Glad that she was completely alone, Jennifer felt tears prick her eyes. Oh, not because of the beautiful display, but because it had been there all along and she hadn’t even known about it.
No, that wasn’t right. She hadn’t been brave enough to overcome her fears to even step foot here, a place that would give her so much pleasure.
Just as sternly, she shook off her doubts and self-recriminations. There was nothing she could do about the past. It was done. All she could do was move forward.
Even with something as simple as being in a favorite store.
Swiping her eyes, she pulled out her bifocals, walked over to the first stack, and sat down at the booth. Then she opened up her first selection with a happy smile.
* * *
Jennifer wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Her muscles tensed, preparing to flee, though her head was telling the rest of her to calm down.
“It’s just me,” Camille said. “Sorry to disturb you, but I thought you might want sustenance.”
Jennifer noticed then that the proprietor was holding a tray with a black and yellow teapot and cup on it. It was a sweet thing—the cup was on top of the pot, making it look like Camille was holding an overgrown bumble bee. She also had a little plate of shortbread cookies.
“You brought all this up for me?”
Camille shrugged. “I was making myself a pot and thought you might be ready to take a break, too.”
Curious to know just how much time had passed, Jennifer glanced at her watch and gaped. She’d been sitting in the same spot for over an hour. “Wow. I had no idea it had gotten so late.”
“Did you find anything good?”
“Only five cookbooks,” she admitted sheepishly.
“Only five, hmmm?” Camille sat down on the bench across from her and pushed the tray toward Jennifer. “Well, now you’ve got to tell me all about them. You can do that while you have a spot of tea.” A worried frown suddenly marred her forehead. “That is, if you like tea?”
“I do. Thank you. This was so nice of you.”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t anything.”
Realizing that the room had gotten a little chilled, Jennifer removed the cup from over the teapot and poured herself a steaming cup. After taking a fortifying sip, she smiled. “Peppermint.”
“It’s my favorite this late in the day. Bracing but not caffeinated.”
She took another sip. Then nibbled on the corner of a cookie for good measure.
Then, like a woman in the middle of an antique market, she started talking about the treasures she found. “I’d been wanting to see this one in person forever.”
“Julia Child’s The Way to Cook.” Camille nodded. “Good choice.”
Jennifer grinned. “There’s a French onion soup in here to die for.”
“When you come back, you’ll have to tell me how it turned out.”
“I will.”
“Now, look at this one.” It was a Junior League cookbook from Birmingham, Alabama. “Isn’t it a gem? Next, I found these two baking books. And then, of course, I couldn’t resist this one,” she said, noting that it was from a recent winner of a cooking competition she’d watched on TV.
Camille stood up. “Have you seen this one from Nigella? She makes everything sound so sinful.”
Jennifer giggled, but couldn’t resist scanning the pictures with her.
And so it continued. They scanned cookbooks, talked recipes, and shared stories about their successes and epic failures. Only after a half hour went by did it occur to Jennifer that Camille was upstairs, which meant no one was watching the shop.
“Ah, Camille, I love chatting with you, but don’t you have to worry about your other customers?”
She waved a hand. “Oh, no. No one is coming in on a day like today.”
She was at a loss. “What’s special about today?”
Camille looked at her strangely. “Um, the snow?”
Jennifer stood up and walked to the windows lining the front of the store. And sure enough, it was snowing like crazy, and there had to be at least four inches of fresh powder on the ground.
Panic set in. It wasn’t that she couldn’t drive in the snow, but this was a whole new level of mess. The road was covered and the sky was so dark, it was obvious that a whole lot more was on the way.
“Oh my word. I didn’t even think. I’ve got to go.” Picking up the books she’d chosen, she faced Camille. “I need to check out, please.”
Camille got up far more slowly. “Of course. Um, honey, I just assumed that you lived close by. Is that not the case?”
“I live in Bridgeport.”
Her eyes widened. “It’s going to be a mess over in Bridgeport.”
Jennifer nodded. Bridgeport was a picturesque town, filled with rolling hills, narrow, curvy streets, and a river that flowed through the middle of the town. All of it was beautiful to look at, no matter what the season. But it was hell in the snow. Everyone knew that, which was part of the reason the sleepy town had never reached the size of the other suburbs and outlying towns of Cincinnati. “Those hills are going to be really bad,” she said softly.
“Now you have me worried, especially with you being out on your own. Is there someone you want to call?”
“There’s no need.” The only person she could call was her brother, and she knew he was going to have his hands full attempting to keep the people of Bridgeport from trying to kill themselves by driving like maniacs. “I’ll be fine.”
After she followed Camille down the stairs, she placed the books on the counter so they could be rung up. Just as she was pulling out her wallet, her phone started ringing. Though she would usually ignore it, she saw it was her brother.
And that he’d already called two other times. Boy, she really had been in her own little cookbook world!
After handing Camille her credit card, Jennifer said, “I’m sorry, I’ve got to take this. It’s my brother.”
“Of course you do,” she said as she slid the card through the reader.
“Hey, Dylan,” she said.
“Where are you?”
He never talked to her like that. Well, not since her attack. “I’m at the bookstore.”
“I’ve been calling you,” he said, sounding more irritated. “Jen, you didn’t pick up.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I got busy looking at cookbooks with Camille.”