Page 5

Chapter Five

“Sam, dear.” Mom grabs a set of keys from a dish on the table in the entryway. “I’ve got something on hold at Beckett’s downtown. Could you pick it up for me, please? Dad and I are going out after work, and I won’t be able to get there before they close.”

“Beckett’s?” I’m not familiar with the store.

“Yes, it’s next to the old theater.”

“Sure.” I like having an excuse to go downtown. Especially since both Ava and Bek work today, so I’m on my own again.

“Oh, and be available Saturday. Ines has invited us to visit the caterer and the baker to taste test food for the reception.”

“I’m totally in for that!”

Mom laughs and pats my cheek. “I knew you would be, dear.”

For the first time, I notice lines stretching out from the corners of Mom’s brown eyes and parentheses around her lips. I’ve never noticed them before, but I’m pretty sure she has always had them. “You’re so beautiful, Mom.”

She pauses and cocks her head. “Thank you. But what brought that up? ”

“I think the wedding has given you as much of a glow as Ines.”

Mom draws a deep breath through her nose before answering. “I can’t lie, being the mother of the bride is as lovely as it is terrifying.”

“Terrifying?”

Mom shifts her weight from one high heel to the other. “Though I love Lincoln, I’m still Ines’s mother, and I worry about her making such a commitment. It also makes me feel old to have a child old enough to marry.”

I laugh. “You’ve been old enough for that for a while now, you just haven’t had anyone marry yet.”

“Technically that is true.”

I tilt my head. “Is the age thing the terrifying part?”

“No.” Mom takes my hand and squeezes. “Each step you children take away from us is more terrifying than the last. Your father and I have tried to raise independent, compassionate, problem-solving young adults, and I think we’ve done well. I’m so very proud of the people each of you are. But the less control I have over your happiness, the scarier it is.”

I squeeze her hand back and say in a loving tone, “Control freak.”

We laugh together and she kisses my cheek. “Have a good day, my love.”

“You too, Mom.”

I putz around the house until almost noon when I hop in my car and drive downtown. I find a spot for Sunny in the cool shade of the parking garage and walk toward the old theater, hoping Beckett’s is easy to find. It’s strange that I don’t recognize the name of the store since I shop downtown all the time.

There’s no hurry, so I slow my pace and enjoy the window displays. A heart-shaped, red satin purse makes me detour into a clothing store to make a quick purchase. Then, a block down, I halt and gape at a sign over a pink door. Beckett’s Book Shop and Café. No wonder I didn’t recognize the name. It’s a bookstore. I chuckle to myself as I step forward to pull the door open.

A bell tinkles overhead as I enter. The rich aroma of coffee pairs enticingly with the sugary scent of pastries, and the dry papery scent of books. The store has a cozy feel, with hardwood floors and soft lighting. Sitting areas of loveseats and armchairs are surrounded by bookshelves to the ceiling. I want to grab a mocha, find a seat, page through a magazine, and maybe never leave. Why have I never been in here before? Oh yeah, I don’t read.

I wind my way to the register, which is also where you order your drink. I scan the handwritten menu hanging over the small glass display and see they offer simple sandwiches also. I’m falling in love with this place and considering taking up reading in order to hang out here.

“Can I help you?”

My gaze drops to the person who stepped up to the counter, and my smile freezes on my face. Brent Post eyes me suspiciously. I totally forgot he works here. My cheeks flush with embarrassment, as if he knows that Ava and Bek suggested I date him. His suspicion tells me he might. Panic floods me and I consider fleeing. A rather alien response for me, which leaves me even more unsettled.

“Can. I. Help. You?” He says it slowly, but not like I’m daft. More like he’s wondering if English isn’t my first language.

“Oh, yeah, um. My mom has a hold. It must be a book.”

“Ah, that makes more sense.” He walks to a waist-high bookshelf behind the counter. “Amanda Jones?”

I nod. How did he know? I roll my eyes. Same way I know his name, duh. We’ve been going to school together our entire lives .

He pulls the book from the shelf and saunters back to the counter. I’m drawn to the way he moves. He has a certain predatory grace. A stalking panther. The male lead in a ballet. “Here you go.”

The book he sets in front of me is a guide to planning a fast wedding. I laugh when I see the title. Ines will somehow find an insult in this, I’m sure. I pull my wallet from my purse.

“It was paid for online,” Brent says. “You’re good to go.”

“Oh.” When I meet his gaze, I totally understand Bek’s giggle that night when Ava said Brent is good-looking. His eyes are deep emerald pools, and suddenly I’m breathless from drowning. His glasses are his camouflage, to keep predators like me at bay. “Um, maybe I’ll get a coffee. A mocha actually.”

An eyebrow twitches, like he wants to question my decision, but he asks, “To go?”

I scan the store and shake my head. “For here. I’ll take a chocolate-filled croissant, too.”

“Our pastries are from the local bakery, Rise.” Brent grabs tongs and places a croissant on a small plate. “Heated?”

Yes, I am , I think when his questioning gaze meets mine. “Please.”

He puts the plate in a toaster oven and spins a dial before moving over to the coffee station to make my mocha. I’m enthralled by his lithe movements. My memory described him as lanky. What was I thinking?

“How long have you worked here?” I ask. I’m just going to act like we know each other well enough for small talk.

“Only a couple of months.”

I raise my eyebrows at his comfort with the complicated coffee maker. “Do you have previous barista experience? Because you sure know your way around that machine.”

He flashes me an ironic look. Even the arch of his eyebrow is elegant and draws me toward him ever so slightly. “Quick study, I guess. ”

I sigh inwardly and rock back on my heels. He must not have picked up on my sarcasm. I told the girls we wouldn’t have anything in common.

He sets the coffee mug in front of me and grabs the croissant from the oven. “Making mochas is a nuanced skill that I’m thrilled to be learning at the tender age of seventeen. It will take me far in life.”

I let an appreciative grin spread slowly across my face. An unexpected thrill of pleasure shivers through me at his return sarcasm. “You might be the first celebrity barista of our class if you keep this up.”

“A guy needs goals.”

I glance at the total on the register and hand him the appropriate cash. He hands me back my change and I place it in the tip jar. Tucking the book under my arm, I pick up my coffee and plate. “Magazines?”

“Far back corner.”

“Thanks.” My blood buzzes from our little exchange.

At the back of the store, I discover a tall magazine rack stretching across an entire wall. This might be our small town’s most comprehensive periodical selection. If only I’d known sooner. I set my stuff on a table and browse the racks until I spot a favorite magazine of mine that I never find on a magazine rack.

“Oh my gosh!” I exclaim to no one in particular, snatching a copy from its holder and plopping into the cushy armchair. I haven’t read this magazine in over a year. I’m so excited to know I can find it here at the bookstore. I flip a few pages to scan the table of contents. An interesting title catches my eye, and I turn to the story in the magazine. A lovely black and white illustration accompanies the piece. I study it for a bit to see what sort of clues it offers about the story, but I’ve never been good at picking out subtleties. Bek is excellent at it.

I’m engrossed in the story when I bring my croissant to my mouth and bite it. Chocolate squeezes out the back and I lunge forward so it won’t fall onto my white blouse. Luckily, the dollop of chocolate ends up in my palm. I carefully place the croissant back on the plate and eat the chocolate off my hands. I realize I have nothing to clean my hands with, so I wind my way to the front of the store, hands in the air to avoid touching anything.

Brent sees me coming and arches an eyebrow. A single eyebrow. It’s a sexy look and makes me blush. I can’t believe this bookish boy can make me blush, and I want to burst into a fit of giggles. Instead, I explain my approach. “I forgot a napkin.”

He leans across the counter and tugs a couple from the dispenser, handing them to me as soon as I’m close enough.

“Thanks.” I wipe my hands as I walk back to my spot. How have I not noticed how cute Brent is before? I think about the few times I remember seeing him around school or at football games, and I don’t remember seeing him with a girl. Maybe I’m not the only one to have overlooked his adorableness.

About twenty minutes later, he wanders to the back of the store and picks up my now empty plate. “Would you like another mocha?”

“No, thank you.”

He points to the magazine open in my lap. “Great taste.”

“Oh my gosh, I was so excited to see you guys carry this.”

“I asked the owners to bring it in. I got hooked on it in Mr. K’s Lit class, sophomore year.”

“Me too!”

“Next month’s edition comes in early next week.”

I hug the magazine to my chest. “I’m so excited. I’ll be back for that, for sure. I totally would have bought this one even if I didn’t get chocolate on it.”

He laughs and oh. My. Heart. Stoppage! His smile is the sunshine. My mouth hangs open as I stare up at him and my pulse carves a “B” on the wall of my heart.

“Are you always such a messy eater?” he asks.

“No. I suspect you sabotaged my croissant.”

“Darn it. You found me out.” He grabs my mug and turns toward the front of the store.

“What did you mean?” I blurt. “When you said, “that makes sense” earlier?”

He stops and narrows his gem-colored eyes at me. He shakes his head.

“When I first got here, you seemed dubious. Then when I asked for this,” I place my hand on my mom’s book, “you said, “that makes sense” or something like that.”

He shifts his weight and again, I’m drawn to the graceful way his body moves. It’s all I can do not to sigh from the pleasure of watching his fine art performance. He’s tall and lean, with just the right amount of muscle tone to not be considered scrawny.

“You never struck me as a reader, but clearly I’m wrong.”

I frown. “Oh, you’re not wrong. I haven’t finished a book in years. I don’t even read the required reading for school.”

He lifts a brow. “That sounds like information you might not want to share so freely. What if I decided to rat you out?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Would you?”

“I don’t have any reason to now, but you’ve handed me blackmail material.” He waggles his eyebrows, making me chuckle. Then he points to the magazine lying in my lap. “And you do read.”

“This is a magazine. This isn’t reading.”

Brent tilts his head. His gaze is laser-focused on me. “It’s a socially responsible literary magazine that highlights the plight of underserved people and communities.”

My eyes grow wide. “Oh no! Are you telling me that I’m reading something responsible and educational?”

“I’m afraid so, Samantha.”

A chill races through me when he says my name. It rolls over his tongue like it belongs to him.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” I beg. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

His expression clouds over. “Yes, you do.”

He walks away and I feel like something went very wrong. I can’t put my finger on what happened, but I’m left feeling rejected or dismissed. Perhaps it bothers me so much because I’ve never felt this way before. Regardless, I contemplate the conversation again and again but, in the end, I’m unable to determine what soured the tone.

When I stop at the register to buy the magazine on my way out, a woman helps me. I scan the store, but Brent is nowhere to be found. I’m equally relieved and bummed that I won’t see him again before I leave.

“Next month’s copy should be here next week,” she says, as she counts out my change.

“That’s what I hear. I’ll definitely be back.”

Not just for the magazine , I think.