It's time for widow Molly Stevenson to stand on her own two feet. With blind dates, a needy ghost, and her small-town bookstore in trouble, she's going to need all her inner strength to prevent another unhappy ending.
Forty-something Molly can't bear to remove her wedding band. Still grieving the death of her beloved husband, the last thing she needs is her sleazy landlord raising the rent to drive her bookshop out of business. Now, this mild-mannered indie bookstore owner must find the inner strength to turn the page to a brand new chapter. So she's relieved when the ghost of her husband arrives claiming he's there to help. But is he?
With a little nudge from beyond the grave, Molly hatches a plan to revitalize her boutique and keep the doors open. But with everyone, including her spectral spouse, insisting she start dating again, Molly isn't sure what's worseâthe dates she meets online or the love of her life trying to find her a new manâwho's not quite as good as him.
How will she find the courage to fight for herself?
It's time for widow Molly Stevenson to stand on her own two feet. With blind dates, a needy ghost, and her small-town bookstore in trouble, she's going to need all her inner strength to prevent another unhappy ending.
Forty-something Molly can't bear to remove her wedding band. Still grieving the death of her beloved husband, the last thing she needs is her sleazy landlord raising the rent to drive her bookshop out of business. Now, this mild-mannered indie bookstore owner must find the inner strength to turn the page to a brand new chapter. So she's relieved when the ghost of her husband arrives claiming he's there to help. But is he?
With a little nudge from beyond the grave, Molly hatches a plan to revitalize her boutique and keep the doors open. But with everyone, including her spectral spouse, insisting she start dating again, Molly isn't sure what's worseâthe dates she meets online or the love of her life trying to find her a new manâwho's not quite as good as him.
How will she find the courage to fight for herself?
Â
Molly Stevenson looked around the Book Boutique at the end of another long day before switching off the lights and locking the front door. She loved this place, with its smell of paper, its loyal customers, and its solid presence on Brentfordâs Main Street. Simonâs support for her taking it on had been the deciding factor, and the shop had turned out to be a welcome respite from the grief she felt.Â
But it was still losing money. She hadnât managed to pay herself for the last two months and was living off her savings. The upcoming Christmas season needed to produce its annual increase in sales, or the business would go under, leaving her in debt she had no way of repaying.
And the town would lose its only bookstore, which would be a crime. She wouldnât think about that. She stuffed the dayâs mail and the letter she still hadnât opened into her messenger bag, and started for home.
Darkness had fallen sometime before she reached her front door. She took out the key and turned it in the lock. Returning to the unlit, empty Victorian often seemed like the most daunting part of losing Simon. It made Molly feel like an actual widowâsomething she managed to avoid thinking about as she kept busy at the bookshop during the day.Â
That evening, as if summoned by the rasp of the latchkey, an orange missile came hurtling up the porch steps, and Hemingway stood there, demanding to be let in.Â
âHello, you,â she murmured. A loud rumble came from somewhere near her feet. As she swung the door open, the cat swaggered into the house ahead of her and made for the kitchen.
She followed him, shrugged off her coat, and threw it onto one of the barstools, where it promptly slid off. She should hang it up in the closet when she came in.Â
âCome on, Mollyâyou can do better than this,â she said aloud. Was that really her voice? Now and then, she reminded herself of her mother with her relentlessâthough well-meantâadvice.Â
Mummy would have told her to deal with that bloody letter from her landlord immediately.Â
Opening the refrigerator door instead, she groaned at the sight of the tired onion, a slightly wrinkled zucchini, and a large eggplant staring back at her from the middle shelf. The idea was that theyâd be in her line of vision, so sheâd remember to use them, but the plan had failed. She could make ratatouille. She checked the few tomatoes lounging on the island. One of them had a problematic black spot near the stalk, but the other two might be salvageable. Besides, cooking would be soothing.Â
At least sheâd remembered to buy food for the cat, who was now sitting, tail wrapped around his feet, expectant eyes fixed on her. Grateful for his presence, she prepared a dish of Frisky Feast and set it down in the usual place. Hemingway sniffed at it like a Borgia at a banquet with his relatives, and then, apparently deciding it wasnât poisoned, crouched down and started to eat. She wondered how he managed to chew and purr at the same time.
Molly had been making dinner a couple of years before when Hemingway showed up during a late spring thunderstorm, sodden and suspicious. Sheâd embraced the challenge involved in gaining his confidence, now that, with Simon gone and her daughters away at school, there was no one else around on whom to lavish her affection.Â
It occurred to her sheâd become a clichĂ©âa widow with a cat. Perfect.Â
Tonight, heâd evidently been waiting for her to return from the Book Boutique.
She would not think about the shopâbut she couldnât avoid it either. Despite her efforts, sales were only improving at a glacial pace. Her latest bank statement had only confirmed that she would run out of money within months. If something didnât change, and soon, sheâd be broke by her next big birthdayâa failed businesswoman at fifty. And a lonely widow, too.
The thought of that banished her hunger. Abandoning the idea of cooking for herself, she made a toasted cheese sandwich with the sliced loaf that was beginning to dry out. Having eaten it, she began to write a list of things she needed to do at work. Tidy gift table. Chase incoming orders. Buy British tea bags for the shop.
She knew she was skirting the real issue.
She re-checked the bank statement. Some miracle in the last two hours might show she was inexplicably making a profit. Nope. Nothing had changed.Â
Now for the letter from Pilgrim Properties. Sheâd been ignoring it since that morning when the mailman delivered it. Envelopes from landlords only signaled trouble. But she mustnât shirk the task any longer.
She pulled it out of her bag and, picking up the nearest knife, slit it open. A chill ran down her back.
Not even Dear So-and-So. Just: To Whom it may Concern. How obnoxious. The message only added to her indignation. Due to circumstances beyond our control, it has become necessary to levy an increase on your rent when the lease is up for renewal, beginning January 1.Â
There followed a sum so substantial that they must know she would never be able to pay it.
It has become necessary? Who talked like that? Someone who didnât want to take the blame for putting a lovely bookshop out of business, thatâs who. Naturally, no one had signed their name to it. Sincerely, Pilgrim Properties. Ha.
Buying the bookstore where sheâd been an employee had proved a satisfying project to begin with. Just enough of a challenge to occupy her time after Simon died. It was that, for sure. She loved the shop, but its problems haunted her dreams, making her wonder whether sheâd got her priorities right. Did she want all the stress of running a business? It would be more fun to get out and see her friends, or travel, maybe.
She couldnât quit. She had to prove to herself that she could succeed as an independent businesswoman. That would bring her the respect and recognition that being a wife and mother never had. And, in theory, money sheâd earned herself.
This was all Simonâs fault. If he hadnât died, sheâd have been content with her part-time job at the Book Boutique, without the responsibility and the headaches of ownership. If only she hadnât allowed herself to be persuaded to take on the store, if she hadnât ⊠if, if, if.
To be fair, Simon hadnât exactly made her buy it. Because sheâd only owned the shop for ten months. And the love of her life had been dead for thirty-seven months, five weeks, and four days.Â
âCheer up.â She could hear his reassuring voice in her head. âThis will all be okay in the end, youâll see.â
She didnât see. Not at all. But these internal conversations with him often helped her work things out.
âI canât imagine how. I should just cut my losses and quit,â she said aloud, sounding whiny, she could tell. âExcept thereâs no one whoâd want the Book Boutique now. I was the only dimwit who was remotely interested in the business.â
She stood and began pacing the kitchen floor. Hemingway gave a quick shudder in his sleep, stretched, and dozed off again. He must be exhausted. She knew how he felt.Â
âMolly, honey, I wish youâd let me help you.â Simon again.
âDonât you think youâve done enough already?â
A note of hurt entered his voice. âIt wasnât my fault I had a heart defect, you know.â
Heâd been found unconscious on the sidewalk halfway through his morning run. Thereâd been no time to say goodbye. So, she never had.Â
âYou could have had regular checkups.â Sheâd never mentioned this to him before and knew she was being unjust, since no one in his family had suffered from the same health issue. But his death wasnât fair to her, either.
âAnyway,â she rallied, âbuying the bookstore was your idea, and now I seem to have made a mess of it. If the shop goes under, Iâll have to go out and get a proper paying jobâselling kitchen stuff in a hardware store. Or sell the house. Move to an apartment with wonky heating and mice.âÂ
She was getting into it now. Almost enjoying the worst-case scenario. Molly adjusted her imaginary mob cap and pulled a fictitious tattered shawl around her against the chill winds of imminent bankruptcy.
Simonâs voice brought her back down to earth.
âYouâre not living in some Dickensian novel, you know. Youâre a twenty-first-century woman and you have choices.â
âChoices? I only have enough money to keep the store going for a few more months, and now thereâs this rent demandââÂ
Simon interrupted her. âYou know what? Youâre more inclined to go down with the ship than to ask for a life preserver.â
Molly racked her brain for an answer to this and came up with nothing. No life preserver would save her.
âYouâve always taken care of others, yet you wonât allow anyone to be there for you in return. People would love to pitch in, sweetheart, because youâre a wonderful person and they want you to succeed. But you have to let them know you need help. And you can start with me.â
âStart with you? Youâre not even here.â
âThatâs kinda harsh, donât you think?â
The kitchen fell silent. Only a tiny snuffle emanating from Hemingwayâs bed broke the stillness.
âOh, Simon. I didnât meanâŠâ
âI know, honey. Itâs the stress talking. So, item one. You need more information.â
âLike what?â
âLike the name of a live person at Pilgrim Properties. Someone you can talk to about this. Maybe you can negotiate a smaller increase with a living human instead of a faceless office.â
He always came up with something.
âGood idea. Whatâs item two?â
âThere is no item two.â
Okay then.
Â
Molly is a strong and independent woman who has been learning to navigate a life without her husband after his death. But now thereâs her heartless landlord raising the rent of her bookstore, and her friends pressuring her to get back into the dating world. And oddly enough, the ghost of her husband is visiting her on a daily basis.Â
Facing these challenges, Molly soon realizes that she canât continue to rely solely on herself, and sometimes itâs okay to ask for help. With the help of her friends, both old and new, and her husbandâs spirit, she begins to find the courage to pick herself up and start over.Â
This book was a breath of fresh air. I have an obsession with romance novels, but sometimes the same sort of plots get old. A Beginnerâs Guide to Starting Over fulfilled my romance fix, but was so much more than a typical love story. Instead, the focus was on Molly and finding herself again after facing such hardships in her recent life.Â
I did find Amanda and Rosie a bit irritating when they were pushing Molly to start dating again. I know it was coming from a good place, but sent the message that Molly couldnât be happy unless she found someone else to love. However, I was glad that Molly stood up for herself and eased into it on her own terms rather than giving in just to appease them.Â
Mollyâs determination and perseverance when it came to saving the bookstore was inspiring. While she had moments of doubt and self pity, she bounced right back when she started talking to Renzo and they began forming a plan.Â
And then there was Nick. Their lack of communication frustrated me, and they both made many assumptions about each other that could have easily been settled had they just talked about thing. But I managed to put my frustrations aside and appreciate that if things were easy for them from the start, then Molly wouldnât have had the opportunity to fully move on the way that she needed to.Â
Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed this book. It provided a sense of hope and an invaluable lesson of learning to love yourself. Molly was able to find happiness within herself rather than relying on another person to make her happy, and it made everything else in her life all that much more fulfilling and meaningful.Â