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But I was already responding. “Dad! Jeez. You really need to drop it! Even if Miss Anita does plan to sell, which is not something she would share with me, there’s no way she’s selling to the hotel chain. You’re going to have to live with the horror of having an ice cream shop and toy store as your neighbors.”

Mom stood up to clear a pot from the table and patted my shoulder as she passed. Brett may have mumbled a, “Damn, Shorty,” under his breath. Austin squeezed my thigh under the table.

Dad just glared at me, with a discomfiting smile on his face. My stomach clenched, even tighter than it had earlier when I was eavesdropping on my brother’s conversation with Turner.

“Here’s a lesson for you boys. Everyone has their price,” my dad assured us.

I could feel Austin’s sympathy in the quick look he gave me.

“Even you have to admit it’s odd, Leila, how she ended up in this town out of nowhere, and all of a sudden, she owns one of the most central buildings on the boardwalk. There’s a story there. She’ll sell. One way or another, I’ll get that building from her.”

I was fairly certain Miss Anita didn’t have a price when it came to selling the building to At Home, but she didn’t have any family, so the future of the building was in question. Maybe she would sell it one day. Maybe she’d have to. Even if she found someone who said they wanted to keep things just the way they were, that person could be lying and turn around and sell the place to my dad and his stupid hotel chain. My dad might even put someone up to it. He did tend to usually succeed at his job and get what he wanted. That stupid company had tried to get us to move a bunch of times over the years, but Mom loved Breakwater, and Dad loved Mom, so his office had been in the same building since I was a baby.

My heart was beating hard. Not from standing up to my dad about the building, but from really thinking about its future. Really worrying about it. I loved BT&G, and I didn’t want anything to happen to it. I didn’t want to ever see it change.

I decided to have a little conversation with my boss about it a few days later.

“Last one, Miss Anita,” I yelled as the back door slammed behind me. “Looks like those books you’ve been waiting on.”

I was surprised when Miss Anita popped out of her office and not the front of the store. “About time! Santa’s barely two weeks from needing to deliver these. Bring the whole box right out to the reading nook. Let’s see how many of them we can squeeze on the shelf.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Since she followed me out there and all, I decided to ask.

“Miss Anita?”

“Yes, Dalton?”

“Are you selling the building?” I placed the box on the reading chair, which we had always called the big comfy chair ever since Turner’s visit, and started to tug at the tape with my hand. Miss Anita pulled a box cutter out of one of the huge pockets of her patchwork overalls.

She held it out but pulled it away at the last second. “Didn’t take you for a spy, Dalton Garner.”

“What? No! Well, I would be, for you!”

Without hesitation, I added, “You know Dad wants to buy this place.”

She smiled serenely. “I own a sturdy building that’s stood for almost a hundred years, survived countless storms and innumerable Breakwater seasons. A building with a view of the Atlantic Ocean and in-season foot traffic that any shop owner would die for. Lots of people want to buy this old place, Dalt.” She handed me the knife. When she didn’t continue, I tilted my head and let my eyes go wide in question.

I quickly sliced through the tape and handed the knife back. It was securely locked in place, so when she grabbed it, I held on and made the face again.

She laughed at me, yanked the knife out of my hand, and replied, pointing it at me. “But I’m not selling. Not to your father. Or any of those developers who think they can entice me with their condominium associations and their profit sharing. Not even to Austin’s family even though I know they’d look after it in their own way. It takes a special person to run a place like this. Part whimsy and part business savvy. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, Dalton Garner, until that magical unicorn makes themselves known.”

I shook my head. “Magical unicorn.” I laughed as I pulled a stack of books from the box that happened to have a rainbowed horned unicorn on the cover.

“Ahh. There they are.” Miss Anita beamed. “I met the author at that expo I went to. Just starting out, self-published, and just as sweet as can be. Just like that little unicorn.”

Miss Anita went behind the counter and came back with a stand, which she placed on top of the small table next to the big, comfy chair.

Perfect eye level for a kid, I recalled her saying to Turner and me when I’d first started.

She yanked the unicorn book I’d been flipping through from my hand, placed it on the stand, and said, “Whimsical, savvy, and unique.”

The bell rang, and we both looked up. Miss Anita walked toward the door to greet the single customer, whose knitted cap showed only a hint of light-brown curls and who had a face beautifully flushed from his windy trek on the boardwalk. His eyes were hidden by a pair of sunglasses, though I knew them to be the most amazing shade of brown.

“Welcome to Breakwater Toys and Gifts.” Miss Anita made it sound like the first time she’d ever said it, though she greeted every new customer that way.

I breathed out the name, “Turner,” while she was welcoming him as if he were a new customer, praying to quirky little unicorns that he hadn’t heard me. She had, though; I could tell when she turned and smiled my way. Miss Anita was used to knowing everyone, at least every local. She may not have recognized my brother’s friend behind the hat and glasses, but I sure as hell had.