Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
I laugh and give him a pointed look. “Kevin. You know I’m not the cuddling type. No exceptions for family or pets. Or girls for that matter.”
“I used to cuddle him all the time. Till mom got mad.” He looks at me, his features softening so much that I’m suddenly aware of how much he’s aged over the last year. It’s like he’s been hit with the frying pan of adulthood way before his time. “Thank you so much for taking care of him. I swear, Mom will let him back at home at some point.”
“No problem, kid,” I tell him. “Though I’m pretty sure she wanted him out because you cuddled him too much. Ever hear about Lennie in Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men?”
Kevin’s look tells me no.
“It doesn’t matter. You’ll read it in high school.”
“Aren’t we going home?” he asks me when I take a left and start heading toward downtown Victoria.
“Your dad wants me to bring you to the store,” I tell him.
“Paul,” Kevin says, that ever-present edge to his voice whenever he says his name. “I don’t call him dad.”
Even though he’s been your dad since you were four years old, I think, but I don’t voice this to him. After all, Paul is my actual dad and my relationship with him is just as complicated. Who am I to talk?
Downtown Victoria isn’t too far, especially as all the traffic on the Pat Bay Highway is heading away from the city, and pretty soon we’re pulling up to Crawford’s Books on Government Street.
Right. So my father owns a bookstore. It’s been in the Crawford family for generations, basically since the city of Victoria was founded in the late 1800s. It’s something of a local treasure, a spot that historians fawn over and tourists fall in love with. But at the end of the day, it’s still a business trying to make money, and for the last five years the store has been taking a hit. Some, like my father, blame self-publishing and the rise of ebooks. Others, my mother included, blame the fact that my father never had a logical or business-minded bone in his body. Even the best intentions from the most passionate people can fail if they don’t have a sound mind at the helm.
That’s where I’m supposed to come in. I’m the supposed sound mind. My father, for a bunch of reasons he hasn’t yet voiced to me, wants me to take over while I’m still young, but only when I have a business degree. He hasn’t quite admitted that his lack of business and management skills have led to the store’s demise, instead putting all the blame on the rising rent and real estate prices in the city and all the other things I’ve mentioned.
The store is one-of-kind, however, and that’s the main reason why it’s still running. Though the big commercial chain, Chapters, is up the street, those giant megastores seem to focus more on selling throw blankets, stationery, and prissy candles than books. People come to Crawford’s Books because the store itself is an experience. At least that’s what I gather from the hushed approval of the seniors that visit.
I park Mr. Mean on the street and pay the meter before we head into the store. The shop closes at 7pm, so I know I won’t be working all night, but even so, the pub is still calling my name. I need a pint or two something fierce, especially after that class.
Despite Kevin’s pouting earlier, he perks up when he sees the store. Kevin is completely obsessed with fantasy books and could—and has—happily spent days here huddled among the tall cedar shelves, reading everything he can get his hands on.
The bookstore itself is like one big giant room with a cathedral ceiling and a loft at the back that houses some of the rare editions. The floors are dark polished wood and everything is extremely orderly with each genre getting its own section—fiction and new releases at the front, history and non-fiction and local travel guides in the middle, fantasy, sci-fi, and young adult at the back. The only genre we don’t carry is romance, which I think is yet another poor business decision on behalf of my father. Not only do women come in here all the time looking for romance, but from the research I’ve done, it’s one of the biggest selling genres.
But dad is a literary snob—it was hard enough to convince him to stock more sci-fi and fantasy—and even though the books would sell, he won’t even allow Fifty Shades of Grey in the store. I’m looking at this purely from a marketing perspective. Sex sells and we need more sales. We need more money coming in, period. But since he says smut and filth will lower our standards, it’s just another smart idea that won’t happen at Crawford’s Books.