Page 9 of On the Shelf

“You’re cleaning?” Winnie squinted at him as he dusted the top shelves. “You never clean the top shelves.”

“I clean,” Niall protested.

“The last time you cleaned the top shelves, Grandma and Grandpa were coming to visit.” She narrowed her eyes. “Is someone coming over?”

Niall considered lying, then thought better of it. Winnie had an uncanny ability to detect his fibs. “Chuck Mitchum is coming by to look at the roof.”

“Chuck Mitchum?” Winnie’s eyes widened. “The Chuck Mitchum? The one who drove a tank through the gym and stole Sheriff Gunderson’s boat?”

“Not a tank. Plus, how do you even know about that? You weren’t born yet.”

“Everyone knows about Chuck Mitchum,” she announced with an unspoken Duh. “Sasha’s older brother has a video of the gym thing. Why is he looking at our roof?”

“He offered to help with some repairs.” Niall moved the ladder to the next section. “He’s a contractor.”

“Is he going to fix the thing in the bathroom too? The handle keeps sticking.”

“Maybe. We’ll see how the roof goes first.”

Winnie hopped onto the reading couch, her legs swinging. “Is he nice?”

“I don’t know him, know him,” Niall admitted. “But he brought me coffee yesterday.”

“Coffee?” Winnie’s eyebrows shot up. “Like, brought it to you? On purpose?”

“Yes, on purpose. Why is that so surprising?”

“Because nobody brings you coffee… except me, and that’s because I have to live with you. Self-preservation.”

Niall flicked his duster at her, sending her into a fit of giggles. “You don’t have to sound so shocked. I’m not completely unlikable.”

“You’re fine,” Winnie assured him. “Just… serious. And you never let anybody help with anything.”

“That’s not true.”

“Is too. Remember when Mr. Padgett offered to design new window displays and you said no because you got all nervous?”

Niall winced. Gavin Padgett owned Petal Pushers, the florist shop down the block, and he had indeed offered to bejazzle Driftwood’s sad window displays. Niall had declined, partly because he didn’t want to take advantage of Gavin’s generous nature, and partly because he was afraid of what Gavin—addicted to the dramatic in all things—might inflict upon his patrons.

“Not the same,” Niall said weakly.

“How do you figure?”

Niall checked his watch. “Don’t you need to get ready for Paper Bag? Ms. Patel will kill me if you’re late again.”

Winnie rolled her eyes—hard—but slid off the couch, gathering her backpack as she went. “Fine. I just think it’s good you’re letting Chuck Mitchum help. Also that he brought coffee.” She zipped the bag and slung it over one shoulder. “I think he likes you.”

“He doesn’t like me,” Niall replied. “He’s bored and needs something to do.”

“If you say so.” Winnie didn’t even hide her skepticism. “Can I get a donut on the way?”

“One donut. But don’t tell your grandparents I let you have sugar before dinner.”

“I never tell Grandma and Grandpa anything important,” she said matter-of-factly.

Niall dropped Winnie at the Paper Bag Players for her after-school group, then returned to the bookstore like he was on rails.

The next hour evaporated in frantic Windexing and clutter stashing, shelves rearranged and displays tweaked, the register wiped down twice for no reason at all. None of it, absolutely none of it, had anything to do with wanting to impress Chuck Mitchum—not the gleaming windows, not the fresh flowers in the vase he bought from Petal Pushers, not the new stack of fantasy novels front and center. No, sir.