“I’M HOME,” I called when I stepped in the front door of the little house I shared with my dad.
“Hi, honey.” My dad was in his favorite chair in the front room, reading John Grisham’s latest. “Good day at the store?”
I shot him a tight smile as I kicked my shoes off. “Thérèse stopped by to say hello.”
He didn’t notice me dodging the question. “That’s nice.”
“I’m going to finish up some paperwork.”
When I got to my bedroom, I slid the white shopping bag Thérèse had given me under my bed as far as it would go.
Then, I took a seat at my desk, opened my laptop, and tallied the sales for the day.
Four sales.
We hadn’t even covered Liya’s salary today. I sighed and stared out the window at the trees behind our house. Another month in the red. That was eleven. Eleven months in a row, we had been losing money. I thought about the shop the way Wyatt must have seen it today—worn, ugly carpet, faded wallpaper, books stacked everywhere.
The store couldn’t survive in our tiny town any longer. Panic clawed at me. It was only a matter of time before I ran out of savings and my dad found out how the store was really doing.
This is the way she wanted it, he said whenever I hinted we’d see more sales if we made a few changes. Your mother put everything into that store.
His tone always made it clear: if we changed the store, we were erasing her memory.
We hadn’t made any changes to the store since the day she passed. The same artwork hung on the walls. The same dusty maroon carpet lay on the floor. Bookshelves stood where they were installed years ago. Even our website was from the nineties. It was a joke of my mom’s, when I was a teenager, that we had such an old website. No one used it back then, anyway.
But that was fourteen years ago. Now, people used websites all the time.
On my laptop, I opened a browser and typed in the website address. It loaded and a tinny, tinkly music played, a Victorian tune that sounded like something from the 1800s. Pemberley Books appeared above a picture of my mom at the front desk, surrounded by books, smiling from ear to ear.
I let out a long sigh. She was beautiful, and when she smiled like that, it was so obvious that owning her own bookstore was her dream.
And now I was running it into the ground.
I snapped the laptop closed and shoved the image from my mind.
Half an hour later, the timer on the oven dinged and I pulled a pan of roast veggies and chickpeas out.
“Something smells good.” My dad walked into the kitchen. It was what we had most nights before we both picked up our books and read in the living room.
“Hey, Dad?” I set the pan on the stove and pulled a couple plates down.
“Mmm?” He opened the cutlery drawer and pulled out forks and knives.
“I was thinking.” I kept my gaze on the food as I transferred it between two plates. “There are some great bookstore social media accounts. They take nice photos, they make book recommendations, and they’re a free way to advertise.” He was quiet and I spared him a glance. “All the bookstores have them,” I continued, setting the plates down on the table.
He sighed and took a seat across from me. He gave me a sad, tentative smile. “Honey.”
With that word, I knew. My stomach sank. “I think it would help boost sales.”
His expression strained. “We’ve had this conversation before. Pemberley’s charm is that we don’t do things like everyone else.” He waved his fork. “These big box stores with their fluorescent lights and escalators? You know what they sell?”
I tried not to roll my eyes. “Scarves.”
“Scarves.” His eyes widened. “Candles. And you know what else I’ve heard they sell?”
I waited.
My dad glanced around the kitchen as if there were people in here who would overhear him. “Personal items.”
I frowned. “What kind of personal items?”
His face was going red. He cleared his throat. “Miri Yang told me she saw a vibrator.” He barely whispered the word.
I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t laugh. “Why was Miri Yang telling you about vibrators?”
He shook his head. “We don’t want to be like those big box stores, Hannah. Pemberley has family-business charm. That’s how your mother wanted it.”
Well, there it was. Couldn’t argue with that, could I? Anytime I wanted to improve the store, this was his final playing card. That’s how your mother wanted it. I could practically hear the door slamming shut. It wasn’t my store, it was my dad’s and my mom’s, and I just worked there. It wasn’t my place.
I opened my mouth to say something to my dad about how we should try something new, but my throat knotted and my mouth snapped shut. I wasn’t good at this part, the arguing part.
“You haven’t been inside in a while.”
His gaze zeroed in on his plate and a crease formed on his forehead. He shook his head. “I’ve been busy these days.” He took a bite of broccoli and waved his fork at me. “I know you have it covered.”
I bit back another retort. Busy? He hadn’t been inside the store in a while because my mom’s ghost lurked in every corner.
Unease moved through my stomach, and I stabbed a cube of roast yam. Every night, I came home and ate dinner with my dad at the table. After, we’d read our books on the couches in the living room with our mugs of tea. He’d drink Earl Grey and I’d drink peppermint. At ten o’clock, he’d yawn, give me a kiss on the forehead and go to bed, and at eleven o’clock, I’d get into my pajamas before going to bed myself.
It was the same every night, and it would be the same every night for the rest of my life. For the last seven years since I came home from university, I’d worn the same clothes, eaten the same food, woken up and gone to the bookstore most days. I had the same long, straight blonde hair, often tied up into a ponytail. When my glasses broke a couple years ago, I bought the same ones again.
Nothing had changed, not in the store and not with me. My chest hollowed at the thought. Was this how the rest of my life would go?
No, it wouldn’t, I realized, because the bookstore wouldn’t be around much longer if things continued the way they were going. Panic streaked through my mind again.
“I forgot to tell you,” my dad said, standing and taking our empty plates to the dishwasher. “Your uncle Rick needs a house sitter for the summer, so I’m going to stay there for a bit. His neighbor fell through because they sold their house.”
My uncle lived on Salt Spring Island, a small island off the coast of Vancouver. Every summer, he sailed up and down the coast of British Columbia while his neighbor took care of his house. He had a couple goats and cats who needed daily feeding.
“You’re going to be gone the whole summer?” I blinked behind my glasses. “That’s a long time.” He’d never been away this long. I’d be home alone the entire summer.
A worried expression came over his face. “Are you going to be okay here by yourself?”
I forced a laugh. “Of course. I’m an adult.”
Later, in my room, I flopped face-down on my bed. I could sense the dress’s presence, even tucked into the dark corner beneath the bed.
Two minutes later, I was reaching over my shoulder to zip it up before turning to gawk at myself in the mirror. Thérèse had guessed the size correctly and it fit me in all the right places.
Wearing this dress felt like a joke, though. Like when people put adult sunglasses on a baby and everyone laughs.
Here I was, nearly thirty years old, and I had nothing to show for it. I still lived with my dad, I had accomplished nothing, and I’d never been in love. I’d never had a boyfriend. I’d never been to Europe or Australia or New York, like the characters in the books I read.
One day, Hannah Banana, you’re going to find your true love, my mom would always tell me, right in this very room, usually with a book in her hand. I remembered her soft smile as she tucked me in. You’re going to find someone who makes you feel incredible, and you’ll wonder where he had been hiding this whole time.
I was the one who was hiding. The love of my life would never find me behind the stacks of books in my dusty old store.
A picture of Avery and me at her wedding sat on my dresser. We were smiling at each other, and she radiated happiness. Last year, Emmett convinced Avery to be his fake fiancée while he ran for mayor. He had come into my bookstore and asked me to help him pick out a ring. The care and attention he put into finding the perfect ring? It was never fake for Emmett. On their wedding day, Avery and Emmett couldn’t take their eyes off each other. They still couldn’t. I had watched her fall in love with him, watched as they became the most important thing to each other.
I wanted that, too.
A rock landed in my stomach.
My mom would be so disappointed in me. I crossed my arms over my chest, remembering how driven she was, how passionate and excited about the shop she was. She’d see my sad little life and wince with disappointment, or worse, embarrassment.
I studied the dress and ran my fingers over the coarse sequins. I wanted to be worthy of this dress. I wanted to make the shop profitable again. I wanted to find someone to fall in love with.
I stared at my reflection for one more moment before opening a drawer and pulling out a piece of paper and a pen.
Before 30:
1. Save my failing bookstore.
Since my dad was stuck on keeping the store in the nineties, I would have to get creative.
2. Find my true love.
I cringed at how cheesy that sounded. No one would ever see this list.
I glanced at my reflection again. The sequins reflected pinpricks of light on my bedroom walls.
3. Become a hot girl.
The sparkly dress was a hot girl dress. If I wanted true love, I had to go out and get him. I couldn’t sit in my bookstore with my boring sweaters and wait for him to show up.
This was so stupid.
A thought struck me, and I raised an eyebrow.
Wyatt knew hot girls. Wyatt didn’t really date, but I had seen him with women a few times, and they were always drop-dead gorgeous. Shiny hair, perfect makeup, stylish outfits out of a magazine. Hot girls.
The image of him in my bookstore earlier that day flashed into my head. Hot people attracted other hot people. That was a fact of life. And Wyatt? He had girls falling all over him.
The funny thing was, he didn’t seem to care. He only cared about surfing.
Which made women want him even more. I frowned and narrowed my eyes. I was on to something here.
I chewed my lip before writing the last one.
4. Make Mom proud.
A rock formed in my throat, and I blinked tears out of my eyes. There. I said it. I knew she’d look at my life now and wish I had done more.
Alright, enough moping. Once I was in my pajamas, I reached for my laptop on my desk and flipped it open, pulling up a Scandinavian music video.
After a few videos, the tension in my stomach unraveled and I settled into bed. I grinned, watching a video by one of my favorite Europop artists, Tula. She was a tiny woman with a lot of hair and enormous eyes. In this video, she dressed as a mermaid, perched on a rock with a scaly tail, and twisted her fingers in her long green wig while she sang in Finnish. Behind her, muscular mermen stood in the ocean, dancing and thrusting to the music. Some held trident spears, some wore fishing nets as capes.
God, I loved Europop.
The video cut to a close-up of one of the mermen, and I nearly fell off my bed.
My mouth hung open as Wyatt Rhodes thrust against the air behind Tula.
My eyes were saucers as I scanned over the same muscles I had seen this afternoon in the store. Except these muscles moved under silver body paint, with decorative scales glued on.
Oh my god.
That merman was Wyatt. I was positive. It was his shaggy blond hair slicked back and painted silver, his lean muscle, his lazy, confident, panty-melting grin.
I watched the video six times to be sure, alternating between cringing and snickering.
There was no way Avery knew about this. She knew I loved Europop, and she hadn’t mentioned this to me, which meant she didn’t know. Which meant Emmett didn’t know.
Which meant no one knew.
Huh.
My eyes narrowed at the screen. Wyatt twirled his trident around in the air, and I snorted.
It was no secret in town that surfing was Wyatt’s whole life, his whole existence. He was out on his board almost every day, no matter how cold or choppy the water was. Everyone knew about his dreams of going pro, and Avery had mentioned he was trying to get a sponsorship deal with one of the big surf brands.
My skin prickled with anticipation and danger. Wyatt had all the hot girl knowledge I wanted, and now I had dirt on him.
I could ask Avery to help me become a hot girl, but she wasn’t like me. She was confident. She wouldn’t understand. She had never wanted to fall in love before Emmett. She’d actively avoided it. Besides, she would tell me to be myself.
Being myself had wasted a decade of my life and got me nowhere. No, I wasn’t going to ask Avery for help.
Wyatt, though, he was perfect. He had all the qualities I needed. I had a little crush on him, but he was the last guy in the world I would ever fall for. The guy of my dreams was sweet, chivalrous, friendly, and above all, loved books and Queen’s Cove. Wyatt was leaving town as soon as he got a sponsorship.
Most importantly, I had something in my back pocket that Wyatt didn’t want getting out.
Making the store profitable, I could figure out on my own. The true love thing would fall into place once I became a hot girl like Thérèse. She had said it herself in the store, I’ve been in love many, many times.
My pulse beat in my ears and I sucked in a breath, chewing my lip. I didn’t want to stop him from getting a sponsorship, so I’d never show a soul the video, I’d just use it to convince him to help me.
Wyatt Rhodes was going to teach me to be a hot girl.
