Hope Between the Pages, Pepper Basham [best ebook reader android .txt] 📗

over the brightly illustrated cover that boasted her father’s name before placing the book on the special shelf behind the register counter, the one reserved for the full collection of her father’s children’s books. “My favorite of his.”

Her mother paused her movements, her soft gray hair framing her face. “His favorite too.”

Clara swallowed through the gathering emotion that accompanied such tender talk of her dad. Did it ever get easier? Even after almost a year? “But…I would rather have him back here with us than all the books in the world.”

“Ah, yes.” Mother said before returning to unpacking the box. “But at least we have his books. He’s still with us in those.”

Somehow holding the story in her hands always made him feel closer, nudging a little voice inside her to relocate whatever magic she’d once believed in as a child. Those faraway dreams, impossible ones, beyond the books and the walls of the shop.

Adventure. Travel. Mystery. True love.

She sounded like a voiceover from The Princess Bride.

With a sigh, she shook away the thoughts. This wasn’t the time to dream about adventures, unless it was ensuring the bookshop’s stability, especially since the newest chain bookstore moved in nearby. Sales reflected a slight shift Clara wasn’t quite sure how to counteract, but she hoped it was only a glitch. If she could just find the time to increase the shop’s online presence and put a few marketing ideas in place, maybe the slump from the competition wouldn’t last long.

“And, we sold three of his books during your brilliant performance as the Wizard Larison.” Her mother’s gaze rose to take in the massive hat still atop Clara’s head.

Clara chuckled and slid the hat off, gently smoothing some of her erratic hair back into the twist at the nape of her neck. “It’s always more magical with the hat.”

Sending a wink to her mother, she gathered a handful of newly delivered children’s classics and started toward the colorful kids’ section. Just as she rounded the counter, the front door burst open, revealing the massive presence of Uncle Julian.

Her shoulders dipped. And she’d had such a lovely morning.

Julian’s silhouette matched the boxlike shape of the entry but somehow did nothing to keep the chilly December breeze from unpinning a few local flyers attached to the announcements board by the door. Clara slammed the books on the counter and made a mad dash for the dizzying flaps of paper twirling in all directions.

Without so much as a glance at the confusion, Julian Claflin stomped into the shop, adding his muddy footprint to the Young Storytellers contest flyer Clara had created to encourage her middle readers to try out their writing skills during winter break.

“Why on earth do you have papers on the floor?”

Clara stifled a groan and stared hard at her uncle, hoping to encourage his self-awareness, but he blinked blankly back at her. She doused her annoyance with a smile. “What a surprise. You’re not usually this far south of downtown.”

Mama’s brows shot northward in warning, but Julian didn’t seem to notice the tiny jab.

“Do I need a reason to visit my favorite sister-in-law and niece?”

“We’re your only sister-in-law and niece.”

He sniffed enough to shake his overly fuzzy mustache and cast another appraising look around the busy shop before settling his attention on Clara as she rose from collecting the final papers from the floor.

With an awkward tilt in her direction, he lowered his voice, his overly indulgent cologne nearly making Clara’s eyes water. “Just because your parents had you when they were nearly fifty doesn’t mean you have to…” He waved toward her clothes. “Why do you dress like an old woman? Is business so bad you have to wear your mama’s hand-me-downs?”

Clara blinked a few times, trying to comprehend Julian’s insult, and then followed his gesture to her pale blue belted swing dress, complete with white collar and matching cuffs on the full-length sleeves. Mama’s hand-me-downs? Mom hates wearing dresses.

“It’s called ‘vintage,’ and I just bought this dress from—”

“Don’t you ever want to get married, girl?”

He made the dastardly comment in passing, continuing his forward momentum toward the counter. Clara’s eyes drifted closed and she pivoted to follow him, enjoying the spin of her vintage skirt as she did. Of course she should expect poor manners from her uncle. He’d shown little else since Dad’s death, but why go insulting perfectly stylish vintage apparel? Even if he was still bitter about her father leaving the bookshop to Clara instead of him.

“What brings you by on this blustery December day, Julian?” Clara caught the glint of steel in her mama’s caramel-colored eyes. One of the many physical features they didn’t share. She had her mother’s smile, but her eyes were all Blackwell. A ghostly pale kind of blue.

“Looks a little slow today,” he murmured as he stroked his mustache. “No surprise with the new bookstore down the street, eh?”

Clara scanned the busy room and pinched her lips together to catch an entire diatribe of defense. Yes, Clara was in her midtwenties. And yes, she could speak her mind all on her own, but the idea of bringing any more trouble into her mama’s life curbed Clara’s tongue better than anything else.

“To tell you the truth, Julian, we ended November just fine.” Mama may have exaggerated just a teensy bit, but Duncan’s opening hadn’t impacted their sales as much as expected, thankfully.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” His dark brows rose and he nodded, taking another extended look around. “I suppose the real hit won’t happen until after the holidays.”

What a swell guy.

“Clara, Mr. Lawson called during your story time.” Mom gestured toward her phone, her interruption perfectly planned to save Clara from further conversation with Julian, but a little too late to protect her from another onslaught of his cologne. “He said he needed to speak to you right away, if you have the time to drive to his office this morning?”

Clara turned back to her uncle. “I’m sorry, Uncle Julian, duty calls.”

He grumbled some