Page 23 of On the Shelf

“The customer is always right, even when they have no idea what they want.”

“That’s what I mean. And she’s been back twice since.” Niall took a bite of his burger, which was indeed as fantastic as Chuck had promised. “What about you? Any wacky clients in cabinetry?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. We ended up with this one douche who kept changing his mind about everything. First he wanted Nordic minimalist, then everything had to use reclaimed farmhouse wood, then we got Boho chic with copper fittings. By the time we finished his library, it was this bizarre Frankenstein’s monster to make a decorator weep.”

“I’m assuming it got built?”

“Unfortunately yes. In an ugly McMansion in Bellevue, offending the eyeballs of any sucker who buys a hot tub from that crank.” Chuck dipped an onion ring in malt vinegar. “After all that guff, he loved the result, so what does it matter? Even if it’s wrong, they love the control. I think because they come up with a wild-ass idea and you make it real. They pay to be in charge.”

“Amazing. I’ve never had that. Been able to bring something to life like that out of thin air.”

“Can’t even describe. That’s the part I miss most.” Chuck’s expression sank. “Something from nothing, or less than nothing sometimes. Giving customers an idea they can touch.”

“Is that why you caved on the treehouse? ’Cause Winnie had the idea?”

Chuck tilted his head. “No question. I was a kid that doodled. More than anything, I wanted her to have a special place. Kids need that safe space that’s all theirs, where their imagination can get out of its box.”

Niall blinked. “You’ll make a great dad. You’re so good with kids. With Winnie, I mean. Not many grown-ups take nine-year-olds seriously. Hell, not many grown-ups even listen.”

“Kids are only small people with no impulse control and no seat belt on their imagination. They deserve at least as much respect as the people round ’em.” Chuck shrugged. “Besides, Winnie’s cool. I think she reminds me of my niece.”

“Hold up. I didn’t know you had a niece.”

“Yeah, sister’s kid. Liv. She’s twelve or thirteen now, lives in Portland with her mom and the new stepdad.” A shadow crossed Chuck’s face. “I don’t see her so much anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Well, him for one. He can’t stand me. But my sister and I… we had a falling out a few years back. My fault, for sure. I’m bad at family. I said a bunch of crap I should have kept to myself when she got remarried. Too much.” He took a sip of beer.

“Sorry.” Niall recognized the regret in Chuck’s voice. “Family stuff is—”

“Yeah. Complicated.” Chuck blinked and seemed to shake off the melancholy. “Anyway, my point is Winnie’s cool. I’m going to say a treehouse is the least of what she deserves.”

“Hear, hear.” Niall grinned at him, which felt too forward, so he turned to look out the window. “She talks about the whole crazy scheme constantly now, thanks to you. It’s growing.”

“Sorry for that.”

“No, you’re not.”

Chuck grinned. “Nope. But when it’s done and she’s up there reading instead of hammering you with questions about how armadillos make babies or where boogers come from, you’ll thank me.”

“No doubt.” Niall laughed, but he wondered how the hell to ever repay him. “Cheers.” He clinked, glass to bottle.

As they finished their greasy, fabulous meal, the conversation turned to the bookstore and its challenges. Niall explained the financial situation to him, and Chuck offered his take without the judgment or pity Niall had come to expect from anyone he told.

“I think online sales could make a huge difference. Social media too, especially with tourist traffic. Do you have a TikTok for the store?”

“No. Social media isn’t what I’d call ‘my thing.’”

“It should be. BookTok is huge. You could post photos of new releases, staff picks, a couple shots of Winnie holding court in her treehouse once it’s built?”

“It all feels too huge. Impossible.”

“So cut it down to size. What you need,” Chuck said as they waved off the waiter’s offer of dessert or another round, “is a signature event. Something annual that brings strangers in who wouldn’t tread within twenty paces of a real live bookstore. Like the Shakespeare in the Parking Lot thing. Once a year, it pulls a crowd of regulars and newbies.”

“Well…. Author signings are expensive, and most big names won’t come to a small town like Candle Bay.”

“What about a themed night? Something tied into the community so everyone gets involved. Like….” Chuck thought for a moment. “A ‘Shakespeare Unshelved’ or ‘Bard After Dark’ event during the festival? Wine and some of the dirtier sonnets read by the Paper Bag hams, maybe some of their actors in costume to snazz it up. You could even give the theater a percentage to sweeten it for them.”