Stand By Me: A Sweet Lesbian Romance Page 2

  As one of two bookstores in town, Between the Pages was the only escape from the real world that I had.

  I could open up a book whenever I wanted, jumping into faraway lands where I rode on the backs of dragons, talked to ogres, and took part in huge space battles. What more could a bookworm possibly need?

  Granted, the time I got to spend reading was far less than it used to be when I was a kid. Even without the foot traffic we used to get, there was still plenty to do.

  I had to tidy the shelves, keep the books dusted and clean, sweep the floors, vacuum, fix up each lounge when necessary, and update the wall of my favorite books when something new caught my eye.

  Needless to say, I was in the middle of stocking the shelves with new books when a harried woman walked in. Bundled up and shivering from the cold, I had a feeling she came in to escape the elements more than anything else. It wasn’t until I returned to the front desk when she walked up to me, her red tresses a stark contrast to her pale complexion.

  A handful of tendrils had escaped her hat and scarf which she gingerly pulled away from her lips.

  “I’m sorry, this is going to sound really dumb,” she began, averting her gaze as she dug at something under her nail.

  I smiled at her and said, “Any books you’re looking for, I either have or I can get them for you. There’s no reason to feel embarrassed. I’ve seen all types. What are you looking for?”

  I’d seen a number of potential customers come in with someone else, mumble something about a book they wanted, only to walk out again because they were too afraid to ask.

  With the BDSM craze still hanging around, I had a feeling I knew exactly what was going on.

  “It isn’t that,” she said, keeping her voice low as her cheeks filled with color. “I already checked the other shop in town and… did you get a box of books yesterday?” She looked at me expectantly, her hazel eyes boring into mine. That’s when I knew. The woman in front of me was the same one who’d written those journals.

  “I did,” I said cautiously, “but you’ll have to be more specific. Folks drop things off by accident all the time. If you have the title—”

  “It isn’t anything like that,” she cut in, already starting to turn away. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

  “Journals, right?” I asked, raising my eyebrows at her when she looked at me again.

  “Yes. How did you—”

  “I can tell when someone’s passionate about something. I just wanted to make sure the books you were looking for were the same journals I’ve been holding on to in hopes of getting them back to their rightful owner.”

  She passed me a small smile and shuffled her weight from one foot to the other. “That isn’t possible,” she said, not looking at me. “Their author passed away years ago.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I just thought—”

  “It’s okay. I’m just glad they’re still here.” She released a sigh of relief when I placed the journals on the counter between us. She hesitated then, reaching for the books without taking them. “Did you read them?”

  Thank god I’d kept to my word, or I wouldn’t have been able to tell her the truth. Whatever was inside those journals was personal, possibly more personal than I could comprehend. “No. The only thing I did was look inside the front covers for a name. I wanted to return them as soon as I unpacked the box, but without a name…”

  “You couldn’t reach me,” she said with a nod. “Thank you for holding on to them. My mother must’ve packed them up while I was away. I didn’t realize it until I went looking for them after the fact. Have you ever tried to clean out an old house?” she asked with an exasperated sigh. “A lot can get lost in the shuffle.”

  “I completely understand.” Handling the sale of my folks’

  house had been a nightmare. Even after Bridget and I divvied up all of the china and useless knickknacks, there’d been a ton of stuff to do. “I’m glad someone came by to claim them. I was at a loss of what to do, but I knew I couldn’t throw them away. Whoever wrote those journals must’ve been an amazing person. The writing inside the cover is lovely, and the fact they wrote over so many years…” I shook my head. I was getting ahead of myself. “They were very dedicated.”

  The woman laughed a small tired laugh, but one all the same. When she looked at me again, there was a shine to her eyes. “She really was. Anyway, thank you for taking care of them for me. I really appreciate it.”

  “It’s my pleasure.” Reaching under the counter, I took out my card and handed it to her. “That’s just in case something gets dropped off again.” If she was cleaning out someone’s house the way Bridget and I had done for our parents, then she probably had a lot more to unload than a box full of books.

  “Thanks, Evie,” she said, reading over the card. She looked as though she wanted to say something else but thought better of it. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Enjoy your day,” I said, waving at her when she turned for the door. “And drop by any time.”

  She waved her thanks, then she was gone, walking down the sidewalk and out of my line of sight soon after. Strange. It was probably my imagination, but I could’ve sworn I’d seen her before. It wasn’t so much her looks, most of which were hidden behind layers of clothing, but her voice. Light and musical, her voice was familiar but also one I couldn’t place.

  Not that it mattered. As soon as she got what she came for, she left just as quickly.

  Like I said, folks rarely came into the shop to buy new books, which was a real shame. To be honest, I would’ve loved to have gotten to know her a little better. She obviously needed someone to talk to, which was why I gave her my card in the first place. I’d happily talk over a box full of books any day.

  Glad I didn’t read the journals, it made it easier for me to talk to her in person. She might not have been the one behind the journals, but she knew their author very well. That much was painfully obvious given the way she held herself along with the tightness in her voice.

  Perhaps they belonged to her mother or an old friend.

  It doesn’t matter. The likelihood of me seeing the redhead again was rather slim, mostly because she walked out of the shop without a single book.

  Chapter Three

  “You should’ve asked her out,” my sister spoke on the other side of the line.

  “She was a customer,” I said, working through the books that came in earlier this morning so I could get them out on the shelves.

  “Who didn’t buy anything,” Bridget pointed out. “I’m just saying it’d been nice to hear about your dating life for a change.”

  I laughed at that. The way my sister picked up guys, it was a wonder she could remember their names at all. I, on the other hand, didn’t have the time. Unless they were willing to hang around the shop with me, dating wasn’t really an option.

  As though she could read my thoughts, Bridget said,

  “When’s the last time you went out on a date?”

  I considered her question a moment. Nothing came to mind.

  “The last person I remember was the one from that bar you took me to.”

  “That was two years ago, Ev, and that wasn’t a date. It was a hookup. They’re completely different.”

  Yeah, and hookups totally weren’t my thing, either. “I don’t have time for that kind of commitment right now.”

  “That’s what you said after Dad passed away. You used the same excuse after we sold the house. When will you stop trying to live out Dad’s life and start living your own?” She was frustrated with me, as always, but this time I couldn’t blame her.

  Once our Dad passed away, I latched on to the shop as hard as I could. Bridget suggested selling it right after we sold the house because of how painful it was for me to work there, and yet, I didn’t let it go. I worked through the teary haze, pushed away the depression, and changed just enough of the shop to make it my own.

  Still, everywhere I looked, I could almost see my Da
d there.

  He sat in the lounge with the morning paper, he helped unpack boxes of books in the back, and he even joined me when I had lunch upstairs. He was nowhere and everywhere all at the same time.

  That was probably why I kept the shop in the first place. It was so I could be closer to him, or at least my memories of him.

  “Are you even listening to me?” my sister groaned on the other side of the line, likely having gone on a tangent I didn’t hear.

  “I’m sorry. What did you say?” I asked, stopping in the middle of sorting through the books behind the counter once I realized I had a box cutter in one hand and a fantasy novel in the other.

  “I said you should’ve exchanged names. Did you get her name at all? Maybe we can look her up online.”

  “No, and no. Absolutely not. I don’t do hookups.”

  “But you are thinking about her,” my sister said, her voice sounding more confident than I’d like.

  “I was thinking of Dad, actually.” But what else was new? I thought about him all the time. When my mother passed away, he took it hard. Somehow, he kept the shop going, which was exactly what I wanted to do for him.

  “Spending that much time in the shop isn’t good for you.

  You need to get out. Preferably somewhere nice.”

  “And eat with what money?” I asked, wanting to pull the words back as soon as they left my mouth.

  “What’s that supposed to mean? I thought you said you were okay.”

  “I am.” I was. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Mom was right. You’re a terrible liar. I can hear it in your voice. How far behind are you?”

  “I’m not.” At least that much was true. As for how much longer I could keep it that way, it was hard to say.

  “Look, I’m getting paid on Friday. I can—”

  “No,” I said, stopping her before she said something we’d both regret. “I’m not taking your money. I’ll be fine, really. It’s just a bad time of year.” More like a bad year. She didn’t have to know that. She was the baby of the family and my kid sister.

  I was supposed to take care of her, not the other way around.

  I may have hated how she blazed through her inheritance, but I refused to share my burden with her. She wasn’t the one who decided to keep Dad’s shop. I got myself into this mess and I’d be the one to fix. She’d made a life for herself, albeit a chaotic one, but at least she was happy. In the end, that’s all that mattered.

  “I was going to invite you out for drinks,” my sister said, clearly changing her plan to save me from myself. “We need to catch up. You almost never come by anymore.”

  “You could always drop by the shop,” I offered, already knowing how uncomfortable it made her. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t like it. I’m trying here, Bridget, I really am.”

  “But you’re living his life. I’m just saying you should start thinking about your own.” Her voice softened, and when she spoke again, there were tears in her voice as well. “I miss him too, but I also want my sister back. I want to talk to the woman who laughed over lunch and stayed out until almost dawn. I want that sister back, not whoever I’m talking to now. I miss you, Evie.”

  I miss me too. “I know, and I’m sorry. It’s just—”

  “You need to look after the shop, I know. Just think about it, okay? Love you.”

  “Love you too,” I said, unable to keep the tears out of my voice.

  “They need me back at work, but I’ll call you tonight. Talk to you then.”

  “Until then.”

  She disconnected the call before she could hear what I’d said, but then that was Bridget, always on the fast lane while I sat on the road to nowhere.

  “Things will get better,” I said, looking around the shop.

  It’s the same thing I’d said for the last two years, and day after day, things only seemed to get worse.

  “You’ll see,” I said to no one in particular. “This time next year, everything will be fine.”

  Chapter Four

  After not hearing from the redhead for close to a week, I was pretty sure I’d never hear from her again. That is until she called me right before dinner. Thinking it was Bridget, I picked it up on the second ring and spoke without looking at the caller ID.

  “Let me guess, he was a total pushover,” I said with a laugh, stirring the pasta so it wouldn’t boil over.

  “I’m sorry, I think I have the wrong number.” The voice was familiar somehow. I’d heard it somewhere, but I couldn’t remember where.

  “No, it’s me who should apologize. I picked up the phone without checking the ID.”

  “Is this Evie?” the woman asked with a touch of uncertainty in her voice.

  “It is,” I said, cradling the phone between my ear and shoulder so I could drain the pasta. “Who is this?”

  “Cass.” She laughed, then said, “I don’t think I actually gave you my name. I’m the one who came in for the journals.”

  And that’s when it clicked. “Oh! Hi!” Wow, I sounded like a complete dork. “Sorry for the mix-up from before. Sisters, you know?” I released a nervous laugh that hopefully didn’t sound as stupid as I felt.

  She giggled. “Can’t say that I do. I’m an only child.”

  “Lucky.”

  “Anyway, I was calling to see if you had room for another box of books. They’re pretty heavy and look kind of old.

  They’re historical romance, I think?” She didn’t sound so sure of herself. “They were my mom’s but I wanted to make sure you had room for them instead of leaving them there to get thrown out.”

  My heart dipped at that. I never got rid of any of the books I found outside my door. Sure, I may have dropped them off at

  the thrift store if I already had a copy or two, but I never threw them out.

  “I think I have the room,” I said once I realized she was waiting for an answer. “If not, I’ll make some. The historical section could use a little love.”

  She laughed at that. “Right, because they’re historical romances. Would tomorrow be okay? I know it’s last minute but…”

  “It’s no problem at all. I’ll be there from eight until five, so drop by whenever you have time.”

  “Great. I guess I’ll see you then.”

  I guess you will. “Have a good one.”

  She hung up soon after that. To be honest, I didn’t open until nine, but if she’d dropped off the journals during the evening hours, then that probably meant she worked a nine-to-five job. I told myself I gave her an earlier time to make things easier, but if I were truly honest with myself, I’d say it had more to do with my wanting to see her again than anything else.

  With my mind worlds away, I finished dinner without tasting a bite. My thoughts were on the lovely woman who walked into my shop a week before and the journals she’d kept over the years. She spoke fondly of the one behind the journals, and yet, there was a great sadness there as well, one of which I couldn’t ignore.

  Maybe it was because I was still working through my own loss, but a big part of me wanted to help her navigate the turbulent waters of whatever she was going through. Seeing as she was cleaning out her mother’s things, I had a feeling her loss was a recent one. If I couldn’t find a good place for her books, the least I could do was be there as a friend.

  Opening up at eight in the morning was a lot harder than I remembered. With the sky being as heavy and overcast as it was, getting out of bed was a challenge. Still, with the promise of seeing Cass again, I managed to make myself somewhat presentable before heading into the shop. Granted, I probably

  should’ve grabbed something to eat on the way in because by ten o’ clock, I was starved.

  Between Cass’ visit and my growling stomach, focusing on work was close to impossible. After updating the inventory and pricing some new books that had come in, I was still lagging behind. I should’ve been done with unpacking the new shipments by now, but each time I looked at them, all I could think abou
t was Cass and her journals.

  I’m not usually one to obsess over things, especially ones I don’t understand, but for whatever reason, my mind refused to let it go. My sister would’ve laughed in my face, and to be honest, I was doing the same exact thing. Work came first.

  There was no getting around it. If I didn’t make the shop as presentable as possible, it could mean losing a sale. So, after a hard self-talk, I busied myself with things that didn’t need my attention like washing the front window.

  I’d washed it the other day. There was no dust on the windowsill and no fingerprints on the glass. I cleaned it anyway, using it as an excuse to look up and down the street for anyone with red hair. Very few people walked the streets, and none of them came inside the shop.

  My heart dropped. The harder I fought to keep the shop up and running, the harder things became. In the winter, I excused the slow business because of the cold. In the spring, I blamed it on the rain. When summer came around, I insisted it was because folks had gone on vacation and were out of town.

  But now, with the cold season being as bitter as the last…

  “Maybe it’s me,” I said, turning away from the front window once I was through.

  My sister would never say it to my face but she’d probably agree. I was fighting to hold on to an idea from a previous lifetime. Like it or not, I’d eventually have to upgrade and move on with everyone else, but as I looked around the shop at all of the physical copies on the shelves that no one else had the desire to open, I knew I couldn’t give up. Not yet.

  There were other people out there like me who loved the smell of a good book and the feeling of paper and ink under their fingertips, I just hadn’t found them yet.

  “Hello?”

  Nestled in the children’s section, I was almost finished putting a new selection of books out on one of the tables when the same voice I’d heard on the phone the night before reached my ears. At first, I thought I was imagining things, but as soon as she rounded the corner, I knew the voice belonged to her.