Once Upon a Charming Bookshop
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Heatherly Bell
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Chapter One
Twyla Thompson was thrilled to see a line out the door on the night of New York Times bestselling author Stacy Cruz’s book signing. This was exactly what Once Upon a Book needed—an infusion of excitement and goodwill and the proverbial opening up of the wallet during the holidays for a book instead of the latest flat-screen TV. Even if Stacy’s recently released thriller wasn’t exactly Christmas material, the timing was right both for her, the publisher and certainly Twyla’s family-owned bookstore.
The reading had been short due to subject matter—murder—and Stacy took questions from the crowd. As usual, they ranged from, “How can I get published?” To “I have an idea for a book. Would you write it for me?” To “My mother had a fascinating life. It should be a book, then a movie starring Meryl Streep.” Stacy was a good sport about it all since the Charming, Texas, residents were her friends and neighbors, too.
Twyla, for her part, would never dream of writing a book. She barely had time to read everything she wanted to. Which was basically...everything. The heart of a bookseller beat in her and she recommended books like they were her best friends. Want an inspirational book? Read this. Would you like a tour de force celebrating the power of the human spirit? Here’s the book for you. A little escapism with some romance and comedy thrown in? Right here. Want to be scared within an inch of your life? Read Stacy Cruz’s latest suspense thriller.
The very best part of Twyla’s day was getting lost in the worlds an author created. Her favorite books had always been of the fantasy romance genre, particularly of the dragon-slaying variety. She adored a fae hero who slayed dragons before breakfast. But honestly? She read anything she could get her hands on. Owning her four-generation family bookstore had made that possible. She’d grown up inside these four walls filled with bookshelves and little alcoves and nooks. She read all the Nancy Drew mysteries, Beverly Cleary and, when her grandmother wasn’t looking, Kathleen Woodiwiss.
Twyla stood next to Roy Finch at the register as he rang up another sale of Stacy’s latest book, Vengeance, that featured a serial killer working among the political power brokers in DC. Twyla had read it, of course. She could not deny Stacy’s talent at terrifying the reader and making them guess until the last page. You’d never expect this from the married, sweet and beautiful mother of a little girl. She was as normal a person as Twyla had ever met.
“Nice crowd tonight,” Mr. Finch said. “Too bad Stacy doesn’t write more than one book a year.”
Too bad indeed. Because while hosting yoga classes and book clubs, and selling educational toys had sustained them, it would no longer be enough. For the past two years, the little bookstore, the only one in town, had been in a terrible slump. Her grandmother still kept the books, and she’d issued the warning earlier this year. Pulling them out of the red might require more than one great holiday season. Foot traffic had slowed as more people bought their books online.
“I’ve got a signed copy of Stacy’s latest book for you.” Lois, Mr. Finch’s fiancée, set a stack of no less than ten books on the counter by the register. “And I grabbed a bunch of giving tree cards.”
The cards were taken from a large stack of books in the shape of a Christmas tree Twyla set up every season. Instead of ornaments, tags indicated the names and addresses of children who either wanted, or needed, a book for Christmas.
“We can always count on you, sweetheart.” Mr. Finch rang her up.
It was endearing the way residents supported the Thompson family bookstore. They might have been in this location for four decades, but they’d never needed as much help as in the past two years.
Mr. Finch, a widowed and retired senior citizen, volunteered his time at the shop so Twyla could occasionally go home. For a while now they hadn’t been able to afford any paid help. Her parents were officially retired and had moved to Hill Country. Their contributions amounted to comments on the sad state of affairs when a bookstore had to host yoga classes. But the instructor gave Twyla a flat rate to rent the space, and she didn’t see them coming up with any solutions. They didn’t want to close up shop. Of course not. They simply wanted Twyla to solve this problem for the entire Thompson family by selling books and nothing else.
“I don’t know what I’d do without either one of you,” Twyla said fondly, patting Mr. Finch’s back. “Or any of the other members of the Almost Dead Poets Society.”
Many of the local senior citizens had formed a poetry group where they recited poems they’d written. It had all started rather innocently enough—a creative effort, and something to do with all their free time. Unfortunately, they also liked to refer to themselves as “literary” matchmakers. Literary not to ever be confused with “literally.” They’d failed with Twyla so far, not that they’d ever give up trying. Last month they’d invited both her and Tony Taylor to a reading and not so discreetly attempted to fix them up.
You’re both so beautiful, it’s a little hard to look at you for long, Ella Mae, the founder of their little group, had said. Kind of like the sun!
The double Ts! Lois had exclaimed. Or would that be the quadruple Ts?
Quadruple, I think, Mr. Finch had said.
You won’t even have to change the initials on your monogrammed towels! Patsy Villanueva had clapped her hands. I mean if it works out, that is.
But no pressure! Susannah held up a palm.
Twyla didn’t own anything monogrammed, let alone towels, but she’d still exchanged frozen smiles with Tony. They’d arranged a coffee date just for fun. Unfortunately, as she’d known for years, Tony batted for the other team. He even had a live-in boyfriend that the old folks assumed was his roommate. It was an easy assumption to make since Tony was such a “man’s man”—a grease monkey who lifted engines for a living. And he hadn’t exactly come out of the closet, thinking his personal life was nobody’s business. He was right, of course. But...
“You really should declare your love of show tunes, Tony,” she’d teased.
“I’m not a cliché.”
“Well, you could get married.”
“I’m not ready to settle down.” He scowled.
Still, they’d had a nice time, catching up on life post-high school. He’d asked after Noah Cahill, and of course she had all the recent updates on her best friend. In the end they’d decided she and Tony would definitely be double-dating at some point.
When Twyla could find a date.
This part wasn’t going to be easy because Twyla had a bad habit. She preferred to spend her time alone and reading a book. Long ago, she’d accepted that she wouldn’t be able to find true love inside the walls of her small rental. But accepting invitations to parties and bar hops wasn’t her style. She wanted to be invited, really, but she just didn’t want to go. An introvert’s problem.
This was why she’d adopted a cat. But, she worried, if she didn’t get a date soon, she was going to risk being known as the cat lady.
“That’s the last copy!” Stacy stood from the table, beaming, holding a hand to her chest. “My publisher will be thrilled. I honestly can’t believe it.”
“I can.” Twyla began to clear up the signing table. “You’re very talented and it’s about time people noticed. I just wish you’d write more books.”
“So do I, but tell that to my daughter.” Stacy sighed. “She’s a holy terror, just like her father. Runs around all day, throwing things. I’m lucky if I get in a few hundred words a day.”
“That’s okay.” Twyla chuckled. “We can’t exactly base our business plan on how many books you write a year.”
Stacy blinked and a familiar concern shaded her eyes. “Are you...are you guys doing okay? Should I maybe ask my publisher whether they can send some of their other authors here for a signing?”
As a bookseller, she knew everyone in the business was suffering, and publishers weren’t financing many book tours. Stacy did those on her own dime, hence the local gig. Twyla didn’t like lying to people but she liked their pity even less. She constantly walked a tightrope between the two.
“As long as we have another great holiday season, like all the others, we should be fine!” She hoped the forced quality of her über-positive attitude wasn’t laying it on too thick.
But Stacy seemed to accept the good news, bless her heart.
“What a relief! We can’t have a town without a bookstore.”
“No, we can’t,” Mr. Finch agreed with a slight shake of his head. “It would be a travesty.”
One by one the straggling customers left, carrying their purchases with them. Not long after, Stacy’s husband, the devastatingly handsome Adam, dropped by to pick her up and drive her home. Everyone said their goodbyes.
Mr. Finch and Lois brought up the rear, wanting to help Twyla close up.
“You two go home!” She waved her hands dismissively. “I’m right behind you.”
“I’ll be by tomorrow for my morning shift promptly at nine.” Mr. Finch took Lois’s hand in his own.
“Are you sure you don’t want to take a break? Take tomorrow off.” Twyla went behind them, shutting off the lights. “You worked tonight.”
“I’ll get plenty of rest when I’m dead,” Roy said, holding the door open for Lois.
“Roy!” Lois went ahead. “Please don’t talk about the worst day of my life a second before it happens.”
“No, darlin’.” He sweetly brought her hand up to his lips. “I’ll be around for a while. You manage to keep me young.”
These two never failed to fill her heart with the warm fuzzies. Both had been widowed for a long time, and were on their second great love.
Which meant some people got two of those, and so far, Twyla didn’t even have one.
Twyla arrived at her grandmother’s home a few minutes later, having stopped first at the bakery for a salted caramel Bundt cake. She and Ganny usually met for dinner every Saturday night and she always brought dessert. Was it sad that a soon-to-be thirty-year-old single woman didn’t have anything better to do on a Saturday night? Not at all. She had her gray cat, Bonkers, waiting at home. He was mean as the devil himself, but he’d been homeless when she adopted him from the shelter, so she was all he had.
Twyla also had at least half a dozen advanced reader copy books on her nightstand waiting for her. There were also all the upcoming Charming holiday events she’d agreed to participate in because that’s what one did as a business owner. Ava had told her about a rare angel investor offering a zero-interest loan to a local Charming business. On top of everything else, Twyla had to prepare an essay this month to be considered. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have anything else to do. Too much, in fact.
“Hello, Peaches.”
Ganny bussed Twyla’s cheek. Occasionally she still referred to Twyla by her old childhood nickname. Once, she’d eaten so many juicy fresh peaches from the tree in Ganny’s yard that she threw up. It wasn’t the best nickname in the world.
“How was the book signing?”
“A line out the door.” Twyla followed Ganny into the ornate dining area connected to the kitchen and set the cake on the mahogany table.
Ganny had been widowed twice and her last husband, Grandpa Walt, a popular real estate broker, had left her with very little but this house. It was too big for Ganny, but she refused to leave it because of the dining room. It was big enough to accommodate large groups of people, which she felt encouraged Twyla’s parents to visit several times a year.
“It was a good start to the month.”
“Good, good. Well, that’s enough book business talk for tonight.” Ganny waved a hand dismissively. “I’ve got a surprise for you tonight. An early Christmas present.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything.”
But a thrill whipped through Twyla because her grandmother was renowned for her thoughtful gifts all year long. It could almost be anything. Maybe a trip to New York City, where Ganny had promised to finally introduce her to some of the biggest booksellers in the country. People she’d met over a lifetime of acquiring and selling books. Twyla had wanted to go back to New York for years. She could still feel the energy of the city zipping through her blood, taste the cheesecake from Junior’s, and the slice of pepperoni pizza from Times Square.
“Why wouldn’t I give my only granddaughter the best present in the world?” Ganny smiled with satisfaction. “He should be along any minute now.”
All the breath left Twyla’s body. Just the thought of another blind date struck her with a sadness she had no business feeling during the holidays. Everyone in town was conspiring to fix up “poor, sad Twyla who can’t get a man.”
She could get a man, but she wasn’t concentrating her efforts on this.
Please let it not be Tony again. And yet there were so few single men her age left in town. Hadn’t her grandmother always told Twyla she’d do fine on her own? If she couldn’t find the right man, she didn’t need any man? Twyla had embraced this truth. She wanted the perfect man or no one at all.
“Life with the right man is wonderful. But a life with the wrong man might as well be lived alone. So many things in life can replace a spouse. Work, travel and books, to start with,” Ganny had said.
Twyla, then, could lead a happy and fruitful life without ever being married.
“Oh, Ganny.” Twyla slumped on the chair. “You didn’t fix me up with someone, did you?”
“Of course not, honey!” She patted Twyla’s hand. “But speaking of which, you’re not going to meet anyone special if you don’t get out more.”
“I’m just like you. Books are my family.”
It seemed to have skipped a generation, because though her father, Ganny’s son, had loyally run the family bookstore, it wasn’t exactly his happy place.
“Yes, but keep in mind I made myself go out and meet people. It wasn’t like it is today. Certainly not. I used to have three dates on the same day. No funny business, of course, but your mother already told me things are different.”
Twyla couldn’t imagine going out three times in one day. She’d be lucky to go out once every three years. Okay, she was exaggerating. But still. Men weren’t exactly lining up to date her. One of them had said she’d look prettier if she’d stop wearing her black-rimmed glasses. Twyla refused to go the contact lens route because if glasses stopped a guy from being interested in her, it wasn’t the guy she wanted anyway.
“Fine, I promise I’ll go out! But please don’t fix me up.” Her friend Zoey had bugged her to go out with her and her boyfriend, Drew, and Twyla hadn’t yet.
“No blind date. This is someone you actually want to see.”
“I can’t even imagine.”
There was only one “he” she’d like to see, and he was all the way in Austin, at home with his girlfriend. Probably planning their wedding.
“That’s it. I’m having dessert first.” Twyla opened the cake box.
The doorbell rang and Ganny rose. “You stay here and close your eyes! Don’t open them until I tell you to.”
Oh, brother. It was like being twelve again. She clasped her hand over her eyes, but not before taking a finger swipe of salted caramel frosting, feeling...well, twelve again.
“Okay, fine. My eyes are closed.”
Twyla heard the front door open and shut, Ganny’s delighted laughter, but no other sounds from this “he” man. Nothing but the sounds of boots thudding as they followed Ganny’s lighter steps.
“Can I open my eyes now? I would really like to have a piece of cake. Whoever you are, I hope you like cake.”
“I love cake,” the deep voice said.
Twyla didn’t even have to open her eyes to recognize the teasing, flirty sound of her favorite person in the world. She didn’t have to hazard a guess because she knew this man almost as well as she knew herself.
And Ganny was right. It was the best present.
Ever.
“Noah!”
Twyla stood and hurled herself into the open arms of Noah Cahill, her best friend.
