About the Book
Love, friendship, and family find a home at the Printed Letter Bookshop
One of Madeline Cullen’s happiest childhood memories is of working with her Aunt Maddie in the quaint and cozy Printed Letter Bookshop. But by the time Madeline inherits the shop nearly twenty years later, family troubles and her own bitter losses have hardened Madeline’s heart toward her once-treasured aunt—and the now struggling bookshop left in her care.
While Madeline intends to sell the shop as quickly as possible, the Printed Letter’s two employees have other ideas. Reeling from a recent divorce, Janet finds sanctuary within the books and within the decadent window displays she creates. Claire, though quieter than the acerbic Janet, feels equally drawn to the daily rhythms of the shop and its loyal clientele, finding a renewed purpose within its walls.
When Madeline’s professional life falls apart, and a handsome gardener upends all her preconceived notions, she questions her plans and her heart. Has she been too quick to dismiss her aunt’s beloved shop? And even if she has, the women’s best combined efforts may be too little, too late.
Excerpt
I leaned back against the bench. It was my fault. Every bit of it . . . Dad said those very words. How was that true? Aunt Maddie had spent years blaming him for something out of his control.
“Are you okay?”
I bolted upright. Somehow I had missed a bright red Patagonia fleece standing feet from my face. “I—How long have you been standing there?”
The face above the fleece flashed straight white teeth. The straight teeth led to a slighty bumped nose and remarkable green eyes. His whole face lit with a smile.
“The length of that question. I just came from there.” He pointed across the street to the Catholic church’s rectory. “The church maintains the park and I was working earlier, but needed to take a break.” He used the same hand to sweep behind him. I noted a pile of burlap and a wheelbarrow. As he turned back, he pulled his other hand from his jeans pocket and offered a white handkerchief.
I then felt what he must have noticed—my eyes were sticky and most likely red. He jiggled the handerchief in front of me until I reached for it.
“I haven’t seen one of these since my grandfather died.”
“My granddad left me all his. They feel old-fashioned, but I find comfort in that.”
“Me too.”
“And damsels in distress love them.” His eyes were an extraordinary color. They danced with laughter. His voice dripped with innuendo.
“Damsels?” I have a barkish laugh before I could choke it back and felt myself grow red. I waved toward the rectory. “You’re a priest. How is that appropriate?”
He followed my hand, and his smiling face blanched. It had held a hit of tan that I only noticed as it washed away. “Where’d you get that—I’m—I’m the yardman.”
He stumbled over his job title as if surprised—or lying.
“Are you?” The lawyer in me awoke.
He leveled his gaze on me, and the eyes glittered again as if he knew exactly what I was doing and found it amusing. But people don’t deal straight unless pushed.
“Yes. My brother lives there. Father Luke, he’s the priest. You can go ask him who stole half his roast beef on rye if you’d like.”
“I believe you.” I remembered why I was holding the handkerchief and dried my eyes. I then forgot it was a handkerchief and blew my nose.
He caught my shocked expression and smiled again.
“I think I should keep it now. I can wash it and get it back to you.”
He flapped his hand. “That’s what you were supposed to do with it. And I have plenty.”
I scanned the park. We were the only ones out.
“It’s not a nice day for yard work.” I gestured to the burlap.
He twisted to follow my gaze. “It’s not, but it’s my job. And if I don’t get all these covered today, we might lose some. We weren’t supposed to get really cold for another week, but we’re dipping to the single digits tonight and snow is coming. Shows what the meteorologists know.”
“I didn’t know it would be so bad when I left downtown. I came for a funeral.” I waved my hand in the general direction of the Presbyterian church.
“Madeline Carter?” At my nod, he added, “I was there too.”
“I’m not surprised. It was packed. She was well known, wasn’t she?”
I heard the lift in my question even if he didn’t. Who was she? Really? After seeing Dad, hearing him, feeling his shame—for that’s what had layered him like a thick coat this morning—I wondered if I knew her, or him, at all.
“Well loved, that’s for sure.” The man pulled pruning shears from his other back pocket and tipped them across the street. “She met me at Luke’s about a year ago. She brought me soup, and books. Always books. You?”
“She was my aunt.”
His brow furrowed. Years of watching clients had taught me well. My comment either confused or bothered him. Before I could ask, he cleared the emotion from his face. “You sit and I’ll leave you be.”
Irritation tempered by disappointment.
I shook my head and stood. “I can’t.” I found myself eye to chin, thinking his was a nice chin. A little stubble, but not too much, a good firm jaw and straight lines. I liked straight lines. Clear facts. Strong foundations. My gaze drifted north again and, despite his obvious displeasure in me, I found kind eyes—and ears that stuck out a little. That made me smile. Dumbo’s ears stuck out too.
I noted that he caught the change in my smile. His eyes flickered a question.
“The train,” I blurted. “I have to catch the 12:11 back downtown.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” He turned and walked away.
I hesitated, not long enough to get his attention, but long enough to feel silly staring at his back.
Then I did the same; I turned on my heel and walked away, booking it double-time to the train station.Taken from “The Printed Letter Bookshop” by Katherine Reay
Copyright © 2019 by Katherine Reay
Used by permission of http://www.thomasnelson.com/
Review
So much life and literature packed into such a small space. Claire was referring to the Printed Letter Bookshop when she made this observation, but she could just as easily have been summing up this story as well. Family, friendship, and romance—their challenges and their beauty—fill the pages of this book as three very different women, each facing their own individual struggles, come together to try and revive the Printed Letter Bookshop.
It took me a little longer than I expected to get into this story, partly because there were three main characters to get to know but also because each of the women narrated in a different person and tense: Madeline in first person past tense, Janet in first person present tense, and Claire in third person past tense. I found this a little unsettling in the beginning, but it soon became clear that this was done very intentionally, and I actually ended up loving that the author had taken this approach.
The story unfolds in Reay’s gently elegant prose as mistakes, challenges, and unwelcome surprises threaten the Printed Letter Bookshop. I couldn’t help but be drawn in by the way the three women responded as their circumstances shifted—a wonderful combination of vulnerability, soul-searching, courage, and strength. I loved the relationships that were explored, particularly the subtle undercurrents between Madeline and Chris that had me wondering “will they/won’t they”, and I loved the combination of personalities.
It was somehow warm and unexpected all at once, and left me feeling richer for having shared the journey.
I received a copy of this novel from the publisher. This has not influenced the content of my review, which is my honest and unbiased opinion.
About the Author
Katherine Reay is a writer, wife, mom, continually rehabbing runner, compulsive vacuumist and a horrific navigator…
She graduated from Northwestern University and earned an MS in Marketing from Northwestern as well. She then worked in marketing and development before returning to graduate school for a Masters of Theological Studies. Moves to Texas, England, Ireland and Washington left that degree unfinished as Katherine spent her time unpacking, raising kids, volunteering, writing, and exploring new storylines and new cities.
The Reay family (with a great sense of permanency) now resides outside Chicago, and Katherine pursues writing with more focus. She writes character-driven stories and non-fiction that focuses upon examining the past and how it influences our present experiences.
Connect with Katherine: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Pinterest | Goodreads
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