Much Ado About You(13)
Five
For a moment it was like I was six years old again with all of my toys set up in a row in my bedroom as I pretended to own a toy shop, forcing my parents to play my customers.
Except this was real.
The cash register was an app on the laptop hidden behind the counter. I just had to use a barcode scanner connected to the computer when ringing up books and other items. There was a stockroom behind a door at the back of the store, next to the private downstairs restroom. The stockroom was filled not only with books, but with all kinds of ornaments and objects for renters to use for the window display.
I had free rein to create whatever display I wanted.
When Penny left after showing me the ropes, leaving me her number in case I needed help, I’d felt a little apprehensive. How brave Penny was to leave her store to the charge of inexperienced bookish tourists?
As for other tourists, several passed by the store throughout the day, peering in, trying to catch my eye as if that would somehow force me to open the door.
I ignored them, even though I felt rude. However, after discussing it with Penny, I decided while I was in charge, the store would be open four days a week. Wednesday through Saturday. I had two editing jobs lined up with authors I’d worked with before, and even though I imagined I’d have free time during opening hours to work on those, I still liked the idea of having free days to edit. It gave me time in the week to sightsee around Northumberland. I’d need to arrange a rental car, but other than the nerve-racking prospect of driving on the opposite side of the road, I was kind of excited about it.
I wondered if I’d get to see Roane’s farm and then threw the thought away.
Roane? Roane who?
First things first. Arranging a display in the storefront window. I started unloading the boxes marked display and noted what was there. There were little sheep and cattle, and I wondered if they were for an agriculture display about Northumberland.
Did another woman come here, meet Roane, and decide to pay homage to him? Was he the tourist trap?
I shook my head.
Roane? Roane who?
When I saw the painted bust of Shakespeare’s head among the items, I knew Penny and I were secretly soul mates. Giddy with excitement, I grabbed my favorite playwright’s head, intending to use it. There was a weird and wonderful collection of ornaments that seemed to make no sense, but my love for Shakespeare meant my brain automatically put them all together and came up with A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Penny had several garden fairies, and there was even a miniature donkey. Finding a crib and a manger, I suspected the donkey was part of a Christmas nativity set. But all I saw was Nick Bottom. Sure, he only had a donkey’s head, but I had to work with what was available, and that didn’t include a half-human, half-donkey doll.
Because that would be creepy.
I wondered if Roane liked Shakespeare.
Who cares? I admonished myself.
Grabbing piles of green sparkly tinsel, I arranged it on the wide window ledge to look like grass. Penny had several small, twiggy Christmas trees, and I attached paper blossoms I’d found to the branches. The blossoms had clips on them, like they were hair decorations to be worn for a luau or something, and I transformed two of the miniature Christmas trees into blossom trees. The others I plugged in so they lit up.
Finding strings of fairy lights, I draped them around the window. Then I placed the garden fairies and the donkey across the ledge surrounded by tinsel and lights. There were several copies of A Midsummer’s Night Dream in the store, and I opened those just enough that they stood in place among the display.
The bust of Shakespeare took center stage.
To finish the scene, I found gold stars, glued them to string, and taped them to the wall above the window so they cascaded down above the display at differing lengths. Using the laptop, I printed quotes from the play onto white cards and propped them against the fairies.
A few hours later, I stepped outside in the pleasantly sunny May afternoon and took in the effect of what I’d created. It wouldn’t win awards—in fact it looked like six-year-old me had done it—but it was whimsical and made me smile.
I wondered if it would make Roane smile.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” I snapped at myself.
* * *
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As focused as I was on preparing the bookstore for opening (and trying to distract myself from invading thoughts of a certain farmer), I completely forgot to eat lunch. Deciding to dine at The Anchor, I left for the pub before seven o’clock. My belly rumbled furiously at me, and I felt a little light-headed.
Dressing for the evening had been tricky. I didn’t want to encourage flirtation from Roane, but I wanted to wear what I wanted to wear without thinking about how it would affect the farmer. I loved tailored shorts because I had long legs. Where most of my female friends complained of cellulite on their thighs, it didn’t plague me on that part of the body. My legs were slender but well formed and strong. As I neared my late twenties, the dreaded cellulite did appear, but it attached itself to the wings of my arms and my belly. A lady couldn’t win. However, she could choose to embrace the positives.
I mused over the decision to wear my favorite clothing item or stick with jeans.
Would Roane think I was showing off my legs for him?
Would the locals think I was a silly American who didn’t know how to dress for cooler weather?