Ivy was immediately spellbound. A small plaque by the door identified the building as a 1928 Lilian J. Rice design, noted for her Spanish Colonial Revival design of the Inn at Rancho Santa Fe. Ivy wondered if she had known Julia Morgan, the architect who designed the Seabreeze Inn, originally named Las Brisas del Mar.
“Welcome,” called out a spry older woman who was teetering on a wooden ladder to reach a book on a high shelf.
“Would you like me to get that for you?” Ivy asked, concerned.
“Thank you, but I’m quite sure-footed,” the woman replied. “I’m Paige with an i.” Her bright blue eyes twinkled behind lapis-blue glasses. She snagged the book and delivered it into the arms of a waiting child. “Here you are. Everything you need to know about Mars.”
The little girl’s eyes lit with excitement. “I have to read everything on it because I’m going to be an astronaut someday.”
“I believe you will be,” Paige said with sincere assurance. As she nodded, her stylish, wavy silver hair skimmed her shoulders.
Delighted, the little girl raced to a corner of the shop where a rag rug and a jumble of embroidered pillows made for a soft landing when she plopped down.
“Her parents were great readers at that age, too,” Paige said before her attention was pulled away by another patron.
Ivy glanced around. The store was like a magical cottage, with antique shelves holding a variety of books, from best-loved classics to new titles. An old surfboard fashioned into a bookshelf displayed beach books while well-worn armchairs and benches provided spots for people to perch while they browsed. And at the center of the shop was a grand, sweeping staircase that had books stacked along one side of each step.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” a young boy said. Clutching a book, he climbed the staircase. Each wooden step creaked under his slight weight.
Ivy looked closer at the staircase. Its uneven steps were in need of repair. However, every riser had a quote painted on it in fine, bold strokes and bright colors. Drawn to the artistry, she bent to read the first one, brushed in marine blue.
“There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm.”
— Willa Cather, The Song of the Lark
Ivy thought about the past two years, which had certainly been tumultuous, yet she valued the experience. She’d learned that it was never too late to recreate your life—even if the path was uncertain. Stepping closer, she peered at turquoise lettering on the next one.
“I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship.”
— Louisa May Alcott, Little Women
There was a theme, Ivy realized. And yes, she might not have known much when she’d embarked on this entrepreneurial journey, but she was learning every day. She raised her gaze to the crimson words on the next riser.
“Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful.”
— Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
Ivy chuckled to herself. She hadn’t quite attained a level of fearlessness—but she was working toward it. Straightening her shoulders, she realized that over the past year, she had become less likely to stay awake with worry—and more confident that she could handle whatever arose. That felt powerful, indeed.
Letting her gaze travel up the wondrous staircase, Ivy saw that some risers had been painted over—as if the artist had discovered a new truth in the pages of a book. What magic awaits all whose footsteps fall here, she thought.
When Paige turned back to her, Ivy introduced herself.
“I’ve heard all about you,” Paige said, her eyes lighting with pleasure. “How fortunate that you’ve found happiness with our Bennett. You’re looking for a book today?”
“Quite a few, actually. My sister and I are starting a book club at the Seabreeze Inn, and we hope you can supply the readers.” Ivy went on to tell her about what she had in mind.
“Why, I’d be honored to help you revive the literary tradition at Las Brisas del Mar,” Paige said, using the original name of the old beach house.
“Was it well known for that?”
“Indeed. For all the arts, of course.”
Ivy smiled at the thought. “I just found a guest book for Amelia Erickson’s literary society.”
“That’s definitely a sign that you must forge ahead with this idea,” Paige said with a vigorous shake of her head. “Amelia’s literary salons were quite famous. She brought in noted authors to speak—which you could do as well. Her library must have been magnificent.” She placed a hand over her heart and sighed at the thought.
Paige’s love for books touched Ivy. “There’s not much left in the way of books, I’m afraid. But perhaps we’ll rebuild.” Ivy gestured to the staircase. “I love your selection of quotes. Who is the artist?”
“My daughter,” Paige said. “She grew up here, and her first attempts were in crayons. Over the years, she became more discerning, both in her art and her philosophy. She teaches at a university in Los Angeles.”
“How nice that she’s still close.” That explained the changing of quotes, Ivy thought. She glanced around. “Your store is so welcoming and charming. I love your use of color. ”
With a wistful expression, Paige took in the shopworn space. “Sometimes I think love and old paint are all that’s holding this place together, but I like to honor the past. We’re kindred spirits like that, I think.” Paige paused and put a finger to her chin. “You haven’t read Jane Austen, have you?”
“I was just discussing her with my niece,” Ivy said. “Actually, I’ve only seen the film.”
Paige nodded knowingly and adjusted her glasses. “I’ll bring a copy of Pride and Prejudice for you. No time like the present to see what you’ve been missing.”
“I don’t know if I have the time to read such a long book.”
Paige’s eyes sparkled. “Perhaps you haven’t been reading books with the right message for you. And, ‘if a book is well written, I always find it too short.’ That’s not mine, that’s Jane Austen, but the sentiment still rings true.”
“Maybe so,” Ivy allowed. “Some in town say you’re a book whisperer. They say you always know the book a person should read.”
A demure smile played on Paige’s bright, lightly lined face. “I’ve simply read a lot of books in my time.”
“But how do you know what kind of book a person needs versus what they think they want?”
“It’s in the eyes, which are the window to their soul, to paraphrase Shakespeare.” Paige’s eyes sparkled—as if she held a secret known only to her. “Let me know when the first book club meeting will be.”
Another customer drew Paige’s attention. Ivy was happy to host the book club, but between guests and family, she hardly had time to read, especially an old book that probably went on and on. She sighed, resolving to skim it, at least.
Why Paige thought she might like Pride and Prejudice was beyond her. After all, she’d seen the movie years ago, though she could hardly remember much of it except for the handsome Mr. Darcy.