Turning the Page (11 page)

and creative salads had given her a niche, especially in the downtown location she occupied,

and she was remarkably successful with her lunch business.

"You’ve really cleaned this place up," Lynda remarked, looking around the sparkling shop. "It looks like a different store." It was true. Melanie had spent the entire day Wednesday

scrubbing, dusting, and straightening the little shop. It now shone like a new penny, and

Melanie absorbed the compliment proudly. Lynda turned and winked at her. "I hope Sammi's

paying you well."

Melanie chewed on her lower lip. "Um...she doesn't exactly know."

Lynda raised her eyebrows in question.

"I know, I know," Melanie argued. "She's out of town. See, Sam's dad actually owns it, and he asked me to look into why it's not doing so well." She shrugged innocently. "I decided the shit-brown exterior had something to do with it."

The older woman burst into laughter. "I've got to say, I'm with you on that one." She glanced at her watch. "Yikes! I'd better go before Julie issues an APB on me. She gets upset if I leave her with the customers for too long on her own." She held out her hand, and Melanie shook it

warmly. "It was nice to meet you, Ms. Larson. I look forward to seeing you again soon."

"Thanks for the tea."

"Can't have you dehydrating in the middle of the sidewalk. Bad for business." With a wink, she was gone.

Melanie headed back out to her paint with a grin, deciding she liked Rochester very, very

much.

BY THE TIME Melanie returned to the carriage house Saturday afternoon, her wrists were

kil ing her. She'd applied the entire second coat, hoping that would be the end of it. No luck. A

third coat was definitely a necessity. "If I never see another paintbrush as long as I live, it'll be too soon," she mumbled, stripping out of her stained clothing and stepping directly into the shower. She let the soothing spray ease her tired muscles. Luckily, it hadn't been that hot

out, and she was able to complete her task without the danger of heat stroke.

Lynda had ventured over around noon with a chicken salad pita and another Snapple. "What did

I tell you about dehydrating on the sidewalk?" she'd scolded the redhead with a smile,

refusing to take any money for the food.

Melanie had been glad to see her. She'd been missing having somebody to talk to, unable to

locate Taylor since they bumped into each other—literally—as she and Ben were on their way

to dinner two nights before. She rephrased that in her own head as the water pelted her. No,

she hadn't been missing somebody, she'd been missing Taylor. Hmm. Interesting.

Saturday was a light day for Lynda, so she'd spent much of her time popping her head out to

chat with Melanie as she painted.

"Benefit of owning the business...you're the boss." She'd grinned when Melanie asked her if her assistant would get mad that she was visiting. Having Lynda to chat with had made the day

go by faster, and before Melanie realized it, coat number two was finished.

She'd decided to take the next day off, to rest and to think. The more time she spent at the

little bookshop, the more attached to it she became. Today, she'd actually had a vision of

herself as the owner. She'd changed it into a little specialty bookshop—the specialty stil

undecided—and it was hers. After all, Sam had said to sell it, hadn't she?

On the other hand, it was a huge change from the world of marketing. What did she know

about selling books? Did she think she could just come along and make things work, after Sam

and Jeff had failed so miserably? Still, she couldn't get the idea out of her head. Would

Uncle Phil even consider selling it to her? She realized she wouldn't actually make a profit for

quite some time, but she had enough money in the bank. That, plus her severance package,

should keep her afloat for quite a while, allowing her to cultivate the business.

It was certainly a thought that had chewed at the edges of her mind all day. She had been

surprised to realize that she really wanted to talk to Taylor about it. For some reason, she

valued the younger woman's opinion, and was sure if this was a ridiculous idea, Taylor would

find a way to tell her so without making her feel like a spanked child. She changed into a pair

of denim shorts and a pink T-shirt, then blew her hair dry. Taylor's car was not in the

driveway, but maybe Ben would know when she planned on returning. She finished her hair, and

headed out the door, strolling across the lawn towards the back door of the main house.

The gril was hot, and Ben came out of the kitchen just as Melanie turned the corner.

"Melanie," he exclaimed, obviously happy to see her. He held up a plate with two hamburger patties. "Join me?"

"Oh, no," Melanie protested. "I'm always interrupting your dinner. I'm sorry. I was actually looking for your daughter."

Ben flicked his eyes quickly over her, careful not to offend her, but pleased by what he saw.

This woman had incredible legs.

"Taylor's been working late on some project. I haven't seen much of her in the past couple

days."

"Hmm."

"Please, Melanie, join me. Taylor mixed this ground beef up the same way she makes her

meatballs... it's delicious. And I've got enough left in the kitchen to make one more patty."

She was about to decline, so he gave her a pout. "You don't want me to eat alone, do you?"

She sighed, defeated. She'd really wanted to talk to Taylor, but she supposed she'd just have

to wait. In the meantime, she really didn't want to eat alone, either. "Oh, all right. On one

condition. You let me buy you dinner next week for a change."

"You've got yourself a deal, young lady." He grinned, hurrying off to flatten another burger.

Chapter Eleven

MELANIE WASN’T QUITE sure why she was so nervous. She twisted the phone cord around

her finger and waited impatiently as the ringing continued in her ear. She was disappointed

that she hadn't been able to talk to Taylor the night before, but she couldn't wait any longer.

She had to find out if this crazy idea was even a possibility. She was about to hang up when a

cheerful, albeit breathless, voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Aunt Dar?"

"Melanie." Her aunt was obviously ecstatic to hear her voice. "How are you, sweetheart?"

"I'm great. Am I interrupting something? You sound out of breath."

"Oh, no, dear. Your uncle and I were working in the yard and forgot to bring the cordless

outside with us. I ran to answer it, and I'm so glad I did. Are you enjoying your stay? Is Sam

being a good hostess?"

Melanie rolled her eyes, deciding to spare her aunt the dose of realism that was ready to

shoot off her tongue. "She's being wonderful. I'm having a great time. Listen, is Uncle Phil

around?"

"Sure is. Hang on, dear." There was a muffled sound, then her aunt's voice shouting, "Phillip!

Melanie's on the phone."

Aunt Darlene was one of the sweetest women in the world. She would do anything for anybody

and wouldn't hurt a fly. Her daughter was her pride and joy. If Uncle Phil had skewed vision

when it came to Samantha, then Aunt Dar was simply blind as a bat.

It used to frustrate Melanie, this false vision of the kind of person Sam was, especially when

she was young and insecure. These were intel igent people. Why were they so oblivious to their

daughter's shenanigans? As she got older and more comfortable in her own skin, she realized

that making her aunt and uncle see the real Samantha would only cause them pain and give

them reason to worry about their child more than they already did. Melanie had made a pact

with herself to keep her mouth shut, and do whatever she could to keep their image of

Samantha intact, preserving the happiness of the couple that had been so good to her while

she was growing up.

"Hey, Red," her uncle's strong voice boomed in her ear. "How goes it in Ro-cha-cha?"

"Not bad, Uncle Phil. Not bad. I'm really starting to like it here."

"Good to hear. Sam's got a nice little place, huh?"

"It's adorable, really." They chatted about Melanie's drive and the weather, before she got down to business.

"Uncle Phil, I want to talk to you about the bookstore."

"Uh oh. Don't like that tone. Bad, is it?"

"Wel , no. Not so bad." She explained to him that the store was in good shape, but profits were not up, nor had they ever been.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered. "I knew that guy was a good-for-nothing...not a damn cent, huh?"

"Doesn't look like it. But, Uncle Phil, listen. I have a proposition for you."

"Okay."

"Sam doesn't want to run the shop herself. She really wasn't much into the business end of it

and now that Jeff's gone, she'd rather not deal with it at all." She waited to hear his

reaction.

"Go on," he urged, his tone unreadable.

"She said to tell you to sell it."

Silence. Then, "She did, did she?"

"Yes."

"Can't say I'm surprised," he sighed. "Al right. Let me—"

"Would you sell it to me?" She blurted the question before she had time to chicken out.

"What?"

"Sell it to me. I've been doing a lot of work on it, and some research, and I have some ideas

I'd like to try. It's a great little place, it just hasn't had the right attention. I'd like to give it a shot, see if I can make a go of it."

"Sell it to you?"

"That's right. Look, work gave me a great severance package. I can afford it... I think... and I just..." She blew out a breath, trying to find the right words to express her desire to her

uncle and make him understand this was something she needed. "I don't know, Uncle Phil. I

just want to try this. It's been eating at me since I first walked in. I think I might be able to

pull it off. If it doesn't work, I'll just sell it myself. Either way, you'll be rid of it." She listened to her uncle's breathing, almost able to hear the wheels turning, unaware that she

was holding her own breath.

"Wel , Red," he said finally, "I've never known you to make a business decision with your head up your ass. If this is something you think you want, let's do it."

Melanie expel ed the air from her burning lungs with a whoosh of relief. "Thanks, Uncle Phil."

"I'll have to dig up some paperwork. I'm not sure about details, so I'll have to cal you back

tomorrow or Tuesday. That be all right?"

"That would be great. You're the best. You won't regret this."

"No, I don't think I will," he chuckled at his niece's obvious enthusiasm. "I'll be in touch."

"Okay."

Melanie sat staring at the phone for a long time. Did she just do what she thought she did?

The bookstore was actually going to be hers. Hers. She had no idea why the fact excited her

so. It couldn't be the responsibility. She'd had that at Rucker and Steele.

She'd had a staff of fifteen that she oversaw, not to mention the clout she'd had with the

Board. And it certainly wasn't the money.

She didn't realistically expect to see a profit any time soon. There was too much cleaning up

to do, restocking and liquidation of inventory. What was it? Why did the prospect of owning

her own business make her giddy?

She poured herself a glass of iced tea and went out to the back yard. Sitting at the picnic

table, she watched a cardinal poking at the grass. "Melanie Larson, Owner," she said aloud. It brought a girlish smile to her face, and she bit back the urge to giggle out loud. She'd never

had anything that was just hers. She'd never allowed herself the time.

"Wow." She raised her eyebrows, suddenly realizing the scope of things. From now on, when it came to the bookstore, she was God. She was now responsible for the success or failure of it.

Her. Melanie. Not Sam. Not Jeff. No bigwigs in upper management with the final say. Just

her.

A little tiny piece of anxiety crept out from a corner of her brain, poking at her. She

swallowed, suddenly nervous. What the hel had she done? Was she some kind of idiot? What

kind of a moron buys a business they know nothing about? She tried to shake the doubts out

of her head, realizing with a start that owning the bookstore meant relocating to Rochester

permanently. She slapped herself on the forehead.

"Duh," she scolded herself, heading back into the carriage house with her empty glass. "I've got some moving to do. I need to find an apartment. And I've got to come up with a better

name for the place. Mason's Books. Puhlease." She rooted through the Sunday paper, yanking

out the classified section. Hopefully, she peeked at the driveway, her face falling a little when

she saw no sign of Taylor's red coupe. She hadn't seen the brunette in two days, and felt

suspiciously like Taylor was avoiding her. The voice of reason took over. Two days and that

means she's avoiding you? Think pretty highly of ourselves, now, don't we?

She heaved a frustrated sigh and plopped down in the chair with the paper, red pen in hand.

Chapter Twelve

BY THE END of the lunch hour on Monday, Melanie had the entire third coat of paint finished.

She stood back, hands on hips, and surveyed her handiwork with a satisfied smile. Things felt

a little different, now that she knew the store was going to be hers.

She took a deep breath of the city air, feeling inexplicably victorious. Picking up the paint

cans, brushes, and drop cloths, she entered the store.

There was so much to do. She knew Uncle Phil would take care of the necessary paper work,

but she hadn't even decided what kind of books she was going to sell. She still had to figure