Page 9

Chapter Nine

After changing outfits half a dozen times, I scold myself for putting far too much thought into what I’m going to wear to the bookstore. I purposefully choose simple summer clothes, white shorts, a blue sleeveless top, and strappy sandals. My hair is even in a ponytail. Everybody knows that a girl isn’t trying to impress anyone when she’s wearing a ponytail, right?

I hop into my car and head downtown. As I approach the bookstore, my mouth is already dry. I wish I understood why Bookstore Boy is so different from the other boys.

As I push through the door, I’m momentarily distracted by how empty the store is. There are usually at least a couple customers browsing and others seated, but today, there is a single gal sitting at a table typing furiously on her laptop. She has big headphones on that I’m guessing have something to do with the speed at which she’s typing. I turn my thoughts to the front counter and freeze in my tracks when I find Callie there. She looks up and smiles, so I stumble into action again as if my forward progression will somehow cover up the fact that I am there to see Brent. I mentally scold myself to relax. There is no way she would know my true reason for being in the store.

Suddenly, I don’t know what to do. I can’t buy the magazine if he isn’t here. Then I would need to make up another excuse to come to the store and it would become obvious, wouldn’t it? I’m confused and don’t know what to do, so I end up standing in front of the counter like a lost lamb.

“Can I help you?” Callie says.

“Um, yeah. I think I want a mocha, please.” What the heck. I’m here. I can sit and enjoy a coffee at least. I plop on a barstool.

“Whipped cream?”

“No thanks.” I pick up a cute little pocket travel guide of our hometown and start paging through it. Our town is microscopic, so it makes sense that the guide is minuscule as well, but I’m surprised to find a write-up on the annual ghost tour they host at Halloween time and instructions on how to access the local’s menu at the café on Third Street.

Callie sets my mocha down in front of me.

“This is adorable.” I wave the little book.

“I know,” she enthuses. Then she tips her head back. “Turn to page thirty.”

Page thirty is almost at the end of the book. The chapter heading is Celebrity Lineage. I arch an eyebrow at Callie, and she nods knowingly. I skim the page, but I’m quickly tripped up by seeing “the Post family” mentioned. I return to the beginning and read from the start.

Our little town of Oak Grove has a lineage involving the local Post family that most people don’t know about. Our very own Aiden Post is the great-grandson of one of our town’s founding fathers, Earnest Post, a publishing magnet at the turn of the century. Earnest Post was editor-in-chief at the esteemed Steamer Press. His son, Truman Post, gained his own fame as the Publisher at Flapper Press. Aiden’s father and uncle each ran one of the publishing houses, but Aiden inherited them both when the men passed. He combined the two presses under one umbrella and then started a third imprint as well. He has grown the business into a world-renowned publishing house that produces no fewer than 150 new titles each year across the three imprints. The Post family quietly supports our schools by donating books and sponsoring author visits every year. He funds the high school debate team and the academic decathlon. And all the while, the people of Oak Grove are unaware of all he has accomplished and all he does for our community. Three cheers to the Post family.

I look at Callie with my mouth hanging open. “Is Aiden Brent’s dad?”

She nods with a knowing look on her face.

“Brent is descended from Oak Grove’s founding fathers?”

She leans forward like we’re sharing the biggest secret together. “Isn’t that a trip?”

It’s no wonder Brent’s bookish if he comes from a long line of publishers. I bite my lip and wonder if he’s always silently correcting my grammar. Can he even help himself?

“Is Brent off today?” I ask since we’re talking about him anyway. That seems like a normal question, right?

“No, he’s in the back, stocking. Do you want me to tell him you’re here?” Callie asks.

I look at her in surprise. “No! Why would I want that?”

“Don’t panic.” She laughs. “I just thought you were friends.”

“Oh, no.” I breathe a sigh of relief. I thought she figured me out. “I mean, we know each other. But we aren’t friends.”

Someone walks up to the register, so Callie walks away. I page through the little guidebook to see if there are any other interesting town facts that I can learn. Then I slide the book back onto the display rack.

I’m considering my next move when Brent walks in from the backroom. His hair is messy, his shirt wrinkled and dirty, and his muscles glisten with the sheen of sweat. He’s wiping his hands on a rag as he walks behind the counter.

“Callie, can you make a note that we need new blades for the box cutter and more tape?”

“Sure.”

He removes his glasses and uses the rag to wipe his forehead, face, and neck.

“Man, I wish we had air conditioning.” He tosses the rag behind the counter, plucks a cup from the stack, and fills it with ice and soda. He drinks almost the entire cup before coming up for breath. I’m enthralled by the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. A satisfied gust of air escapes him when he finishes. “That hits the spot.”

He sees me and scowls. Why is he always scowling at me?

Then he brightens. “Global Lit came in. It’s in the back. Can you hang out a bit? I’ll get it logged in for you if you want one.”

My heart flutters like he’s just proposed marriage. “Don’t hurry for me. I can always come back tomorrow if that’s more convenient.”

“You probably have somewhere to go,” he says knowingly, which makes me wonder what he knows. “I’ll make sure to get them checked in tonight so they’re on the shelf tomorrow. Be warned, I’m going to rearrange the periodicals, so they won’t be in the same place.”

I’m so excited for another excuse to see him that I’m probably grinning like a crazy person. I put on my best flirty expression and lean toward him. “You can show me where you moved them to when I come back tomorrow. ”

I don’t even know if he saw me. The cup is at his mouth again and he tips his head back. I hear ice shift as he drinks the last of his soda. He wipes his mouth and shakes his head. “I don’t work tomorrow, but Callie can show you.”

“Oh crap. I have a thing tomorrow.” I totally lie, but I don’t want to come back to see Callie. I try for flirty again. I cock my head sideways and give him an ‘I know you want to see me again’ look. “I’ll just come back in a couple days. Do you guys usually sell out?”

He shakes his head. “No, I think you and I are the only two people in all of Oak Grove who read it.”

I shrug. Now my expression says, ‘We have something in common, remember?’ “Mrs. K does.”

He chuckles. “Yes, but she already subscribes, so she doesn’t have to get her copy from us.” He hitches his thumb over his shoulder, and I’m momentarily distracted by his well-shaped bicep. “Let me just run back there and grab one for you.”

I wave my hand. “No, really, don’t worry about it. I’d actually forgotten about it. I was downtown for another reason and stopped in for a coffee. I’m happy to come back.” Please forgive the lies, universe.

“Okay. If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

He turns away, snatches the rag out from under the counter, and heads toward the back room. I slouch in my seat, bummed he’s working in the back. Then he turns back to me. “Did Ava like the book?”

I straighten. “She did! She was so excited. Turns out it was on her list of books to read.”

“Her tbr.” Brent nods knowingly.

I cock my head. “What’s a tbr?”

“It’s a list most avid readers keep. Stands for “to-be- read.” I’m glad she liked receiving it. I hope she enjoys reading it as well.”

“Thanks again for your help with that. You sure know your books.” Maybe flattery will soften him up since my flirting seems to fall on deaf ears. But instead, he waves a hand at me dismissively.

“I just know what I like.” He waves. “See ya later.”

“Yeah. See ya.” It’s all I can do to keep myself from heaving a sigh of disappointment. Maybe Brent doesn’t know how to flirt. Maybe it isn’t me, per se, it’s his lack of ability. The conversation went so well and still, there was not even one hint that he might be interested in me. I got lucky that he gave me my next reason to see him, but if I can’t spark any interest during our next rendezvous, I might be forced to close the book completely.