Page 6

Chapter Six

It’s Bek’s turn to hang out poolside with me. Ava and Dylan are volunteering at some ranch for old dogs, or something. I’m in the shade of the umbrella, but I’m totally envious of Bek, who has taken up residence on a pool raft. A leg dangles over the side of the raft into the water and the hand not holding her non-alcoholic umbrella drink, trails through the water as well. I would be burnt to a crisp in five minutes flat if I did that, but little pixie Bek never even seems to tan, let alone burn.

“We should start a book club,” I say.

Bek sits up, almost toppling off the raft. “Excuse me?”

“There are so many good books to read, and if we did a book club, it would keep me accountable so that I read. Like homework, right?”

It looks like Bek might be squinting at me as she studies me, though it’s hard to tell behind her sunglasses. Then her eyebrows lift from behind the dark frames and her mouth opens in astonishment. “You went to the bookstore.”

She has uncanny people skills for such a flighty girl. That didn’t even take her thirty seconds to figure out. “I actually ended up there on accident. Well, without knowing I’d end up there. And you two are right. Bookstore Boy is pretty great.”

Bek relaxes back on her raft with a contented smile. “He is. You talked to him then?”

I tell her about our conversation and about how it ended so abruptly.

She purses her lips. “I wonder what that was all about.”

“I get to go back next week to get the new copy of a literary magazine that I like, but I need another excuse.”

Bek flicks water in my direction, but it falls short. “You don’t need an excuse, Sam. Just go buy a book. Any book. A gift. Ava loves historicals. Get her one.”

I consider that. “That’s a great idea. How long do you think I have to wait before I go back?”

Bek slides her glasses down on her nose and peers at me over the frames. “Is that a serious question?”

I look around as if there is someone who can share a confused look with me. “Of course it is. I asked it, didn’t I?”

Bek sits up, letting both legs hang into the water on either side of the raft. It’s only because she’s as light as a feather that she doesn’t tumble over the side. I could never move around on a pool floaty like that without taking a dunk. “Sam, what is going on with you? You’ve never asked advice on how to talk to boys before.”

I stare at her, my mouth flopping open. “Oh, my goodness. You’re right. What’s happening to me?”

Bek continues to stare at me as she floats in the center of the pool.

“Brent has me completely flustered. I think…” I pause and mull it over further before speaking again. “I think I must care more about this or something. With all the other guys I pretty much just thought, “What’s the worst that can happen? He’ll say no!” But with Brent, I only want to hear a yes.”

Bek relaxes, laying back against the raft, and pulling a leg back up to rest on top. “You’ll be fine, Sam. Of course, he’ll say yes. They always do.”

Maybe I’m being extra sensitive, but her saying that makes me feel, I don’t know, cheap somehow. ‘They always do’ indicates there are many. Which, I guess there have been, but something sounds wrong about it.

“I think you can go tomorrow,” Bek says.

“Tomorrow’s good.” I drop my head to the chaise and smile. “Thanks, Bek.”

The next day, I take extra care to get ready. I wear my favorite coral and white sundress and put my hair back with my favorite headband, so that it falls straight down my back. I just used an expensive hair treatment, so my hair has a silk-like sheen to it that makes me feel like a million dollars. I slip on my pretty gold sandals, and even take the time to grab the matching clutch. Studying myself in the mirror, I’m pleased with what I see. I look summery, and it doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard. Even though I am. I really am.

Uncharacteristic butterflies churn in my stomach as I stare at my reflection. Brent might not even be working today. This could all be for nothing. Well, not for nothing. I literally have nothing else to do, and a trip downtown is a great filler for a day alone.

I take a deep breath and march out of my room.

My VW Beetle sits in the driveway, eager for me to roll the windows down and let the wind flow through it. I swear I’ve had a connection with Sunny since my parents pulled the blindfold off my eyes on my sixteenth birthday. They led me out of the house onto the driveway, so I’d already figured out what the surprise was, but as soon as I saw Sunny smiling up at me, a huge white bow on his roof, I was completely smitten. He’s been an excellent car, and I know when he wants to stretch his tires—like he does today.

Wind streams in through the open windows as I cruise down the long circular drive. The music queues up from my phone, playing the song I’d interrupted when I finished getting ready. I turn it up louder to hear it over the rush of wind I know is coming when I accelerate to top speed on the street. In this moment, I feel so carefree and happy. I sing at the top of my voice as I direct the car toward downtown.

But after coasting into a parking place only a block away from the bookstore, my stomach is in knots. I remind myself that Brent might not even be there and that even if he is, he won’t know I’m there to see him. Unless I stutter and blush the entire time I’m talking to him. Then he might figure it out.

I pause over window displays for too long as I make my way to Beckett’s. When I catch myself eyeing kitchen implements in the window of an upscale home store, I know I’m just stalling. In what world have I ever cared about spatulas and mixers? I refocus my efforts and march to the bookstore without dawdling further.

The cheery bell announces me as I enter through the charming pink door. The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee fills the air. A few nearby patrons glance at me as I enter, but then return their attention to their browsing. A twenty-something guy taps away on the keyboard of his laptop at one of the small tables. His coffee is cooling beside him. A clutch of women occupies a loveseat and a couple of chairs at the center of the store, knitting and gabbing merrily.

My gaze darts to the coffee bar further back in the store, and I’m relieved to find Brent holding an empty plate and wiping down the counter. With nervous energy buzzing through my veins, I head toward the register side of the counter, rehearsing my question in my mind.

When he sees me approaching, he gives me the same furrowed-brow look he greeted me with the first time I came in. That’s not good. I force a smile on my face and don’t have to work too hard to look unsure as I greet him. “Hey, Brent! How are you?”

He scans my outfit, and the doubt in his expression stays rooted. “Good, Sam. What are you doing back so soon?”

“Right. Well, do you know my friend Ava? Ava Landry?” My voice shakes a little. I’m so nervous that I’m having a difficult time getting a breath. I’ve never felt this way around a boy before.

His eyes narrow. “Yeah. I know her.”

“Well, she’s recently done a huge favor for me, and I wanted to get her something as a thank you gift.”

Brent blinks at me.

“Seeing you the other day made me think of her obsession with historicals. I totally want to get her a new one. Can you help me with that?”

Now that I’ve gotten the question out, I feel much more relaxed. I’ve established that I have a legitimate reason to be there, and he no longer needs to be suspicious.

“Sure.” He shifts his weight like he’s about to turn, but then stops. “What kind of historicals does she like?”

“Kind?” I stammer. “There are different kinds?”

Panic floods me. I have absolutely no clue. And suddenly I feel like my sham is so obvious. He’s going to know I’m only here to see him. But don’t the boys I visit always know it is specifically to see them? Why am I suddenly self-conscious about it? Why does this boy matter so much? He flicks his head to get his long bangs out of his eyes, and even that simple motion sets a kaleidoscope of butterflies loose in my belly. I can’t help the responding smile that curves my lips, but it falls away when his eyebrow arches in response.

“Historical fiction? Historical romance? Historical nonfiction? Do you by chance know any of the titles of books she’s read?”

I sigh and shake my head. “She’s only ever referred to them as historicals.”

“You could get her a gift card.” He points to a rack next to the register with a selection of plastic cards to choose from.

I consider it. This is all a farce anyway. I’m only buying Ava a book for an excuse to be here. But now that I’m here, I want to get her a real book, dang it. “That’s pretty impersonal. I’d rather not. Shoot. Maybe this won’t work after all.”

Brent spins on his heel and comes out from behind the counter. “Not necessarily. Let’s go look at some of the books and maybe you’ll recognize the genre based on the covers. I’m assuming you’ve seen some of her books at least.”

I nod and follow him to the stairs, happy to watch him climb to the second floor ahead of me. His jungle cat grace makes me gulp. My fingers tingle to touch him and see if his lean muscles are as taut as they seem.

“Just from knowing Ava, I’m guessing she will like fiction or romance over nonfiction. Would you agree?” When he looks over his shoulder and finds my mouth hanging open, he clarifies further. “Do you think she’s reading about World War II or the Great Potato Famine or a real event like that?”

“Oh, no. That all sounds way more depressing than she’d want to read.”

“Right. So, our historical fiction books are over here.” He points to a section of books in the corner. I see there is a very helpful sign immediately above the bookshelf that says HISTORICAL. I scan the wall to see signs identifying other fictional categories, MYSTERY, WESTERN, YOUNG ADULT. “Do these covers look anything like the books you’ve seen Ava carrying around?”

I scan the books on the shelf and bite my lip. I have no idea.

“Or,” Brent walks across the room, the floor boards of the old building squeaking under his weight. “Our romance section is over here. Everything else is alphabetical, but we have romance separate because it’s one of the most popular genres for our clientele.”

The romance section takes up the entire wall. I see covers with bare male chests, covers with quaint country houses, covers with beautiful young couples, and I’m immediately overwhelmed. Am I supposed to recognize her books from within this huge selection?

Brent steps to the left and points to a label on the edge of the shelf that reads SMALL TOWN. “The books are shelved by sub-genre. Here are the historical romance books.” He shifts down the wall a bit. “Do these covers look more familiar?”

I feel better when I see that most of the women on these covers look like they belong in the show Bridgerton. “No, that is most definitely not what she’s been reading.” I wander back to the first section he showed me and study all the covers. I shake my head. “These are all so different from one another. It’s so hard to say.”

“There is a lot of history to read about, that’s for certain.” Brent crosses his arms and taps his mouth with a finger. He looks so cute, I’m not about to interrupt him. He squints to the corner of the room and nods. “You know what?”

I follow him to the section of books labeled YOUNG ADULT.

“If I were a betting man,” he says, picking up a book from the shelf and handing it to me. “I would guess that Ava would like this book. It’s a pretty new release, so the chance of her having read it already is slim. It’s historical fiction set in 1989 Romania. About a spy network that helped topple a dictatorship. I’ve read it and loved it, and even if it isn’t what Ava reads regularly, I think she’ll enjoy it. If she’s absolutely not interested in reading this book, she can come exchange it for another book.”

I look at the cover of the book, which holds absolutely no interest for me. I flip it over and skim the back jacket but can’t even keep my attention on it long enough to finish three sentences. “You’ve read this?”

“I’ve read all the books by this author. She’s excellent.”

There is a hunger in his expression that entices me. Like he can’t wait to devour the next book this author releases. I wonder how I can get him to look at me that way. “And she can exchange it if I’ve gotten it all wrong?”

“Yes, or if she’s already read it. I’ll include a gift receipt to make it easy for her.”

I smile down at the book, knowing as soon as Ava sees the book receipt, she’ll know what I’ve been up to. I nod. “I’ll take it.”

“Great. Do you have more browsing to do? Or would you like to hang out and have a coffee?”

My heart skips a beat when I think about sitting at the coffee bar and visiting with Brent for a while. But just as I think it, I see him raise a finger to another customer. “No, I think this will be enough for me. I saw that you had some cool bookmarks downstairs. I’ll go browse those while you help that person.”

Brent smiles. “Callie will probably be able to help you downstairs.”

“Oh,” I try not to let my disappointment show. I didn’t realize there was anyone else working in the store. “Um, thanks for your help then.”

He smiles politely. “I hope Ava likes the book. ”

I watch him approach the other customer with the same polite smile he gave me and my heart sinks. I have absolutely no impact on him whatsoever. I think of Barista Boy and Hot Dog Cart Guy and Yoga Boy. They would all brighten when they saw me coming. Brent scowls. Any conversation I started with those other boys soon turned flirtatious. With Brent, it remains one hundred percent on the topic of books and reading. Brent leads the customer over to another section of books. He leans down to pluck a book off the shelf, and he hands it to the man. Everything he is doing now is the exact same way he did it with me.

Could it be that Brent Post doesn’t find me attractive? I turn away and head down the stairs to buy my book from Callie. My thoughts are a fog of confusion. If Brent doesn’t like me, I’m not sure I know how to change his mind.