Page 9 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

Anxiety rises in my chest, but I force it back down with a firm reminder that this is a low-stakes operation. If I don’t get the job, I’m no worse off than when I got here six hours ago.

I take a deep breath and smile, aiming to mirror the woman’s kind vibes. “Hi, I’m Ivy Parker.” I stick out my hand, and she shakes it. “I’m interested in applying for the seasonal position you advertised.”

“Maisie Lyons,” she says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ivy.”

“Likewise,” I reply.

She sets her pen down and flips the notebook closed. “Would you care to join me in my office?”

“Certainly,” I agree, following her to the back of the store and through a blue door. My insides are brimming with hope—this seems like an auspicious start.

“So, tell me a little bit about yourself, Ivy.” Maisie sits behind a small antique desk, bare aside from a purple laptop and a corded telephone. She gestures for me to take the chair opposite her.

“Well, I grew up coming to Ogunquit, and I think it might be my favorite place on earth,” I begin, sitting down and smoothing my skirt over my legs. I’m suddenly self-conscious about my tank top, but there’s nothing to be done about that now.

Maisie grins a little at hearing that I love her town. “I share your sentiments.”

“Right? It’s just so charming here.” I take a deep breath. I need to do more than suck up to her by praising her zip code. “I’m a school librarian in Massachusetts,” I continue. “I’ve been working there for five years so far. I love books more than anything in the world; there’s truly nothing like the feeling of connecting a person to the story or the information that they need in any given moment.”

She nods in agreement. “Very well put. I feel the same way.”

I’m feeling better about this opportunity with every passing second. “I’m in town until the end of August. My cousin and I are renting a house—Beach Haven? It’s north of the public beach a bit; if you follow Shore Road and then hang a right, then stick to the edge of the sand, or take the back road⁠—”

“I know Beach Haven well.” Maisie smiles kindly. “I’ve been friends with Simon Foster for years.” Her smile fades. “Shame about his leg.”

I let my face fall and try to look like I know what she’s talking about. “He’s a friend of my grandparents. Charlie and Eleanor Parker? Well, he was, I should say. They both…well, they both passed away within the last five years. But we would see him every summer when we came to town for our family vacation.” Get it together, Ivy, I reprimand myself. You’re rambling. “Anyway, we’re renting his house for the season.”

There’s an expression on Maisie’s face that I can’t quite place, but she seems to snap out of it quickly. “I knew your grandfather,” she says quietly.

Something about her response strikes me as odd, but I shake it off. Grandpa Charlie grew up here; it makes sense that people in town would know who he was. And Maisie is probably almost 15 years younger than my grandparents were, but she has to be at least 70. She could have crossed paths with him countless times over the years. Once the tourists leave, it’s a very small town.

“Wow, that’s amazing,” I reply, not sure how to steer the conversation back to the job I’m hoping she’ll give me.

“Charlie was a great man,” Maisie says, then shakes her head as if clearing the memories. “In any case, the job is seasonal. I typically have a couple of folks who work the floor during open hours, and I try to pop in every day for an hour or two to take care of administrative tasks. Things get busy during high season, but we can usually handle it with just two or three workers.” She pauses, running her hand through her wiry hair.

“Unfortunately, one of my best staffers recently moved to New Hampshire. Now it’s just me and one other person. He’s working overtime, and I’ve been here 50 hours a week myself so far this summer. I’m past my prime, so it’s a little too much for me,” she admits.

“Hence the job ad.” I smile kindly. I don’t know how else to respond to her comment about being past her prime.

Maisie nods. “Exactly. To be honest, I’d been hoping to step back even further. I’m getting too old for this.” She sighs. “Anyway, having another person to pick up some shifts will have to be enough for now. I can look into other options once summer ends.”

I wonder if she’s ever been married or had a business partner, or if she’s always run this bookshop on her own. It seems like a tremendous undertaking. I’m a little ashamed, meeting her now, that I’d always assumed I could never open my own bookstore because it would be too great a challenge.

“Well, it sounds amazing,” I say honestly. “I’d love the opportunity to work here.” I’m not sure how formal this interview is. I don’t have a reference list or anything.

“Consider yourself hired.” Maisie smiles kindly.

So I guess not very formal at all.

“Really?” My heart soars. This is just what I need right now. And having met Maisie, I’m excited to help her out, too.

“Absolutely. Stop by tomorrow with your ID—did you bring a passport on your trip, perchance? That’ll satisfy the I-9 requirements.”

“I did, actually.” I mentally thank my father for impressing upon me the importance of always traveling with my passport.

“Great! We’ll knock out all the standard employment paperwork when you drop in. It’ll be five shifts a week, eight hours each, $20 an hour. We pay biweekly via paper check—will that be all right?”

I nod vigorously. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”