The Wrong Mr. Right (The Queen's Cove Series #2)(5)

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 a 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 getting ready for 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 had 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 my empty plate 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 in the dark corner beneath the bed.

Two minutes later, I reached over my shoulder to zip it up before turning to gawk at myself in the mirror. Thérèse had guessed the sizing correctly and it fit me in all the right places.

Wearing this dress felt like a joke, though. Like when people put 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, she 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 had 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 had put into finding the perfect ring? It was never fake for Emmett. On their wedding day, she 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.