Page 92 of Bonfire and Bliss Bookstore

“That’s an excellent use of the candle.” Viola beams before turning to Billie. “And what did you bring?”

Billie rolls her fingers over the smooth silky fabric in her hand that’s the size of a thumbnail.

“A piece of my son’s blanket from when he was a baby.” A few of the women cluck their tongues and Billie’s cheeks go pink at their reactions. “It’s in pieces. I’ve got plenty of them saved.” I squeeze her hand, letting her know I have her back, and she continues. “But I think it’s time I realize I’m more than just a mother.”

Warmth floods my cheeks. “You are,” I say gently.

“Of course you are,” my mother echoes. Then, moving the attention off Billie, she adds, “I brought a LEGO I stepped on today.”

Her face creases in pain and I know this is hard for her. My father had a bit of an obsession with LEGO. He made so many sets, and there was always an extra piece or two that he didn’t know what to do with. Inevitably Mom would step or sit on one. “I miss my husband like crazy but I really did hate that habit of his.”

Both Tally and I laugh though there are tears in our eyes. Even a few months ago, I don’t think my mother would have had the strength to admit that. It’s hard to smile through the pain, yet sometimes that’s the best we can do. Losing a parent is a dull ache that never truly goes away, but I can’t begin to imagine how my mother handles the loss of her partner. The person she told everything to, and the one person who would do anything to see her smile.

I think of Monty—how I haven’t been able to get him out of my head since he arrived back in town—and my throat tightens.

“And what about you, Penny?” Babs challenges. “What did you bring?”

The truth is, I didn’t keep much from my relationship with Dick. There was no old sweatshirt of his I stole to bring me comfort—because Richard never was my comfort. I know now that I stayed with him for so long because I was more scared of being single and alone than I was of being unhappy.

I still have my engagement ring, though I don’t want to put that in a candle. Somehow it feels like it would be preserving him in my story. Dick doesn’t deserve another sentence when he already stole so many of my words.

If tonight is about me moving forward, then I need to make this candle about me. About my insecurities, which made me feel like accepting mediocre love from someone else was better than trying to love myself.

As I searched for something to burn today, I realized that I have already come so far. Choosing this store, choosing me, when Dick told me neither was good enough, was the beginning of loving myself again.

So now, I hold up the key to the bookstore. It’s the original one I was given when I first signed the lease. The lock has since been changed but this key represents the first time I put myself first. And I hope that this candle will be a reminder that I always will.

***

Two hours later, the store smells like a bouquet of flowers from all the wax.

Tonight was a good night—filled with lots of laughter and stories. I learned that Rayna’s husband died almost thirty-five years ago and she never remarried or dated again—he was her soulmate, she said, and she never met anyone who made her want to try again. Rayna then told me that, though she doesn’t regret her decision to remain single, she wants me to experience what she and my mother had.

I know she’s right. And now I appreciate the effort she’s made.

“But now you have Monty,” she told me with a warm smile.

And she’s right. For now, I do have Monty. I’m not going to worry about how long it will last—I’m just going to enjoy it.

The last of the girls left after helping me clean up and I cannot wait to get into bed. I turn the sign to Closed and double lock the front door before flicking off the lights, leaving only the glow above the register to guide me upstairs.

Just before I head up to the apartment, I give myself a moment to appreciate the quiet street. During the day, Maple Lane is a bustle of activity, but it’s peaceful now. I watch as the red and orange leaves on the maple trees that decorate the cobblestone sidewalks sway in the light breeze.

Everything is quiet—save the hooting of an owl—and I smile. God, I love this town. Almost as much as I love the magic of this time of year.

My moment of tranquility is interrupted when I hear the deep echo of a breath from somewhere inside the shop. The smile slips from my lips as the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.

“Hello,” I call out tentatively.

I search my immediate area for anything to protect myself and curse when I realize I don’t have my phone, or anything sharp, to grab.

Shit.

I whimper as I hear another rasping breath and glance at the lock on the door.

The moment I reach for the handle, a hand wraps around my mouth and my scream is stolen from my lips as I’m slammed back into a hard chest.

“Don’t scream, Xuxuzinho.” The voice modulator has my pulse rolling through me like an electric wave, but, with that one word, I relax. “I’ve been watching you.”