To Brie or Not to Brie by Avery Aames Read Free Book Online

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     image. “I’m here to help.”
    Octavia chuckled. “You? You’re no help at all. You’ve been packing your own stuff
     for hours. What do you have crammed in that cupboard anyway?” She peeked over the
     counter. “Are those dolls in that box?”
    Anabelle blushed. “I’m a collector.”
    “Honey, you are a hoarder.”
    “They’re my babies, and they’re antiques. I’ve picked them up everywhere I’ve lived.”
    Octavia eyed me. “Six states in her twenty-plus years. She’s rootless.”
    “I’m a world traveler,” Anabelle said.
    “I repeat, rootless.” Octavia snatched a bottle of water and cracked open the top.
     She swigged down half of it and set the bottle on the counter.
    Anabelle toyed with the scalloped collar of her sweater. “How did I accumulate so
     much stuff?”
    “We all do,” I said, thinking of the twins’ things. How many toys and craft projects
     had I packed over the past few weeks?
    “Anabelle has nearly as many boyfriends as dolls,” Octavia went on. “What was the
     last count, twenty, thirty?”
    “Ten.” Anabelle sniffed. “Don’t make fun simply because I was making eyes at some
     guy before Charlotte came in.”
    “Making eyes?” Octavia did a side-to-side Egyptian goddess move with her head, something
     that, when I was a teen, I had tried numerous times in front of the mirror to master
     but couldn’t. Attitude was not always a God-given talent. “Honey, you were waving
     your finger at that man just begging for an engagement ring.”
    Anabelle sputtered. “I did no such thing. I just met the man. He and his brother are
     new in town, or did you miss that tidbit?” She reached over the counter and flicked
     Octavia’s arm. “Don’t listen to her, Charlotte. I was totally professional. I told
     him we weren’t open for business yet, and to come back.”
    We returned to emptying or packing boxes.
    After a moment, Anabelle appeared from behind the counter again and said, “He was
     hunky, though, wasn’t he, girlfriend?”
    “‘Girlfriend’? Who are you calling ‘girlfriend’?” Octavia offered a mocking grin,
     and then a small frown creased her forehead. I recognized the look. She was going
     to be sorry when Anabelle left town. She delighted in having someone her daughter’s
     age to watch over.
    “C’mon, he was hunky. Chiseled face.” Anabelle drew an image with her fingertips.
     “Did you hear him say he was an investor?”
    Instinctively, I cringed. Investors with dishonorable motives had recently come and
     gone in Providence. I wasn’t eager for more to appear.
    “He also said he was checking out the college.”
    Providence Liberal Arts College—or PLAC, a project Meredith had championed—had just
     started its first year of education with a full freshman class.
    Octavia jutted a finger at Anabelle. “That means he’s too old for you. He probably
     has kids near your age.”
    Anabelle clucked her tongue, dismissing Octavia, and then turned to me. “Hey, Charlotte,
     he wants to see your grandmother’s production of
Hamlet
. Isn’t that cool? He’s a Shakespeare buff.” Clearly smitten, Anabelle flipped her
     hair in a flirty way. “I’d like to date an educated man at least once in my life.”
    Octavia huffed. “Do I need to remind you that you are scheduled to move in a week?”
    “So it would be a fling. Big deal.” Anabelle had owned All Booked Up for three years,
     and as far as I knew had planned to remain forever, but when she learned that her
     father, who lived in Chicago, was ailing, she put the store up for sale. “Ooh, what
     if Mr. Hunky visits me in Chicago? He said he travels. A lot.”
    “Anabelle Rossi,” Octavia said, gripping the young woman’s shoulders. “You have got
     to keep your head on straight. Pack your dolls, put away your girlish fantasies, and
     keep your eye on the target. Your daddy needs you. Not this man, one in a string of
     how many? Forty?”
    “Ten.”
    “Humph. Now, do