insignia ring. Leaning in closer, pretending to line up the spines of books on the shelf, she saw the ring bore the letter K. He looked at her suddenly, catching her staring at him, and she stepped back, mortified at having been caught.
He surprised her by smiling. “It was my maternal grandfather’s. He was killed in the First World War, so I never knew him. I wear his ring to honor him.”
Maggie held up her arm, displaying the slim gold chain with the single pendant of a sand dollar. “This was my mother’s. I wear it to remember her.”
Peter’s eyes softened. “Were you very young when she died?”
“Fifteen. My little sister was barely three.”
He was silent for a moment, his expression closed. “Losing a mother is always hard, especially for one so young. My own mother passed away two years ago, and I still miss her every day. We had the same eyes, you see. So whenever I look in the mirror, I’m reminded of her.”
Maggie was embarrassed to find tears stinging her eyes, but his voice had been filled with sadness, reminding her of her own loss, which never seemed to get easier to bear. “Two years isn’t that long. It’s been six years for me, yet it still feels like yesterday.” She raised her hands, splaying the fingers wide like a starfish. “We had the same hands, and I inherited her love of books. That’s why I bought this place. It was always the first stop we’d make when we came to Folly. My mother and I would spend hours on the beach reading each morning. Those were the happiest days of my life.”
Maggie blushed, embarrassed that she was telling this virtual stranger her life’s story. But his eyes were warm and understanding, inviting her confidences.
“We have a lot in common, it seems,” he said softly before turning back to the bookshelves. After a moment he pulled another volume from a shelf and opened it, and when she leaned forward, she saw the title printed on the top of a page. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. “Ah, yes,” he said. “The tragic story of Jay Gatsby. I was never sure if I should admire him or pity him. Regardless, it’s one of my favorite books.”
It was one of Maggie’s favorite novels, too, and she felt herself flushing again. “You may borrow it, if you like.”
He raised an eyebrow in question.
“These were all my mother’s books, which I brought from the house in Charleston when I sold it following my father’s death three years ago. I didn’t have room at the cottage but I didn’t want to get rid of them, either. They’re all so much a part of her, and so much a part of what we shared together. So I keep them here, and allow people to borrow them. We do have a library here on Folly. I’m just another option. And instead of issuing library cards, I use the honor system.” Maggie pointed to the old coffee can on a bottom shelf. “When you take a book, you place a nickel in the can, and when you return it, you take one.”
“But what if I want to purchase a book for my own pleasure?”
The way he said the word “pleasure” reminded Maggie of the way Cat spoke, emphasizing certain words so that the listener was left wondering at the speaker’s true meaning. Flushing again, she said, “Then I can order one for you. You don’t even need to pay me until the book arrives.”
He nodded as he opened the book and began to flip through the pages before examining the spine. “This book—has it been borrowed before?”
Despite Maggie’s extreme care while reading her books, this copy was dog-eared and well read by not only her but by every customer who asked her for a recommendation. “Quite a bit. And I’ve read it at least five times, although since I own it that wouldn’t really be considered borrowing it, would it?”
Peter’s smile broadened. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a nickel before dropping it into the can, the sound very loud in the quiet store.
“Are you sure you
He surprised her by smiling. “It was my maternal grandfather’s. He was killed in the First World War, so I never knew him. I wear his ring to honor him.”
Maggie held up her arm, displaying the slim gold chain with the single pendant of a sand dollar. “This was my mother’s. I wear it to remember her.”
Peter’s eyes softened. “Were you very young when she died?”
“Fifteen. My little sister was barely three.”
He was silent for a moment, his expression closed. “Losing a mother is always hard, especially for one so young. My own mother passed away two years ago, and I still miss her every day. We had the same eyes, you see. So whenever I look in the mirror, I’m reminded of her.”
Maggie was embarrassed to find tears stinging her eyes, but his voice had been filled with sadness, reminding her of her own loss, which never seemed to get easier to bear. “Two years isn’t that long. It’s been six years for me, yet it still feels like yesterday.” She raised her hands, splaying the fingers wide like a starfish. “We had the same hands, and I inherited her love of books. That’s why I bought this place. It was always the first stop we’d make when we came to Folly. My mother and I would spend hours on the beach reading each morning. Those were the happiest days of my life.”
Maggie blushed, embarrassed that she was telling this virtual stranger her life’s story. But his eyes were warm and understanding, inviting her confidences.
“We have a lot in common, it seems,” he said softly before turning back to the bookshelves. After a moment he pulled another volume from a shelf and opened it, and when she leaned forward, she saw the title printed on the top of a page. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. “Ah, yes,” he said. “The tragic story of Jay Gatsby. I was never sure if I should admire him or pity him. Regardless, it’s one of my favorite books.”
It was one of Maggie’s favorite novels, too, and she felt herself flushing again. “You may borrow it, if you like.”
He raised an eyebrow in question.
“These were all my mother’s books, which I brought from the house in Charleston when I sold it following my father’s death three years ago. I didn’t have room at the cottage but I didn’t want to get rid of them, either. They’re all so much a part of her, and so much a part of what we shared together. So I keep them here, and allow people to borrow them. We do have a library here on Folly. I’m just another option. And instead of issuing library cards, I use the honor system.” Maggie pointed to the old coffee can on a bottom shelf. “When you take a book, you place a nickel in the can, and when you return it, you take one.”
“But what if I want to purchase a book for my own pleasure?”
The way he said the word “pleasure” reminded Maggie of the way Cat spoke, emphasizing certain words so that the listener was left wondering at the speaker’s true meaning. Flushing again, she said, “Then I can order one for you. You don’t even need to pay me until the book arrives.”
He nodded as he opened the book and began to flip through the pages before examining the spine. “This book—has it been borrowed before?”
Despite Maggie’s extreme care while reading her books, this copy was dog-eared and well read by not only her but by every customer who asked her for a recommendation. “Quite a bit. And I’ve read it at least five times, although since I own it that wouldn’t really be considered borrowing it, would it?”
Peter’s smile broadened. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a nickel before dropping it into the can, the sound very loud in the quiet store.
“Are you sure you
Similar Books
