The Wrong Mr. Right (The Queen's Cove Series #2)(95)

She rolled her eyes before tucking herself into my side, under my arm, with a grin. “I don’t care, it’s just water. Can we stop at the bookshop on the way? I want to see if that book came in for Randeep, he was asking me about it earlier. I should check in to make sure Liya and Casey are okay.” Hannah had hired Casey to help out part time, now that the store was busier. They had walked into the store and introduced themself as a massive romance fan, charming Hannah immediately.

I left my board and wetsuit at the surf shop, pulled a t-shirt over my head, and took Hannah’s hand as we wandered through the streets. The town was busy this weekend for the festival, with surfers wandering around in wetsuits and tourists taking pictures in front of the Queen’s Cove sign by the marina. People packed into the alley with the mural, taking photos.

The sun streamed down, the perfect September temperature to sit on a patio with the girl I loved and ask her to come with me.

The bell on the door of Pemberley Books jingled as Hannah opened the door and held it for me. The light inside was dim and I had come to love the dusty smell of the books.

“Hey, Liya,” Hannah called, waving.

Liya turned with a weird, tight expression on her face. Her eyes were wide. Something flipped in my stomach and my eyebrows knitted. Hannah tilted her head and her mouth fell open as Frank Nielsen walked out of the back room.





28





Hannah





“Dad. I thought you weren’t back until October.”

Wyatt’s hand settled on my shoulder. Blood rushed in my ears while I watched my dad’s expression. Liya slipped away to help a customer.

He shifted on his feet, taking in the changes. I couldn’t read his expression. Furious? Sad? Confused?

“Your uncle got home early so there was no need for me to stay.” He looked around the bookstore, shaking his head at the wallpaper. He reached out and touched a leaf hanging off a nearby vine before he shook his head again. His eyebrows knitted together and his gaze flicked to Wyatt’s hand on my shoulder.

Wyatt’s hand tightened and he stepped closer so my back was against his chest.

“What is all this?” my dad asked, gesturing around us. His voice was soft, like he couldn’t believe it. “Why is everything different?”

“Everything is different because this is a business.” My heart was in my throat and unease ripped through me. “I ran the business your way for years and it wasn’t working. Now we’re doing it my way.”

Wyatt’s hand squeezed me again and I pulled a deep breath into my lungs. Holy shit. Did I actually say that?

My dad’s eyes widened, and the way he stared at me was like he didn’t recognize me. He blinked. “So your way is to paint over her? To rip out everything she picked out?” He pressed his fist to his mouth and inhaled. “You erased her mural, Hannah. That mural was everything to her.”

Something dark and miserable bled into my chest and I swallowed. “No.” I shook my head. “I didn’t erase her.”

Right? I didn’t erase her. That was ridiculous.

“You did.” His eyes were bright. “We have a duty to remember her, Hannah, and she’s slipping away from us.” His throat worked. “You lied to me. I had a bad feeling about this, about leaving you all summer, and I was right.”

We stood there in silence. The door opened. A tourist took one look at the weird energy in the bookshop and turned right back around.

Wyatt made a noise in his throat and shook his head at my dad. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Wyatt, no—” I started.

Wyatt gestured around us. “Look at this place from a different perspective, Frank. Hannah turned the store around in a few months. She made it into a tourist attraction. Not only did she do it all by herself, she did it with you dragging her down.”

I inhaled sharply and watched as my dad’s mouth fell open. “No, Dad—” I shook my head, about to dispute Wyatt’s words, but he was right.

My dad was dragging me down.

Pain wrenched my heart.

“You stick me in here,” I told him, “and you don’t let me change a single thing. You set me up to fail. You say she wouldn’t want things to be different, but you are the one who wouldn’t want things to be different.” My voice shook but something surged in me.

Anger.

I crossed my arms over my chest and my nostrils flared. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to run a store from the goddamned nineties? You think Mom would want to keep that ugly carpet for thirty years?” My pulse beat in my ears. “You think Mom wouldn’t touch the faded, crumbling mural? You think Mom wouldn’t want to throw a few plants in the window?” I paused, waiting for an answer, but he just blinked back at me.

I had never spoken to my dad this way, but finally, I was being honest with him.

“Huh?” My voice was louder than normal. I held a hand to my ear. “Speak up, Dad. What about Mom makes you think she wouldn’t want to change a thing? That’s you. That’s all you.”

My heart slammed in my chest and I heaved a breath. My eyes stung. “There are flowers on the wall because I like them, and I’m the one working here all the time. You’re never here.”

That hit the mark. My dad blinked like I slapped him. He pressed his mouth into a tight line. “This is all we have left of her,” he whispered.