Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 31149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
At the time, it was just a promise to each other. But when they returned, not only was the gate covered in locks, but each one held different dates, initials, and promises. Hence, why it’s called Promise Pond now. People come from all over to hang their locks, to make a promise to their loved ones or themselves. A sign on the gate explains that you have to come back for your lock before the next Lock Night. It happens every year on New Year’s Eve. On that night, the locks that are left behind, Dad goes through and cuts.
What started as just a promise between my parents has turned into a huge tourist attraction for the town of Holiday Ridge. My dad used to be able to cut all the locks every Lock Night by himself. Now, though, we all have to help because there are so many. Each lock has a story, a promise, and I have a front-row seat to watch people come through hand in hand to hang their locks. They are flushed with love, excitement, and the hope of a love of a lifetime.
I get to watch it all.
While writing my love stories.
Being so lonely it’s not even funny.
“Maggie, love.”
I look back just as the door to my nook opens, and my mom pops her head in. Mary Ann Welch is the epitome of beauty and grace. While she was a tomboy growing up, years as an NHL wife have made my mom a baddie. I take great pride in the fact that people say I’m her twin. She has a chic blond bob, the streaks of gray through it the only indicator of her age. My hair is down my back, but that’s only because I look like Lord Farquaad with a bob, whereas she looks like a damn queen. My blond hair is also dyed a peachy pink that my dad is not a fan of, but he won’t say that to my face. While Mom is thin, I’m curvier since I have an unhealthy obsession with eating candy when I’m writing. We share aquamarine eyes, while my sisters have bright blue like my dad.
She’s not only my mom, but my best friend.
“Yeah?”
She gives me a sheepish look. “I’m sorry to bother you, but can you help me with the ladder? I need that special edition of Twilight off the top shelf, and I’m not in the mood to fall to my death today.”
I snort. “So you’d rather risk your favorite daughter?”
She grins, her eyes bright and teasing. “You’ll get right on up. I, on the other hand, will have to skip Tuesday night with your dad.”
I promptly gag, which she cackles at. I am all for a healthy sex life for later-in-life adults, but I just don’t want to hear about my parents’ sex life. “Mom, we all know it’s more than just Tuesday.”
She flashes me a grin. “All days that end in Y,” she admits with a wink, and once more, I gag, much to her pleasure.
Her laughter follows me out of the little nook and into the wide-open floor of Promise Pond Books. The shop has a very girlie aesthetic, with bright-white built-in bookcases lining every exposed wall. On each shelf are not only books but also different knickknacks that make us happy. Silly signs that say stuff about needing a Diet Coke. How book boyfriends are better than real boyfriends. Naked molds of men and women, and anything else that makes us happy when we see it. It’s easy to say that when we go to Plattsburgh, we are hitting T.J.Maxx and Marshalls like wild women. Which is probably why Dad only takes us once a year…
My dad bought the bookshop for my mom when they moved back after years away in Nashville, and he jokes she loves books more than him. I don’t remember a moment in my life when my mom didn’t have some kind of paperback close at hand, so it only makes sense that she’d have a store.
Since she gave me my love of books and writing, when I came back from college, it was obvious that we’d become partners in the shop. I know my sisters get jealous of how close Mom and I are, but I don’t care. I’m the middle child; I was ignored most of my life because I had my nose stuck in a book, living in a fantasy world rather than the real world like my sisters. They took up all my parents’ time growing up, so it’s my turn.
I move past one of the many circular white tables that are covered in the books we’re featuring, along with more bookish knickknacks, and I smile at the customer waiting.
“Hey, Jamie. Finally getting it!” I exclaim, excited for her. Jamie has been working at Harrison’s Skate & Paddle to earn money for this special edition set of Twilight. She’s been saving all summer and winter to get it. She squeals with excitement, and I do the same.