Back to September, page 3
“I was just saying that I was going to need a new outfit if Parker Bristow is coming to town. She’s a hottie and I’d want to be at my best, so she’ll at least think I’m not a schlub. What do you think of my light blue linen pants?” I imagined him ruffling his hair. He had a tendency to run his fingers through it until it puffed up, wavy and tall.
“The linen pants are great.” I smiled into the phone. “So, you have a crush on Parker Bristow?”
“She’s so pretty. Did you see her on Lip Sync Battle? I recorded it.”
“Perfect,” I said, with a laugh. “This signing is really great news. We need to get the word out to our customers, social media it, publicize the hell out of this thing. My head is spinning with possibility now.”
“The voice mail says they’ll be sending press releases to all local news outlets.”
I couldn’t dim the smile that crept onto my face if I’d tried. At last, I’d been granted a true shot at putting A Likely Story on the Providence map. The day we’d set up the display had been an important one after all.
“Kurt, can you jot down the details and then save the voice mail so I can listen in the morning?”
“On it, Hannah. Sans boss woman.” A pause. “This is really excellent news.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
I clicked off the call and turned to the pair of bookends also known as my cats, Bacon and Tomato, who sat on either end of my sofa. “Parker Bristow, unlikely savior of bookstores, has agreed to come in for a signing.” I waited for their response, which consisted of some blinking, and a yawn from Bacon. “This is big,” I told them with a nod and headed for my much-anticipated bath after billowing. It was the most relaxing bath of my adult life. I had hope, a lifeline, and a shot at something important.
* * *
“Really? The romance novelist?” Brandon asked, with a pretentious smile that said he was humoring me.
This was our third date, and he’d upped his game and taken me to somewhere that had white tablecloths and something called a waiter’s captain. We’d been finished with our meal for a good twenty minutes now and had ordered more wine to continue our conversation. I always relaxed with a little wine and contributed more to the conversation. I wasn’t drunk, but the tipsy line had been breached.
Brandon’s dark hair was extra wavy tonight, which made me want to run my hands through it and watch it bounce a little. Not in a sexual way, more like a kid exploring an interesting museum. “Yes, and before you say it, I know what you’re thinking. It’s fluffy. It’s gimmicky.” I held my hands up. “I get it, completely. But we could use the extra attention. We’ve been a little light on traffic lately, and with fall coming and the temperatures dropping, that trend will only increase as people stay home more.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” But he said it with a sidecar of judgment. Brandon and I had matched on Hearts Aflutter the month prior, more than likely because we both had a long-abiding love of literature. Given, his tastes fell on the extra-literary side of things, but it was nice to converse with someone who understood my passion. “But let me ask you, do you read romance novels, Hannah?” He finished the rest of his wine and let the glass linger on his lips in a move I think he believed to be sexy. It was only so-so.
“I’ve read them before, sure. They’re not my go-to.” I paused, and set my glass down. “I don’t think I’ve picked one up in the last, what? Ten years?”
He fell back against his chair. “Thank God.” He laughed. “I didn’t want to say anything, but if you’ve cried your way through those trivial fairy tales, I was about to lose a little respect for you.”
“Really?” I wasn’t a huge romance fanatic either, but I’d never count it as a deal breaker. “Oh, c’mon. You have to give them some credit. They sell like crazy.”
Brandon wasn’t having it. “Regardless, they’re the epitome of ridiculous.”
“The epitome.” I repeated the word, because it was harsh. “‘Ouch,’ said billions of humans across the world.”
“I apologize to them, but it’s true.” He poured more wine and leaned forward, gesturing with his glass like he owned the world. His opinions sure blossomed when he drank. The thick hair seemed less interesting the more pretentious he became. “If you told me you lived with your nose in a string of romance novels that all had the same singular, formulaic ending, I’d have a hard time with that. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Then you’re a book snob,” I said, and dropped my jaw. “Sitting right here in front of me.” I was playful in my delivery, but I also didn’t think it was cool to judge someone else for what they liked to read, even if I slightly agreed with him about the genre. Without the wine, I would have nodded and avoided the debate altogether.
“I guess I am.” He nodded several times, as if lost in the examination of the concept. “There are too many good books out there to fall into a pit of Parker Bristow.” He raised an eyebrow. “Though she is beautiful.”
“All of America sure thinks so.”
“You don’t? You’re into women. What do you think of her?”
I guess I had put that on my profile. “She’s very pretty.”
He leaned close and I felt his palm just above my knee on my bare skin. “Though I’m not opposed to acting out our own sex scene.”
Nope. Wasn’t feeling it. I picked up his hand by the wrist and returned it to his lap.
“I don’t think we’re a good fit. I’m very sorry about that.”
He blinked. “Then why did you go out with me again?”
I scrunched up one eye. “You have nice hair.”
Chapter Two
“You dropped him? The book guy with the luscious locks?” Luna shrieked, actually shrieked, from atop the twelve-foot ladder. She was up there stocking our highest shelf full of graphic novels, which had seen quite a surge lately. I’d made a note to up our order for next month. “Hannah, you have no life. This was the first actual incident of socializing on your part in months. Years. Probably ten.”
“Easy.”
“It’s true.” She placed the last copy and scurried down. “Talk to me about what went wrong, and maybe in the evaluation we can find the heart and soul of the problem.”
“He’s really high on his own opinion.”
She nodded as if chewing on this new information. “Well, that does suck. So, you disagreed with him and it didn’t go well. Did he yell or get violent?”
“What? No.” I slid back onto the stool behind the counter. “We actually agreed. We just did so differently.”
“Oh.” Confusion struck Luna’s features. The blue strands in her hair were pink today, always keeping me guessing. “You might have to explain that one.”
The bell above the door rang and we turned. “What’s up, working people?” Instead of a customer, it was my stepsister, Bo. Her real name was Belinda, but that seemed cruel. We called her Bo, which fit her much better. When my mother married her father back when I was six and she was eight, we thought we’d hit the jackpot, each gaining a ready-made sister. I still felt that way. Bo was great. Today she had straightened her curly red hair and wore sophisticated heels and a killer blazer, which meant she’d had an important client meeting at the family law firm she worked for. That or a court appearance.
Luna turned to Bo with her hands on her hips, really working the incredulous angle hard. “Your sister ditched the one potential suitor she’s indulged in decades and is going to die alone in the corner of her apartment if we don’t do something.”
I turned to her in utter shock. “Severe. Even for you.”
Luna raised her hands and let them drop. “Someone’s got to do something.”
“Nooo. The wavy-haired guy?” Bo asked and looked to Luna. “We had such hope for him. I’d already Instagram stalked the hell out of him and imagined where he’d go in our family Christmas photos.”
I rolled my eyes, and Luna shook her finger at Bo, reenergized. “I’m not convinced this thing isn’t salvageable.”
“You guys talk about me behind my back? Interesting. I need to remember to be aghast later. Putting it on my to-do list.” I didn’t look up from my paperwork.
Bo sidled up next to me. Her perfume smelled nice. I never thought to wear perfume, just scented lotion. Putting that on the to-do list, too. “It’s a good thing we’re fired up on your behalf, then. Maybe you shouldn’t give up so quickly.”
I shook my head. “Not going to happen. He hates people who read romance novels.”
Luna gasped. “Good riddance, Douche-Meister-Crazy-Hair.”
“See?” I held my hand outstretched. “My good judgment remains intact.”
“Sorry about the date.” Bo dropped her briefcase on the counter. “I’m here for a breather before court. This is my lunch break and it’s only about fifteen minutes long.” Hearing my cue, I slid her a Snickers from the drawer, which she happily tore into.
“What’s this one about?” I asked. Her cases always intrigued me.
“Child custody hearing. Amazing mom. Loser dad. Abusive, too. We’re going to wipe the floor with this guy.”
“Child support payments?” I knew the drill.
“He’s behind by close to two years, yet taking vacations with his new girlfriend every three months. He uses the money as power to hold over her head. He hasn’t stopped trying to control her, even post-divorce.”
I nodded. “Lovely fellow, but I like these odds.” My sister fought the good fight, and I loved her for it. Not only that, but Bo was damn good at her job, put in the time, and rarely lost a case. We bonded over our complementary work ethics in school, grappling for the highest grade point average. Yeah, she won.
“As for your dating life”—Bo placed a hand on my shoulder—“don’t die alone in the corner of your apartment. The cats will eat you. There are other solutions.”
“Bo! Stop that.” I looked between her and Luna. “What has gotten into you two? I like my life on my own. Genuinely. Therefore, the fact that Brandon didn’t work out is honestly not an awful thing.”
My sister passed me a sympathetic look that I wanted to hurl right back at her. It was true I didn’t date much and that I spent most of my free time alone in my apartment, but I wasn’t antisocial. I just…did my own thing. “We both feel it’s time we give you a little shove. Knock you out of the nest. You get hit on all the time. Stop being so hyperselective.”
“I’m not in any kind of nest, and I’m hyperselective because it would take a lot to make me want to share what I have going. I’m happy, Bo.”
“There’s a definite nest.” Luna made a sweeping, round gesture. “A nest of your own twiglike construction that insulates you in a snuggly cocoon of comfort but holds you back from your true womanly destiny.” She finished with some flowy arm movements. She’d been reading too many new-age books and was inching her way closer to flower child status by the day.
“Well, now I’m confused.” I stared at her, waiting for her demonstration to trail off. “Is it a nest or a cocoon? You lost me.” I blinked.
“You’re missing the point.”
The bell above the green door rang and Kurt appeared. He pointed at Luna, who repeated her performance silently for reasons I was unclear on.
“Hannah’s cocoon demonstration?”
“Aha, so it is a cocoon,” I said, pleased with myself, and nodded to Bo.
“She’s out of the cocoon,” Kurt said. “At least, I thought she was. With the guy with the…” He pointed at his head.
I tossed Kurt a look. “Yes, the guy with the nice hair had me out of my perceived cocoon, but I’m going back in because I really, really prefer it. Dating sucks, and honestly? I like my life and my time alone. Nothing is missing. I went out with hair guy because you,” I said, gesturing to Bo, “made me feel like I was missing out on a fundamental part of life, when really, I just think I’m not at all. I’m happy. I’m solitary. My cocoon is comfortable.”
“But—” Bo started.
“Not everyone has the same need for day-to-day companionship,” I reminded my sister. “I think having to deal with someone else would exhaust me. No, I know it would.” Yeah, I tended to get wordy when I felt strongly about something. My mother thought I should have been an attorney myself. But she retired to Tampa with my stepfather, and I opened a bookshop, so the rest was history. Bo and I visited them once a year and hit the beach.
“Are you done?” Bo asked.
“Yes.”
She continued. “You’re drop dead gorgeous.”
“Thank you.” I sipped my coffee. “That’s a non sequitur. How was your chocolate lunch?”
“I know what it is,” Bo said. “My lunch was fine, but you’re deflecting. My point is that you can literally have your pick of lots of people. You have to go on a ton of dates, Hannah, to find someone worthy, and with those blue eyes and a face like yours? You’re gonna score big. You just have to put in the time.”
“You do have the best eyes,” Kurt said. “Is that weird to say to your boss?” He looked worried. “I shouldn’t say things like that.”
“I’ll let it slide.” I sent him a smile.
I’d never paid much attention to my looks. My style of dress was fairly understated and simple. Shoes were my favorite and I owned a ton, yet most were practical, comfortable, like old friends. I brushed my hair and kept it neat but didn’t get caught up with fancy, intricate styles. I wore lip gloss and mascara on occasion, preferring to keep it subtle. Glamour and fashion had never been my thing. But yes, I’d grown up with people commenting on my looks since I was small, so Bo’s declaration was not the first time I’d heard the sentence. I accepted my fortunate genetics, and the smiles and open doors they’d afforded me, but I also believed I had two feet planted firmly on the ground. Looks were superficial. Plus, if I was pretty, I definitely wasn’t the prettiest. There were degrees to everything.
Luna tousled my hair and grabbed a second box of new books for stocking. “She’s got a point. That face is going to waste in your apartment, plastered to the squawking box.”
“I think they call that a television these days. Are you eighty now?”
Luna didn’t pause. “It’s sucking all of your good energy dry.”
“You don’t want to go dry,” Kurt said with a grimace. “Energy has got to be kept aloft. Luna’s taught me a lot.”
“Too much, I’d say.” I flipped open my ledger. “Your concern has been noted for the record.” I turned to Bo. “I learned that sentence from you, Counselor.”
She touched her chest. “Because as your sister, I could not fail you.” Her eyes landed on the display and the corresponding poster advertising the upcoming signing. “Get out. You march right out of this store and don’t come back, you secretive minx.”
I narrowed my gaze. “Well, I own the place, so that might be problematic from a logistics perspective.”
Bo stared wide-eyed, as if she couldn’t quite believe it. “Focus. Are you telling me that Parker Bristow is coming here, to this shop? No.”
“Yes. Next Saturday,” Luna said, smugly. She took great pride in having been the catalyst for making it all come together, and honestly, she deserved that credit.
Bo seemed to marvel at the information and then erupted in an uncharacteristic flutter. “I have to meet her. I’ve read everything she’s ever written. I love her stuff.”
“Rewind.” I frowned. “You have? How did I not know this?”
“Maybe because I tend to buy them up when you’re out of the shop.” Bo high-fived Luna, who was clearly her romance novel dealer. They were doing back-alley romance deals, and I’d had no clue. “I don’t need to advertise my reading habits to a sister who has strong opinions on books and their hierarchy.”
“I’d never judge you for what you read, even if it is romance, sappy as it is. I just love that you read in general.” To help that comment along, I kissed her cheek as I passed. “Speaking of which, do we all have our assignments for Saturday in order?” I asked my tiny team. The PR people for Bristow had sent over a list of requests—I called them demands—to help the signing go smoothly. They’d also done a great job of putting the word out there to hard-core romance fans. Bo must have been elbow-deep reading case law to have missed this.
“I’ll be sweeping, scouring, and scrubbing this place until it shines,” Kurt said, and cracked his knuckles.
“I’ll be clearing a space for the throngs of fans to line up on that wall, that will lead out onto the sidewalk for overflow. Plus, moving some shelves so the readers have a clear exit through the back of the store after having their book signed.”
“Overflow,” I said, tasting the word. “I never thought A Likely Story would have a possible overflow issue. Not that I’m complaining. Time to introduce the city of Providence to the store they hopefully can’t get enough of.”
Bo hugged me. “I’m so happy for you, little Hannah-pants, and you will see me next Saturday, books in hand.” She checked her watch. “Now I’m off to court to save the world.”
I waved. “We’re going to stay here and sell books.”
My sister grinned. “You always have the best damn ideas.”
* * *
Why in the world was I nervous? It was Saturday afternoon and the Parker Bristow signing was set to begin at three p.m., and my stomach was flip-floppy, my mouth was dry, and I couldn’t quite seem to settle into one spot, because they all seemed to suck. I was normally a jittery type on special occasions and reminded myself that it wasn’t as if there would be much participation on my part. Our job was to sell copies of the book, make sure that the signing ran smoothly, and to make sure that the “talent”—that’s how the paperwork referred to Parker Bristow—was provided for. We’d obtained all the items on the rider, including Diet Coke, bottled water specifically manufactured by Fiji, a very hard to find brand of tea, and popcorn. Yes, popcorn. I couldn’t make this stuff up. Apparently, Parker Bristow would drink obscure tea and eat handfuls of buttery popcorn as she signed books and took photos. Who was I to judge? I didn’t have throngs or a publishing contract. I did enjoy feeling a part of it for a little while, though.
