The Best Gift. Irene Hannon

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.”