, and that meant—finally—they were here.

After fishing her keys from her bag, the three of them stumbled through the door.

"Holy smokes!" Cara dropped their end of the rug onto the floor without fanfare. "Look at that mural!"

"What mur—oh, wow!" Olive turned, dropping her end with a similar thud, and they walked in tandem to admire Gemma's work behind the counter. "Bay Books!" Olive shouted. "Would you look at that!"

Cara crossed her arms, looking down at the floor with a crease in her brow.

"Hold on a minute," she said, walking a few steps away from the counter this way, then that way. "These floorboards aren't sticking up anymore."

"The Gutierrez boys fixed them this week." Mae wiped a forearm across her sweaty brow.

"You mean you're opening this place back up without any tripping hazards?" Cara let out a disbelieving puff of air. "You're gonna make me look bad."

"The floor still dips a bunch over there," Mae said brightly, pointing toward the back of the room, "if that helps." Multiple contractors at this point had assured her this little quirk was fine.

Cara's face broke into a grin. "You know, it does."

"Oh, this bookshelf is pretty." Olive glided over to the newly installed shelf, sniffing the air as she did. "And it smells like fresh wood? Was this custom made?"

"Yeah. Dell's making all the shelves."

Olive turned.

"Dell makes bookshelves?"

"Yeah, he has a whole woodworking shop at his house. They're good, right?"

Now Cara turned.

"Dell has a woodshop at his house?"

"You've seen his house?"

Mae glanced between Olive and Cara, standing shoulder to shoulder in front of her. She sensed she should not disclose that she kind of lived there.

"...yeah."

"I've heard it's gorgeous," Olive said.

"Yeah, Liv's the only one he ever lets visit. Which"—Cara tilted her lips in a gesture of non-judgment—"he's a smart man. If I had to choose one person in this town to share my secrets with, I'd choose Liv, too."

"Hey!" Olive said in offense. And then, a second later, shoulders dropping: "Yeah, I would, too."

"So the rug," Mae said, turning away. She wasn't out of breath anymore, but her face still felt hot. "Want to help me position it?"

"Oh, sure," Olive said, already on the move. "Now, you'll want to get a floor protector underneath here, and I don't sell those, but let's see how she looks." The rug was already half unfurled toward the counter before she'd even finished her sentence. Within another minute or two, after some adjustments from Mae and Cara, she stood back up, dusting off her hands. "Well, would you look at that. It's perfect."

Mae backed up until her butt hit the pride flag in the front window. She covered her mouth with her hands, shaking her head as she took in the whole view.

"Perfect," she agreed.

"I'll have Dustin bring that console over to ya in a few days, all right?"

"Of course. No rush at all."

"And hey, if you can't find that other table you're looking for in my place, there's a great flea down in Florence in a few weeks. I get a bunch of inventory from them each year. You should check it out."

"I will. Thanks, Olive. And thanks for your help too, Cara," Mae added as both older women made their way to the door.

"Sure thing," Cara said. "This was a treat. You have an opening day in mind yet?"

Mae blinked. Opening day. As Cara would say: holy smokes.

"There's a lot to do, and I'm still waiting on my license. But…I'm hoping to be open before the holidays."

Both Cara and Olive's faces lit up.

"That would be fantastic!" Olive gushed. "More local businesses to support during holiday shopping is always a great thing. Let us know if the SBA can do anything to help get the word out when you do have a launch date, okay?"

Mae nodded, heart racing. She felt Jesus behind her, jumping up and down, palms pressing down on her shoulders.

"Yeah," she said. "I will."