The Best Gift. Irene Hannon

friends. And Clare had somehow managed to wrangle a holiday dinner invitation to the same place Dr. Wright and his daughter were going. There was no stopping Clare when she set her mind to something, A.J. thought with a grin. “What about you, Blake? Any family?”

      Slowly he shook his head. “No brothers or sisters. My parents live in Oregon.”

      “Also too far away for Thanksgiving. Maybe you can see them at Christmas.”

      Not likely, Blake thought. But she didn’t need to know that. He started to turn away, but suddenly found himself speaking. “By the way, I like what you did with the shop.”

      A.J. looked as surprised by the comment as he was. He had no idea where those words had come from. He’d certainly had no intention of complimenting her. But she rewarded him with a dazzling smile. “Thank you.”

      Suddenly Blake felt as if he’d just hit the proverbial runner’s wall. It was a familiar experience that squeezed the breath out of his lungs and left him feeling limp when it occurred at about the twenty-one mile mark of a marathon.

      But the only thing racing right now was his heart.

      Which made no sense.

      And it made him want to run as fast as he could away from this red-haired source of disruption in his life.

      Chapter Three

      “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