Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Bob handed him a bag and a cardboard coffee carrier. “On the house. Welcome.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t—”
“You can and you will.”
“Wow, thank you very much.”
“Come back anytime. And send Ashleigh my best!” he called as Truman opened the door.
***
Truman walked into Thorn ready to make a joke about the whole town saying hi to Ash but was saved from it by nearly running into a broad-shouldered man made even broader by a cartoonishly square gray wool overcoat.
“Excuse me, sorry,” Truman said, sidestepping the man.
He ignored Truman. “Think about it,” the man told Ash flatly. Then his voice softened and he added, before leaving, “My best to your mom.”
“What was that all about?” Truman asked, unloading the coffees and muffins on the counter. “Also, hi.”
“Hey,” Ash said. Today, he was wearing a brown-and-gray sweater in the same style as Greta’s.
“Lemme guess.” Truman pointed at the sweater. “Muskee’s?”
“We’ll make an Owl Islander of you yet,” Ash said, as if this were a fate worse than death. “Thanks for the coffee. What do I owe you?”
“Nothing. Bob sends his best.”
Ash smiled.
“I used to work at the Hardware Store.” Like everyone else so far, Ash managed to imply the capital letters in the name. “For three summers in high school.”
“At the risk of stereotyping, does everyone on the island know every single other person?”
“Nah. It just seems like it. But most of us with businesses on Main know one another. We try to help one another out, recommend that people check out all the other shops during tourist season. If I needed supplies for the shop, I’d get them from Bob. If he needed flowers, he’d get them from me. Being on an island makes it hard to order online. You can. It just takes longer. But we try to support one another.”
“That’s really lovely.”
Truman indulged in a dreamy fantasy of running his own business for a moment, then remembered the man he’d passed on the way in.
“So was that guy, like, the Owl Island Mafia or something?”
“As close as we come to it,” Ash muttered. “That’s Carlton Crimm. He’s the largest landowner on the island, even though he lives on the mainland. He, uh, he wants to buy the shop.”
“Oh, wow. Would you still work here?”
Ash shook his head. “Nah, he won’t keep it Thorn. He’s already bought three of the adjacent properties, and he wants the land. He has plans to build a hotel spa thing. For the tourists.”
“Oh no! You won’t sell, will you?”
It hadn’t occurred to Truman that Ash might own the building, but he supposed real estate in rural Maine wasn’t as expensive as in New Orleans.
Ash was chewing on his lip. “I might not have a choice.” He looked around Thorn, and Truman couldn’t help but notice he seemed resigned. Then Ash made a sound of disgust and said, “You wanna get out of here for a while?”
“But what if customers come?”
Ash shrugged, and Truman thought he might be seeing part of the problem with Thorn’s cash flow.
Still he said, “Okay.”
“Come on, Bruce,” Ash said as he pulled on his coat. “Walk.”
At the word, Bruce sprang from a dead sleep like he’d been reanimated with a zap.
“Dingbat,” Ash said affectionately. Bruce barked in acknowledgment.
“D’you want me to—okay!”
Truman grabbed the bag of muffins and the coffees and followed Ash, who was already out the door. This time, he didn’t bother to leave a Back soon, call Ash sign on the door.
Ash turned away from the other shops on Main Street, rounded the corner away from Greta’s house, and strode off, Bruce keeping pace. Truman power-walked to catch up, sloshing some latte on his—well, Greta’s—glove.
When Truman caught up, Ash scrubbed a hand over his face.
“Sorry, I just had to get out of there. Felt like the walls were closing in or something.”
Truman held out a latte, because sometimes when the walls were closing in, there was nothing you could do but attempt to caffeinate them back into position.
“Thanks.”
“So, forgive my inferences, but context clues suggest that Thorn isn’t making enough money, and you might need to sell to Mafia guy because he’s offering more money than you could make?”
“You got it.”
“Well, while I’m Sherlocking, can I assume that your mother is not in good health and that that’s part of the problem?”
“Yeah.”
They walked in silence for a few blocks, but now it didn’t feel awkward. It felt contemplative. Companionable.
“The building used to be a kind of Army surplus meets random fishing and boating stuff shop when I was little, but it had been abandoned for years when I bought the building. It wasn’t up to code, the plaster was crumbling, and the apartment upstairs was…well, let’s just say I stayed at my mom’s for a month while I made it livable. It was very cheap. I did all the work on it, with some help from Bob.”