The Quietest Shop on Main (Shops on Main #3)

Chapter 2

2

S kyla’s feet ached as she trudged through the door of the small home she and her grandfather shared. Pausing on the threshold, she listened for any signs of life. Nothing was moving in the small home, which meant Grandpa had already gone to bed.

Sighing, Skyla dragged her bag the rest of the way inside and plopped it on the couch before walking to the kitchen. She flipped on a light and stared at the space.

She was starving for dinner, but from the looks of it, Grandpa had gone to bed without eating. He didn’t always remember to take care of himself, and hopefully it wasn’t because his mental health was declining.

She was gone a lot during the day, and Grandpa was left to his own devices. He often accompanied her to the bookstore, but on library days, Skyla had little access to him.

She shook her head. It was fine. He was getting older, but he was still doing well.

Deny, deny, deny…it was too hard to think about it any other way.

Opening the fridge, she stared inside. Then stared some more.

When was the last time she’d cooked them a decent meal? Skyla couldn’t even remember. Her life seemed quiet and monotonous most days.

She got up, went to work, came home, went to bed.

The next day, she got up and did it again.

A heavy sense of loneliness weighed down in her tummy, and Skyla closed the fridge and wandered back to the sitting area, dropping onto the couch with the lights still off.

She had a good life. She really did. Grandpa was an amazing housemate, he loved her unconditionally, she worked in two shops that were on point with her passion and because her expenses were low, she had a decent amount of financial freedom.

What wasn’t there to love?

Skyla closed her eyes, but it did little for her view. Shifting from a pitch black room to the back of her eyelids looked almost the same. Why was she so melancholy tonight? It didn’t make sense.

She was tired, yes, but work was good. She’d helped people find books, and no one had thrown any major tantrums.

She’d reshelved the entire cart and enjoyed a chat with Lacey… There was no good reason to be depressed. Except Grandpa was getting older. Her book was still unwritten. And more and more, Skyla found herself wishing she had someone to talk to.

A pair of dark brown eyes behind a flop of equally dark brown hair flashed through her mind, and Skyla caught her breath.

Dalton.

She slowly let it out, trying to savor the little flutters in her belly.

The man had a smile that women sighed over, and Skyla had been the lucky recipient of it a time or two.

He was the captain of a fishing tour boat. Was there anything more swoon-worthy than that?

Tall, lean, and strong, he made conversation easy, which was no small feat for an introvert like Skyla. They’d met when he was coming to a meeting at the library, and Skyla had been in charge of making sure everything ran smoothly.

Since then, she’d seen him a handful of times, but the moments were always fleeting and Skyla craved more.

“What a time to develop a crush,” she muttered to the dark room. She was twenty-six years old, for heaven’s sake. If she liked a guy, wasn’t she just supposed to walk up and handle it like a mature woman would?

Skyla snorted and grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch, pulling it around her shoulders. “Maybe I’m not the mature type,” she continued.

“Who’s not mature?”

“AHH!” The light flipped on just as Skyla jerked upright, the blanket pooling at her feet. “Grandpa!” she scolded, putting her hand over her racing heart. “What are you doing? You scared me to death.”

His blue eyes narrowed, and he looked her up and down. “You don’t look dead. In fact, you look very much alive.”

Skyla channeled her colleague Lacey and rolled her eyes, letting her arms fall to her side. “It’s an expression, Mr. English Teacher. I would think you would know that.”

Grandpa cackled and turned to shuffle to the kitchen.

“Grandpa,” Skyla said again, hurrying toward him. “I thought you were asleep. What are you doing up?”

He glared over his shoulder. “Unlike you, I’m not dead yet. Which means I’m hungry.” He grabbed the fridge door and yanked it open. “How come we don’t have anything good to eat in this place?”

Reaching around him, Skyla picked up the cottage cheese and held it in front of his face. “We don’t need a bunch of processed foods,” she said. “You’re supposed to eat healthy.”

Thus began a game of “How many glares can Skyla rack up in one night?”

“What good is living if you have to eat the gross stuff?” He shoved the cottage cheese away and grabbed a container of yogurt instead.

Close enough.

Skyla put the cottage cheese back and closed the door. “I thought you were asleep,” she said again.

Grandpa shoved a bite in his mouth. “I was watching a movie,” he said with his mouth full.

Forget him losing his mental faculties. Apparently, old men lost their manners instead.

“Did you eat dinner?” Skyla asked.

Grandpa held up the yogurt. “Of course.”

Sighing, Skyla folded her arms over her chest and leaned her hip against a counter. “That’s not dinner.”

“It is tonight.” He took another bite, still glaring under his bushy eyebrows. “So…who’s this crush? Is he worthy of you? Do I need to test his Shakespeare knowledge?”

Skyla’s cheeks heated, and she cleared her throat, extremely grateful that her skin tanned enough that her blush wasn’t normally very visible. “I don’t have a crush,” she lied.

“Oh, the tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive,” Grandpa said in a low tone, shaking his head in disgust.

Skyla practiced her eye rolls in return. “I’m in my twenties. I don’t have crushes.”

“I’m old,” Grandpa snapped. “Not deaf, nor dumb.”

“And I’m hungry.” Skyla turned her back to her grandfather and rummaged through the fridge again. “I think I’ll make an omelet. Want some?”

“Do we have bacon?”

Skyla shook her head. “You don’t need bacon.”

“Away you moldy rogue, away!” He shot back.

“Grandpa…”

“Skyla…”

She grinned. He was impossible. Good thing she loved him. “We have sausage. Good enough?”

Grandpa slapped his hand on the counter. “Good enough.”

Dalton stomped his feet on the front step before coming inside. His coat felt heavy, and the cap on his head was soaked from the sea air. He was so ready to get dry and in front of a fire.

The smell of something burning was the first thing that hit his nose when he stepped in, and Dalton grimaced.

Analiese had tried cooking again.

It hadn’t gone well.

“Dalt?” his sister called from the kitchen. “That you?”

“Nope,” Dalton called back as he hung up his coat and took off his boots. “I’m a random stranger who walks into houses without knocking.”

“Hardy, har, har,” Analiese drawled, her voice coming closer.

Dalton grinned as his sister appeared, wiping her hands on a towel. “Wassup, stranger?”

She gave him an unimpressed look. “You might as well be a stranger. I feel like I never see you anymore.”

Dalton’s heart fell to his stomach. They’d come back to this small town to let Liese heal. He hadn’t meant to get so busy she had no one to spend time with. “Sorry,” he grumbled, stepping up to kiss her forehead. “It’s fishing season, you know that.”

Analiese huffed. “I know. I book every excursion you go on, you know.”

Dalton wrapped his arm around her shoulders and began walking deeper into the house. “You also deal with the paychecks going into our bank accounts. So aren’t you glad your brother is MIA?”

Analiese elbowed his rib cage. “Not when it means we have no food to eat in this house.” She threw up her hands. “I ruined dinner. Again.”

He gave her a brave smile. “It can’t be that bad.”

It could. From the smell, it really could.

“You haven’t seen it yet,” Analiese muttered. They stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, and she threw an arm toward the stove. “Take a look. I like to call it, ‘rubber roast.’”

Dalton chuckled even though his stomach was trying to eat itself. He was starving, but he didn’t want to make Liese feel bad. She tried, she really did, but cooking seemed to be the exact opposite of her talents.

“Well…” Dalton rubbed his chin when he saw the blackened piece of meat. “I’m sure we can come up with something. Too bad we don’t have a dog.”

Analiese laughed harshly. “I’ll bet even a dog wouldn’t eat that.”

Dalton shrugged one shoulder. “You might be right.”

“Hey!”

He ducked his head to keep from getting smacked and spun, laughing. His head was safe this time, but sometimes Analiese would throw a towel at him and Dalton had learned to be prepared. “It’s fine,” he told her. “We’ll figure something out.”

Analiese sighed and slumped into a stool at the bar. “Why am I so bad at this?” she asked. “I’m twenty-five. I should be able to cook without stinking up the whole house.”

“Hey, now,” Dalton soothed, walking back toward her to rub her back. “It’s fine. I said that. We’ll just have cereal or something.”

He did not want to have cereal.

Analiese shook her head. “We have cereal like three days a week as it is,” she complained. “I’m tired of cereal.”

“Oatmeal?”

She glared up at him.

“Egg sandwich?”

Groaning, Analiese dropped her forehead to the counter. “You just named our entire menu for the last six months.”

“That’s not true. We’ve eaten a lot of salmon, too.”

“It’s too late to cook up fish,” Analiese said, raising her head enough to put her chin on her hand. “I’m a total lost cause.”

Worry that she was sinking back into her pit of despair had Dalton’s heart skittering. When Analiese had gotten left at the altar a couple years ago, she’d retreated into a place where no one could reach her.

Dalton had brought her back to their hometown, hoping the ocean air and less busy lifestyle would help his sister heal.

It had taken a long time. A loooong time, but slowly, his patience had been rewarded. He’d worked too hard to get her out of the dark to let her go back over something as stupid as food.

“Nope.” Dalton grabbed his sister’s hand and pulled. “Come on. Get up. We’re making dinner.”

“Dalt…” Analiese whined. “Just leave me to my misery. I ruin everything I touch.”

“Saunders aren’t victims,” Dalton said firmly, repeating something his parents had taught them both growing up.

Analiese snickered, and the tightness in Dalton’s chest eased a bit. “You sound like Dad.”

Dalton gave an imitation of his dad’s slow nod. “Analiese, you will help cook dinner, and you won’t complain about it. Saunders don’t complain.”

“Yeah, well…Saunders don’t get left at the altar either,” Analiese said with a sigh, tightening her ponytail.

Crap. That wasn’t the right direction for the conversation. She was supposed to keep laughing.

“But Saunders aren’t supposed to starve either,” Analiese continued.

Dalton’s heart was going to stop with all the ups and downs of the evening. And he’d only just gotten home!

“Come on, Big D. What are we fixing that I can’t ruin?”

“Spaghetti,” Dalton stated. He gave Analiese a push toward the pantry. “Grab some noodles.”

“Do we even have sauce?” Analiese asked. “I thought you hated spaghetti.”

“I hate bad spaghetti,” Dalton clarified. “We have a couple bottles of sauce. I’ll just have to make sure they taste good. How hard can it be?”

Analiese hummed, but plopped the pasta and can of sauce on the counter. “What now, Oh Wise One?”

Dalton beamed at her. “I like the sound of that one, we should keep that nickname.”

Analiese shook her head, but she was smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Only for you, dear sister,” Dalton said fondly. “Only for you.” He finished filling a pot and put it on the stove. “How about a salad? Think you can manage to cut lettuce without maiming yourself or burning anything?”

“Only time will tell,” Analiese announced, but she headed to the fridge anyway.

Dalton turned back to his own work. He might keel over from hunger before they managed to cook the noodles, but at least Analiese wasn’t slipping down that horrible depression slope. They’d had plenty of that, thank you very much.

After all they’d been through, Analiese was overdue for something good to happen…maybe they both were.

And if that good thing included a certain quiet librarian that Dalton kept to himself, then life would be just about perfect.