Читать книгу The Best Gift - Irene Hannon, Irene Hannon - Страница 12

“I think I figured out a way to make up the Sunday sales.”

Blake’s stomach clenched. Barely a week had passed since A.J. had rearranged the shop, and now she was on to something else. Which meant more upheaval. Change seemed to be this woman’s middle name. Warily he looked up from the computer screen.

A.J. shifted a large box in her arms and smiled. “Chill out, Blake. Maybe you’ll like my idea.”

He doubted it, and his skeptical expression told her so.

“Maybe not,” she amended. “But here it is anyway.” She placed the box on a chair and began pulling out a variety of items, which she lined up on the desk. “It occurred to me that people who are shopping for books are often shopping for gifts. Now, there are plenty of gift shops around. But not many that carry items like these, handmade in third-world countries. Good Samaritan, where I used to work, is starting a craft program, and a portion of the profits from the sales will benefit the artists. A lot of people in those countries are in desperate need of income, and a program like this is a godsend for them. Plus, I think it will drive traffic to our shop and more than make up for any sales we’ve lost by closing on Sunday. It’s a win-win situation all around, don’t you think?”

Blake looked at the array of items now displayed on his desk. Wood carvings, metalwork, woven placemats, pottery. Some were crude folk art. Others reflected great skill and artistry. None seemed appropriate for the bookshop. Nor was there room to display them without sacrificing space for their primary product.

A.J. spoke before he could offer his opinion. “Lots of bookstores carry small gift items,” she pointed out. “And space isn’t really a problem. I thought we’d intersperse a few items in the display window among the books. They’ll add some visual interest. And I found out the jewelry store next door is getting new display cases. I asked Steve about buying one of his old ones to replace our sales counter, and when he found out what I was going to use it for, he offered to donate it. So we’ll be able to display a lot of these items without taking any space away from the books. Isn’t that great?”

Blake stared at A.J. After three years, he knew Steve Winchell, the owner of the jewelry store, well enough to say hello when they met in the parking lot. But that was about it. In less than a month, A.J. was on a first-name basis with all of their neighbors.

“Earth to Blake.”

He caught her teasing tone and frowned. “This might dilute book sales.”

“I don’t think so. In fact, I think these items will draw new customers into the shop, and they might end up buying books as well. Plus, I bet some of our regular book customers will also buy these items as gifts. We can monitor it, though. If I’m wrong, I’m certainly willing to reconsider.”

But she wasn’t wrong. Within the first week, that was obvious. Blake told himself that part of the success of the new merchandise was due to the approaching holidays. It was just a gift-buying season. He suspected sales would taper off after Christmas. But even if they did, even if they only generated a modest return, it was all incremental. Because, thanks to A.J.’s creativity, the new offerings hadn’t taken one iota of space away from books. Exchanging their old checkout counter for the display case had been an ingenious solution. But Blake hadn’t told A.J. that. She didn’t need encouragement. And he didn’t need more disruptions.

But he had a feeling they were coming, anyway.

“Blake, could I speak with you when you have a minute?”

He looked toward A.J. while he waited for a customer to sign a credit card slip. She stood in the door of the office, and there was something in her eyes that made his stomach clench.

Here we go again, he thought, steeling himself for whatever brainstorm A.J. had just had.

“Sure. I’ll be right with you.” He finished the sale, then glanced toward the young woman restocking the cookbook section. “Trish, can you watch the front desk for a few minutes?”

“Sure, Mr. Sullivan.” The perky teen who helped out a few days a week after school made her way over to the counter. She smiled brightly. “Take your time.”

She’d love that, Blake thought. Trish wasn’t the hardest worker they’d ever had. But front desk duty suited her to a T. She was sweet and friendly, which counted for something, he supposed.

When he entered the office, A.J. was studying a recent order, a frown marring her usually smooth brow. She looked up when he walked in.

“What’s up?” he asked, willing himself to remain cool.

“I’d like to cancel a couple of the selections we’ve ordered.”

Now it was his turn to frown. “Which ones?” When she named them, his frown deepened. “Those are sure to be bestsellers. Our customers will expect us to stock them.”

“Have you read the ARCs?”

“No.” He rarely had time to read the advance copies sent out by publishers.

“I took them home over the weekend. I didn’t read them thoroughly, but skimmed through enough to know trash when I see it.”

“Those authors are extremely popular. A lot of people must not agree with you.”

“A lot of people read trash.”

He folded his arms across his chest and struggled to keep his temper in check. “So you’re trying to impose your values on everyone else.”

She’d wrestled with that very dilemma all weekend. How to reconcile personal values with bottom-line business decisions. It was the same conflict she’d grappled with in graduate school. And had worried about facing in the business world when she graduated. As it turned out, she’d never had to deal with it. Until now.

Blake sensed her uncertainty and pressed his advantage. “It sounds a little like censorship to me.”

A.J. sighed and distractedly brushed some wayward tendrils off her forehead. “I know. But I’ve given it a lot of thought. I don’t see how, in good conscience, we can carry books that are so blatantly sensational. I’m fine with books that deal with gritty themes or realistically portray bad situations, but in these novels all of the gore and sex and violence is just for effect. There’s absolutely no redeeming social value.”

“In your opinion.”

“And God’s. I talked with my pastor about this. I think this is the right thing to do, Blake. Our shop isn’t that big. We can’t carry every book. So I think we should focus on carrying good books.”

Blake didn’t agree with her position. But he couldn’t help admiring her. She had principles. And she didn’t compromise them. That was a rare trait in today’s world. Jo had been like that, too. And so were his parents, he admitted grudgingly. Maybe he didn’t like their principles, either. But they’d stuck with them.

“We’re going to have some unhappy customers,” he pointed out.

“I realize that. We’ll just have to explain our position and hope they understand.”

“Our position?”

“Okay, my position.”

“We’ll also lose sales. People who want those books will go somewhere else. There’s an impact on the bottom line here.”

“I know. And I realize that affects both of us, since we each own half of the business. But I feel very strongly about this, Blake. So I’d at least like to give it a try. If we take a huge hit, I’m willing to discuss it again and consider other alternatives. But I’d like to try it for a month or two. Can you live with that?”

He folded his arms across his chest. “We won’t get back the customers we lose.”

“Maybe we’ll pick up some new ones.”

Blake supposed he could fight A.J. on this. But she had taken his concerns into consideration and was willing to discuss it if things didn’t work out. He supposed he could at least give her the time she had requested to test the waters. “Okay. Let’s try it for a few weeks. You don’t mind if I funnel any questions about this your way, do you?”

“No. It was my decision. I’ll defend it.”

And that’s exactly what she had to do a few days later when a customer asked Blake about one of the books A.J. had canceled. A.J. overheard the question and, true to her word, quickly stepped in. She glanced down at the signature line on the credit card slip the woman had just signed.

“Mrs. Renner, I’m A. J. Williams, one of the owners of Turning Leaves. I wanted to let you know that we’re not going to be carrying that title. As you can see, we’re a small shop, so we have to be very selective of our inventory. Quite honestly, not all bestselling books have content that’s worthy of our limited space. I’ve reviewed an advance copy of that book, and I’m afraid it just didn’t make the cut.”

The woman looked surprised. “That sounds like the philosophy at the Christian bookstore I go to. I didn’t realize secular bookstores were so diligent.”

“I don’t think most are. But we’re small enough that we can be a little more careful.”

“Well, that’s good to know. I have to admit, some of the novels I’ve read have shocked me. But you never know until you’ve already bought the book. It’s nice to think that a secular store has some standards, too.”

Not all patrons were so understanding, of course. But Blake had to admit that A.J. handled all the comments—and complaints—with grace and honesty.

Blake doubted that he and A.J. would ever see eye-to-eye on how to run the business. But, by and large, her decisions had been good ones. He glanced toward the reading nook. In its former location, it was rare for more than one chair to be occupied. Now patrons vied for the seats. Since they’d added the play area for children, young mothers and grandparents lingered longer in the shop. And they’d had to restock the glass display case regularly to keep up with the demand for the craft items, which had more than compensated for the sales lost by closing on Sunday.

Blake still didn’t think this latest decision would be as good for business. But it was consistent. A.J. might be a go-with-the-flow kind of woman, but in one thing she was very predictable. She stuck to her convictions.

He glanced toward her as she helped a patron select a book on gardening. Her head was bent as she listened intently to the older woman, and the late-afternoon light from the window gave her skin a golden glow. He watched as she turned to scan the selection of garden books, a slight frown on her brow, her lithe form silhouetted by the light. A moment later she reached up to select a thin volume. He was struck once again by her slender, graceful hands, recalling the night she’d arrived and his surprise when he’d reached for her hand in greeting. Because of her height, he’d been taken aback by its delicacy. And maybe he was just getting used to her funky clothes, but he was suddenly able to look past her attire and recognize that A.J. was, in fact, a lovely woman.

With a will of iron.

“A.J., do you have a minute?”

A.J. turned to find George from the Greek restaurant down the block standing at the end of the aisle. He looked agitated, and she frowned. “Sure. What’s up?”

“Can I speak with you, someplace private?”

“The office is about as private as it gets around here.” She headed toward the front desk. “Trish, I’ll be in the back with Mr. Pashos. Stay at the desk, okay? Blake should be back from lunch any minute.”

“Sure thing.” The girl happily climbed on a stool behind the counter and proceeded to inspect her nails.

A.J. led the way toward the office, and motioned George to a seat. “Is everything okay?”

He sat, but leaned forward intently and shook his head. “Nothing is okay. Do you know about this thing called TIF?”

“No. What is it?”

“It stands for tax increment financing. The government can use it to help develop areas where—how do you say?—the economic potential isn’t being maximized.”

A.J. frowned. “Okay. So why is this upsetting you?”

George stood and began to pace. “There is a developer who wants to buy this block and put in a retail and residential development. He has already started the process.”

Twin furrows appeared on A.J.’s brow. “But what if we don’t want to sell?”

“That is where TIF comes in. If he can convince the city that his development will generate more revenue for Maplewood, we could all be shut down.”

“But that’s wrong!”

“Of course it is wrong! Your aunt, she would fight this! She was the first one to open a shop here, more than twenty years ago, when this area was not so good and businesses were closing, not opening. She believed in this area. And she persuaded others to follow. Your aunt, she was good at that. After we became friends and she found out that Sophia and I wanted to start our own restaurant, she helped us. We would not have our restaurant if it was not for her generosity and kindness, may the Lord be with her. And then others followed. Joe at the bakery, and Alene at the natural food store. Rose at the deli has been here for many years, and so has Steve. Carlos at the art gallery is the newest, but he has been here for ten years, too. We were the pioneers. We took a chance and invested in this area. And now that it is hot and trendy, what do we get? They want to throw us out! It is not right! The whole character of the neighborhood, it will change!” George’s accent grew thicker as he spoke, and his agitation increased.

“There must be a way to stop this,” A.J. reasoned. “Have you talked to any of the others?”

“No, not yet. I come to you first. You and Jo, you seem the same in many ways. Kind and caring. I did not think you would want your aunt’s legacy to be sacrificed just so more money could be made by a rich developer. I think maybe you might have an idea.”

A.J. tapped a pencil against the desk, frowning thoughtfully. “Well, I certainly believe there’s strength in numbers. I guess the first thing we need to do is tell all the merchants on this block what’s going on, and then have a meeting. If we all put our heads together, I’m sure we can come up with something.”

“A meeting. Yes, that is a good way to start. But soon, A.J. We cannot waste time.”

“I agree. Why don’t we see if everyone is available Thursday night? We can have the meeting here, after the shop closes.”

“Good. I will check. And I will bring baklava. It is always good to eat when you are trying to think.” He pumped A.J.’s hand. “I knew the day you came down to introduce yourself that you would be a good neighbor, just like your aunt. I tell that to Sophia when you left. Now I know even more that it is true. I talk to you soon.”

A.J. watched George leave. His spirits seemed higher, now that they had a preliminary action plan. But A.J. wasn’t feeling so upbeat. Fighting city hall was never easy, especially when money was involved. But she didn’t want to lose Aunt Jo’s legacy before she even claimed it. So if a battle was brewing, she was more than willing to do her part.