As Long As I Have You (London Sullivans 1) Page 9

  “Do you know the cat’s name?” she asked.

  “Charlie always called him Mars. I’m assuming because his coloring makes him look like the candy bar, with the nougat and caramel on the inside and milk chocolate on the outside.”

  Mari was momentarily speechless. “That was his nickname for me. Mars.” But even that discovery couldn’t keep her from yawning again.

  “Don’t forget, anything you need—even if it’s just a spoonful of sugar for your tea—I’m close by at Gran’s. Her cottage is at 386 Elderflower Lane.”

  “Even the addresses in England sound like they’ve come from a fairy tale,” Mari murmured, so sleepy suddenly that she almost felt as though she were already dreaming.

  He smiled at her random statement. “Do you need help with anything else before I go?”

  “Just this.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek on his chest, the steady beat of his heart lulling her even further.

  And when he squeezed her back, she wondered if maybe the first edition Winnie-the-Pooh hadn’t been the only gift her father had left for her.

  Because she would be very lucky indeed to get to call Charlie’s friends her own.

  Especially a man who just might end up being so much more than a friend.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Mari woke early the next morning, filled with a renewed sense of purpose after having found yet more proof last night that Charlie hadn’t forgotten her. While she still didn’t understand why he had never tried to make contact with her when she was a teenager or an adult, it meant a great deal to her to now know for certain that she had been important to him as a child. Important enough to keep reminders of her through Winnie-the-Pooh, his cat, and her baby clothes in his bottom dresser drawer.

  She decided to take a quick bath before starting her day in the store. Who was she kidding—clawfoot-tub soaks weren’t meant to be quick. After luxuriating in the bubbles until the water grew cold, she dressed, then headed into the kitchen to turn on the kettle for a cup of tea and turn on the range to make oatmeal…then promptly forgot about both while staring out the window, daydreaming about Owen Sullivan.

  Last night, she’d dreamed plenty about him too—dreamed of his kisses, of how good it felt when he held her. She’d come to Elderflower Island hoping to learn about Charlie’s life, but she’d found that and so much more. Wonder and beauty and friendly people.

  And, most unexpectedly of all, Owen.

  The whistle of the kettle and the smell of burning oats snapped her back to reality. One where she needed to head downstairs to dive back into piles of books and dust. Would she uncover any unexpected treasures today? Previously, she had been cautiously hopeful.

  This morning, she could no longer hold hope back.

  Mars the cat stretched when she entered the bookstore, his fur rising in a black wave from front to back as he woke up. In her search of the cupboards upstairs, she’d found a stock of cans of wet cat food. Opening one, she poured it into a bowl. In another bowl, she poured water from the bottle she’d clipped on the belt loop of her jeans. Though Mars gave the bowls a cursory sniff and taste after he hopped down from the counter, he soon headed for the door. Not at all surprised that better spoils awaited him at the pub, Mari let him out.

  It was another gloriously beautiful day. The river sparkled in the sunlight, the grass and trees were brilliantly green, and people went about their business with smiles on their faces. A man in a white apron stopped sweeping leaves outside the pub to smile and wave at her. Smiling and waving back, she decided today would be a good day to venture out for lunch and meet a few of the island locals. After all, if she did decide to stay in London, she hoped to be a part of the community.

  Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. She would need to gather more financial data about the viability of the bookstore as a profitable business before she could make any firm decisions, of course. But barring massive disaster, she had begun to think that staying might not be as impossible as she’d once believed.

  A retro-style radio sat on the shelf behind the register, and she turned it on. It was playing Chopin, and after Prelude in E Minor concluded, the announcer thanked listeners for supporting Classic FM.

  It felt like yet another insight into her father’s life. He had liked classical music. So did she.

  Though Mari didn’t have a musical bone in her body, she’d always been struck by how powerful music could be for evoking not only emotions, but also vivid mental pictures. With Haydn playing now, and sun streaming in the windows, she could see the bookstore as it might have been while her father was behind the register ringing up a purchase, or climbing on one of the shelf ladders to locate the perfect book for a customer. She could see someone curled up on the tweed armchair in the corner, thumbing through one of the gardening books Alice had so carefully shelved. A mother and child on the rug in the kids’ section reading a picture book together. A mystery lovers’ book group meeting in the alcove next to Mathilda Westcott’s books, sharing recommendations for new authors and series to explore next. A guest author reading from her new bestseller to a crowd of happy fans.

  Picturing the bookstore in all its glory put a smile on Mari’s face as she tackled the children’s section. According to her mother, she’d been a voracious reader practically from birth. The only thing they’d ever really fought about, in fact, was how often Mari had been caught reading with a flashlight under the covers, hours past her bedtime.

  All Mari’s life, books had been the one thing she could count on, going as far back as three years old, when her world had turned on a dime—not only losing her father, but living with a mother who alternated between fury and tears, strength and fragility.

  Nothing calmed Mari faster than a book. Nothing cheered her to higher heights than a book. Nothing brought her as much knowledge as a book.

  She loved the idea of curating a children’s section that could do the same for local kids. A place to feel comfortable, no matter where you came from, how much money you had, or whether your parents or friends liked to read. Of course, she understood that she would need to make a profit if she intended to run the store, but if she did end up keeping the business, at least one part of the store would never have to make sense on a spreadsheet of pluses and minuses. The children’s section would be purely about fun and joy and inspiration. Even if that one area of the store ran at a financial loss, giving a child a reason to smile and dream and be curious was so much more important.

  Feeling lighter than she had in a long while, Mari emptied shelves of children’s stories, wiped them down, dusted books, then reorganized them, first grouping together her favorite authors, then shelving everything else in alphabetical order.

  Yesterday while she’d been working, her lingering worries had still been dragging her down. Today, she couldn’t remember when she’d ever been happier to work on something.

  Okay, so everything was still pretty much up in the air, given that she still needed to have a serious look at the bookstore’s financial records, which was next on her list for the day. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t feel happy, did it?

  She had just opened one of her favorite Mo Willems books—Piggie and Elephant always made her laugh—when a loud thump at the front of the store caught her attention.

  Figuring someone must be trying to get her attention from outside, she got up from her cross-legged position on the floor. But as she headed for the door, she didn’t see anyone standing on the pavement.

  That was when she realized a massive stack of mail had been pushed through the brass mail slot. There hadn’t been any letters or bills waiting for her when she’d arrived two days ago, but she supposed the island was small enough that the post office might have been holding Charlie’s mail until they knew someone would be there to pick it up.

  Clearly, word had spread that she was here. Though Owen had said he’d put in a good word for her with the island’s residents, she also hoped to make a positive im
pression on her own merits.

  But as Mari picked up the stack of mail, all thought of making impressions—good or otherwise—fled at the sight of the red stripes across nearly all of the envelopes.

  She’d started the day hoping to find another unexpected treasure. Well, she’d found something unexpected, all right. Only it wasn’t something wonderful. Just the opposite, she thought, as she thumbed through nearly a dozen past-due bills.

  The solicitors had told Mari they’d paid all outstanding bills from the funds remaining in Charlie’s bank account. Clearly, these had slipped through the cracks.

  Mentally girding herself, she opened each envelope. A delivery of books from an estate in Wales: £2,320. A new water heater and pump: £5,642. Herbal pills sent from Japan: £976. Several hundred pounds for this month’s water, electric, and gas bills.

  This morning, when Mari had awakened to the sun shining and the birds singing, and Owen’s kisses from last night still tingling on her lips, she had begun to believe things might not be so hard after all. That from here on out, her life would be on a steady upswing, with no bumps in the road. She’d let a couple of great kisses and some baby clothes lull her into a false sense of calm.

  Now, she laid the bills on the counter where Mars had been sleeping. They easily made a pile big enough to qualify as a bump in her road. Paying the bills would not only take all of the money left in Charlie’s account after probate, she would also need to draw from her own savings. And these were only the bills she’d received today. What if there were twice as many still to come?

  Suddenly, the bookstore that had felt so warm and welcoming with the sun streaming through the windows felt unbearably hot and stuffy. She needed to get out of here. Needed to get away and try to clear her head. Needed to try to find the bright side of things again.

  She ran upstairs, grabbed a jacket and her bag, then hurried back down and out the door onto the pavement. She was just locking up when Owen sent her a text: Everything going okay today?

  He was so sweet to check in with her. She didn’t want to lie to him. At the same time, it didn’t feel fair to drop the shrapnel in his lap within mere seconds of the bomb going off. Not when she had a feeling he’d likely drop whatever important thing he was doing at work to figure out how to help her with the bill situation.

  Mari had never been helpless and didn’t like the idea of starting now. As an accountant, she’d been known for her resourcefulness and resilience no matter what clients threw her way. Now she just needed to put the same skills into practice in her own life.

  Her fingers hovered over the keypad on her phone as she worked out how to reply. Finally, she typed: Making good headway with the books in the children’s section.

  It was, thankfully, completely true, regardless of the past-due bills that had just dropped into her life.

  He sent back a thumbs-up, and the emoji made her smile. Owen always found a way to lift her out of her worries.

  Standing on the sidewalk, she decided this afternoon was the perfect time to do a little exploring. Not only so that she could add data to her should-I-stay-or-should-I-go spreadsheet—but because she’d been curious about Elderflower Island for years.

  The outdoor seating at the pub was nearly full, but she didn’t want to sit down for a meal anyway. Instead, she would grab something from the café just up the lane. She stopped to admire a beautiful painting of the Thames hanging in the window of the art gallery next to the pub. The colors were bright, the brushstrokes bold. She could so clearly see it hanging on the living room wall in the flat, the perfect way to add some vibrancy to the dark tweeds and plaids Charlie had favored.

  It was the first time she’d thought about making the space her own. It was a slightly scary thought—particularly when she was nowhere near certain, from a fiscal perspective, that she could keep the store and flat. And yet even that hint of fear couldn’t stop her from noticing the beautiful hand-thrown pottery in the next window. The blues and greens reminded her of the trees and sky here. She would love to eat her breakfast porridge out of one of these unique bowls, rather than something made in a factory thousands of miles away.

  She walked past the charity shop, which was next to the Elderflower Café. Walking into the café, she was enveloped by the most wonderful smells. Her stomach growled as she got in line. By the time she got to the front, she still hadn’t decided what to have, it all looked so good.

  “Hi,” she said. “I’m new here. What do you recommend?”

  The man behind the counter had a bushy beard and a cheerful face. “Everything, of course,” he said with a wink. “Are you in the mood for sweet or savory?”

  She didn’t have to think long. “Both.”

  “That’s what I was hoping you would say. How about I’ll give you something for lunch and dessert?”

  “Sounds perfect. And please, surprise me.”

  He looked approving. “I like a customer who’s willing to take risks.”

  Ah, yes, risks. That was practically her middle name at this point.

  “I’m Jacob, and I own the café. You look familiar, but I don’t think we’ve met before, have we?”

  “I’m Mari.” She might as well tell him who she was. After all, if she did stay, they were going to be fellow island store owners. Perhaps there was even the equivalent of a Chamber of Commerce. “I’m—”

  “Charlie’s daughter! You have his eyes.” He reached over the counter and grabbed her hand, shaking it heartily. “It is such a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you too.” And it was also nice to know that the eyes she’d looked at in the mirror all these years were similar to her father’s.

  “Lunch is on the house,” Jacob said as he handed her the meal he’d put in a to-go container.

  “That’s so nice of you, but I couldn’t—”

  “I insist. We all miss dear Charlie so much. Learning that he has a daughter to continue his brilliant legacy is so heartening.”

  Brilliant legacy? Mari couldn’t imagine what her mother’s reaction would be to that. Utter incredulity, most likely.

  During their conversation, the line had grown long enough to extend out the door. “We’re in the middle of our lunch rush now,” Jacob said, “but I hope we can get to know each other better soon. In fact, a group of us paddle board down the Thames on Friday evenings. Why don’t you join us tonight?”

  “It sounds like fun, but I’ve got to admit that I’ve never paddle boarded before.”

  He waved that away. “It’s easy. You just get on and float. My partner, Bernard, is going to be so thrilled to meet you. He absolutely loved Charlie.”

  “Thanks for the invitation.” The woman in line behind her cleared her throat, so Mari picked up her lunch and stepped away from the counter. “I’ll see you on the river tonight. And thank you, again, for lunch.”

  Back outside, she walked past the old concert hall. Even in its current dilapidated state, she could get a sense of what it must have been like in the sixties and seventies, with its grand staircase and large marquee. The café, the gallery, the boutiques all looked so current, so fashionable and bustling. Alice had said she hoped one of her brothers would take the concert hall project on. Given how much work it seemed Mari was going to have to put in to resuscitate the bookstore, she tipped an imaginary hat to him for even considering it.

  Across the way, the gates to the manor house and grounds were open. The enormous home seemed slightly spooky and had an unlived-in look about it, but the garden was full of people walking dogs, pushing strollers, kicking soccer balls, and eating lunch on the lawn.

  At an unoccupied bench on one of the side paths, Mari sat down to unwrap her meal. The personal-sized bacon and spinach quiche, rainbow side salad of shredded vegetables in a delicious vinaigrette, and a Bakewell tart for dessert made her realize again just how hungry she was. What’s more, she had loved everything she’d eaten in England.

  From her research over the years
, she’d read more than one article about how Britain had transformed its lackluster culinary reputation into that of a global leader on the food front. Though everything she’d eaten so far had been simply put together, whether scones and jam, Chinese food, or this café lunch, it was all fresh and made with obvious care.

  She enjoyed people-watching while she ate, and once she finished, she headed off to explore the trails on the manor’s extensive property. An hour later, lost in a copse of trees, she asked one of the dog walkers to point her back toward the entrance gates.

  Her feet were sore by the time she made it back to Elderflower Lane, but it was a good kind of ache. She could easily see herself doing this every day—stopping in at the café for her lunch, then going for a stroll in the park. It was so different from her life in Santa Monica, where she’d eaten lunch at her desk, going out only if they were hosting a client. She worked out in a gym along with everyone else she knew, not because the weather in Southern California wasn’t great for exercising outside, but because parking at the local trails was a madhouse.

  While she’d walked today, rather than trying to work out how to deal with her father’s bills, she’d simply appreciated the beautiful landscape. Since she was still full of energy, rather than heading back to the bookstore to get back to work, Mari continued her explorations. For the next hour or so, she meandered down winding lanes of cute cottages. She loved the brightly colored doors, the shiny brass and silver knockers in an array of shapes, the red post boxes, the cobblestone- and brick-lined streets, the herb gardens in small plots.

  One section of connected cottages had been turned into artists’ studios, and she longed to peek inside at what the painters or sculptors or woodworkers were making. She had never been great with her hands—even knitting tripped her up—but that didn’t stop her from appreciating the talents of others. She would love to support local artists—perhaps by displaying a revolving selection of their paintings and other creations in the bookstore.