Free The One Real Thing (Hart's Boardwalk) by Samantha Young Page A

completed the look.
    “Would you like something to eat?” she offered. “I have sandwiches.”
    It was only then I felt the growl of my empty stomach. “Sure, thank you.”
    “Another latte?”
    “That, too.” I grinned at her.
    Not too long later she came back with both and laid them down on the reading table beside me.
    “What else do you like to read?” I said, before she could escape me.
    Emery seemed surprised by the question. “Oh . . . I like everything.”
    “Okay. Who is your favorite author?”
    She wrinkled her nose and I saw a glimmer of a smile on her lips. “That’s like asking which I prefer: oxygen or food.”
    I laughed. “Well, tell me
one
of your favorite authors.”
    Her lids lowered over her eyes, and I saw that her lashes, darkened with mascara, were enviously long.
    For some reason I was charmed by this shy bookstore owner.
    I was finding myself charmed by many people in Hartwell so far.
    “J. D. Salinger,” she offered suddenly.
    I loved that answer. “
Catcher in the Rye
fan. Me, too.”
    She smiled at me and I felt triumphant that I’d won a grin from her.
    There was something about her, something in the back of her eyes, that made me sad, and I liked that I’d made her smile.
    I glanced down through the store to the front window to see the rain had started coming down in sheets again. “I doubt you’re going to be busy anytime soon. Why don’t you grab a book and sit by the fire?”
    Emery followed my gaze to the windows and I watched her chew on her lip as she thought about it. “I probably shouldn’t,” she muttered.
    “If someone comes in, you just put the book down and go help them.”
    It took her longer than it should have to consider it, almost like she was afraid to do the wrong thing. Finally, she gave me a small smile. “I guess it wouldn’t do any harm.”
    “Not at all,” I said encouragingly.
    A few minutes later she was curled up on the sofa across from me and I watched with fascination as she seemed to get sucked into her book from the moment she opened it. In the time it would take me to snap my fingers Emery was immersed in the world of the story in her hands.
    It took me at least a chapter before I became oblivious to everything around me.
    But not Emery.
    I had the fanciful thought that she was escaping, and that she’descaped into pages and words so many times in her life that falling down the rabbit hole was like second nature to her. I wondered what she was escaping from.
    This curiosity of mine was getting out of hand, I grumbled to myself as I bit into the ham and cheese sandwich Emery had brought me. In a way my curiosity had brought me to Hartwell. I didn’t need to get wrapped up in the mystery behind the shy sadness of Emery Saunders. And maybe there was no mystery! Maybe Sarah’s story had me imagining that everyone here had a tragedy hiding behind them.
    Maybe even Cooper Lawson.
    Don’t think about him!
    I had no time for his kind of temptation.
    On that thought, I stared down at the pages of my book and willed myself to get caught up in fiction.

    After dinner at the inn that night I sat by the fireplace in the front room with a glass of wine in my hand. I was hoping to catch Bailey before I went to bed and was waiting on the diners to clear out so I could talk to her.
    Staring into the flames, sipping my wine, I realized that I’d spent the most relaxing, peaceful day I could remember having in a very, very long time.
    Emery hadn’t said much as we whiled the day away reading by her fireplace, but I didn’t need her to. As much as there was something sad about her, there was also something incredibly soothing about her company. I thought it funny that I’d experienced the same comfortable silence with Cooper on the same day, when I’d never experienced that feeling with anyone before.
    I left Emery late that afternoon, vowing to return before my vacation was over. That sadness I saw in the back of her eyes seemed to grow as