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Chapter 1
Cassie
Los Angeles is myhome, but Paradise, Idaho is my heaven… even with its current two feet of snow and shocking lack of organic, vegan restaurants. Not that I eat at those places, it’s just strange not to have them.
I may be crazy, but I find the snow refreshing. Near-constant sunshine and four seasons that don’t look very different from each other gets boring. And, vegan food is gross. Give me all the steak, make sure it’s wrapped in bacon and cooked in lots of butter.
Which is exactly how they make them in Paradise at a little dive restaurant with the campy name of the Garden of Eatin’. I mean, talk about not judging a book by its cover. That restaurant is the same hidden gem Paradise is.
On the other hand, Paradise’s best feature isnotthe dilapidated auto shop my friend Georgia has been trying to convince me to buy since the first time I visited this town last summer.
“Keep an open-mind, Cassie,” she says from the warmth of her giant truck as we both stare at the old building at the end of a row of more old buildings. “You’ve gotta trust my vision. You’ve got dreams, and I can make them come true. I promise.”
I glance from her wide smile back to the building she’s described to me in more glowing terms than its red brick and white, falling-down awning deserve. A garage door with white peeling paint fronts the store, along with a boarded-up door with a crack running down its glass pane. Two vacant windows on either side of the door stare blankly into the distance. Large letters at the top of the building spell outAuto Sh.
I shake my head. “You’re over-promising.”
I want to believe Georgia, if for no other reason than I feel a camaraderie with the shop. Looking at it, I sense days of former glory that have been forgotten. Maybe it would still be living those days if someone had believed in it. If anyone had wanted and appreciated it.
Instead, it’s worn-out, broken, and ignored. Only noticed when someone needs it.
I sendAuto Sha sympathetic smile and anI feel you, Sister.
But only in my head. I don’t want to give Georgia any ideas that I might actually buy this place.
As much as I dream about leaving the police force and LA to open a small-town bookstore, it’s just that: a dream. I can’t actually imagine leaving behind the place I’ve lived my entire life or the job Iusedto love. Most of all, I hate the idea I’m a quitter if I walk away from the fight required to keep the job I used to love. That’s not who I am.
Not that I don’t believeinGeorgia, even if I don’tbelieveher. If anyone can turn an LAPD detective into a small-town bookstore owner, it’s the star of her own home reno show,At Home With Georgia Rose. In the past year, Georgia has taken a run-down Danish-inspired resort—Little Copenhagen, it’s called—on the shores of Smuk Lake and turned it into a trendy vacation home destination. Which, in turn, has made Paradise a popular place for people wanting to permanently escape cities like LA.
People like me.
Except we’re not all Georgia.
“Give it a chance.” Georgia opens her truck door and hops to the ground.
I step out of the truck with less enthusiasm and follow her to the front door of the shop, or, rather, theSh. “You’re going to break your ankle jumping out of that thing. Why’d you get such big tires on it?”
“When in Rome.” She shrugs.
Georgia’s head barely comes to my shoulder, and I have no idea how she’ll get back in the giant truck she drives. But if I do move here—and that’s a bigif—I want one just like it.
“I can’t believe I let you drive me here in that thing.”
“I can’t believe I wanted to drive you. How did I forget you’re the worst backseat driver ever?” Georgia talks while digging in her giant purse until finally pulling a key from it.
She jams the key in the lock on the front door. While she wiggles the key, trying to get the lock undone, I notice the sun-faded list of services painted on the glass door and point to a line.
“Is that supposed to say windowtint? It’s missing then.”
Georgia rolls her eyes at the same time the lock clicks open. “We’ll scrape it off or put in a new door.” As if to emphasize the necessity her second idea might be, she rams the current door with her shoulder to get it open.
I blink, my eyes adjusting to the dimly lit space. The only light is the sliver that comes through the door behind us.
“Gimme a second.” Georgia slides her hand along the wall, then flips on a light. “Voila!”
I gasp.
It’s worse than I’d imagined.
