The Boy with the Bookstore, page 21
I tuck that four-letter word away for later on, when we’re not making up after an argument—when we’ve been dating longer than a month. I’d probably sound like a lovesick teenager saying it now. It’s probably better to wait a little bit longer.
I can’t stop thinking it, though. I think it as we spend the next few minutes in our shower bubble kissing and grabbing. I think it as we dry off and get dressed. I think it as we steam-clean the car. I think it as we cook dinner together in my kitchen. I think it as we snuggle on the couch and watch TV. I think it as we go wild on each other in my bed that night. I think it before we drift off to sleep, cuddled in each other’s arms.
Chapter 19
Joelle
You’ve been in such a good mood lately, anak. What’s the occasion?” Mom wags her eyebrow at me as she rolls out croissant dough.
“Oh! Well, um . . .”
I can’t help the blush painting my cheeks. Even in the dull shine of the metal refrigerator I’m standing next to, it’s visible. Ever since Max and I got back from our weekend road trip along the Oregon coast just a few days ago, I’ve been giddy. I’ve been basking in the realization that I love him.
I didn’t have the guts to tell him. The closest I got was when we were in the shower together at his place right after driving back. Looking into his brown-green eyes, clutching his wet skin, my heart racing, feeling his breath against my mouth and my skin, I was vibrating with the urge to say those three words that had been bouncing around in my head all weekend.
But I stopped myself. Instead, I grabbed him and kissed him. I decided I didn’t want to come off like a lovesick schoolgirl, saying “I love you” to Max after just a month of being together. He’d probably freak out.
But I gushed my feelings for Max to Whitney as soon as I made it home, and ever since then, I’ve been glowing, vibrating with the joy of being in love with the most amazing man . . . and silently wondering when will be the perfect time for me to tell him.
Even though I haven’t told Max, I can sense a change in me ever since realizing my feelings for him. The air feels crisper when I breathe. The sky looks bluer. Food tastes better. Stuff like songs and the sound of birds chirping hits differently. It’s like I’m hearing something extra in the melodies, something that makes my ears perk up in a way they never did before.
I shrug at Mom, fully aware of the cheesy grin I’m sporting. “Just had a really nice weekend away with Max, that’s all.”
“Oh, I bet,” Auntie Elba says as she twists around from the stovetop, where she’s finishing up the ube glaze I started for the batch of croissants Mom is rolling out. “Two days alone with that hunk? I’d be smiling too.”
Mom and Auntie share a chuckle as I narrow my eyes at them both. Then I dart my gaze to Max, who thankfully hasn’t heard them from his side of the space. He’s busy showing his part-timer Reggie something on his laptop.
“So! When are you two going away again?” Mom asks as she dusts the metal table with a fresh sprinkling of flour. “You both work so much. You deserve some romantic time off.”
I’ve been wondering that myself. I’m already dying to go on another getaway with Max, but things have been so busy for both of us at work, it’s hard to justify taking time away again.
“Maybe you should hire someone to help out here at the bakery, like Max hired someone to help him at the bookstore,” Auntie says. “That way it’s easy to leave for a bit when you want to.”
I don’t miss the look that passes between her and Mom.
“That’s a great point, manang,” Mom says pointedly. I wonder if they rehearsed this. It sounds like it. “When Ivan is finished renovating, your bakery will have more space. It would be nice to have extra help, don’t you think?”
“Oh, um. Yeah. Maybe. I haven’t really thought about it.”
That’s not entirely true. Hiring part-time help was a pipe dream for the first two years that Lanie’s was in business. I didn’t have the budget for it, and with the family pitching in to help almost every day, I could make do.
But when I ran the numbers for my budget last quarter, I noticed that I was making enough to hire some part-time help a couple times a week. I just haven’t been brave enough to pull the trigger. And I know why.
Just the thought of changing any part of the business, even a minor adjustment, sends me into hives. Even though hiring help is a small step in the grand scheme of things, it still marks a shift: my business would be growing. And when you grow, there’s a risk that it could all come crashing down.
And I know what it’s like to dream big and have it all implode. I remember the devastation I felt when I was eighteen and realized that I’d never be able to make my dream of going to culinary school and jetting to Europe come true, not if I wanted my family to survive financially.
The bigger Lanie’s gets, the more there is to lose if for some reason it doesn’t work out. I’ve got a firm handle on the way things are now: a small bakery that I can run on my own most days with the help of my family.
But if I build up my dream bakery with a staff of people and then something happens to ruin it all? I don’t know how I’d cope.
“You know, we can pitch in and help you hire someone,” Mom says in that same matter-of-fact tone.
Auntie starts to say something about how they’ve been saving a bit more money too that they can give to me, but I shake my head. “Nope. Not necessary. Thanks, though.”
The slight curtness in my tone signals the end of that discussion. No way am I taking money from anyone in my family, especially after what they’ve been through.
“Speaking of the renovation,” Mom says to Auntie, a clear attempt at changing the subject. “Have you noticed that the crew hasn’t been in yet today?”
“Huh. That’s strange,” Auntie says as she vigorously stirs the glaze.
“Maybe it’s a bank holiday. Or maybe they took the day off,” I say.
A few customers walk in and I run over to the register to help them. When I look up from the register, a smiling Whitney waltzes in. She drops her purse onto a nearby chair and darts behind the counter to give me a hug before hugging Mom and Auntie. Then Auntie asks her to taste the glaze.
Whitney gives her an enthusiastic thumbs-up while making “mmm” noises as she licks her lips. “Oh, that’s really yummy. It’s so creamy. And wow, did you add something extra? Normally the ube glaze you make tastes like a nutty vanilla, but this batch almost tastes coconutty.”
Auntie claps her hands as she beams. “You’ve got a good palate on you, Whitney. That’s exactly what I added.”
She and Whitney high-five before Whitney turns to me. “You’re looking especially blissed out today, Jojo.” She winks.
“Just feeling a bit loved up, that’s all.”
Just then Max stands up and aims a sexy smile at me. Mom, Auntie, and Whitney all wave at him. He and I laugh. Then he turns away to answer a phone call.
Whitney turns to me. “Have you told him yet?”
I bite my lip. “Not yet. I want to wait for the right time.”
“Told who what?” Mom asks.
“The right time for what, anak?” Auntie inquires.
I refrain from openly rolling my eyes. My family is as nosy as they are loving.
“Joelle is in love with Max,” Whitney whispers to them. “She’s trying to figure out when to tell him.”
Mom and Auntie squeal and clap. I shoot them a look and they quiet instantly. Max and Reggie look over at us, clearly confused by the noise. I shake my head at them to ignore the spectacle.
I groan softly. “Whit, really?”
She flashes an apologetic smile. “Oh come on, Jojo. It’s so obvious you’re in love. Your family was going to figure it out eventually.”
I stammer, reluctantly accepting that she’s right.
“Oh, anak. I remember when your dad first told me he loved me.” Mom rests her hands on her chest, a wistful look on her face. “We had just shared a passionate night away at—”
I hold up a hand as Whitney’s eyes widen. “Mom, please don’t say another word.” As much as I adore that my parents are still madly in love with each other, I don’t want to hear any of the dirty details.
Auntie shakes her head at Mom. “My gosh. Keep it PG, will you?”
They start to bicker in Ilocano about something else, and I breathe out a sigh of relief that we don’t have to hear my mom describe the physical passion between her and Dad.
I chat with Whitney, and she fills me in on how well that coding internship is working out at her company.
“They’re expanding it so we can admit more students into the program.”
“Whit, that’s amazing!”
Max walks over to the counter. He leans over to me, and I tiptoe up to peck him lightly on the mouth.
“This is the first time you’ve had the chance to come over and say hi all day. Are you getting sick of me already?” I tease.
“Not even close.” He tucks my hair behind my ear before tracing his finger softly along my cheek and ending at the bottom of my chin. Then he tilts my face up before dotting another light kiss on my lips. “We’ve just been slammed. Business is booming, thankfully.”
“Yay.”
“Aww, you two,” Whitney teases before she walks over to help Mom lift a bag of flour.
Auntie darts over and hands Max a fresh croissant with ube glaze.
“Thank you, Elba. I’ve been dying for one of these.”
“They’re my specialty,” Auntie says as she turns back to the stove. “No one makes them like I do. Sorry, anak, but it’s true.”
I chuckle. “It’s okay, I’m well aware.”
“Hey, did you see Ivan earlier when he stopped by?” Max asks. “He looked a little stressed.”
“I didn’t get a chance to talk to him during the morning rush.”
“He seemed really all over the place,” Max says. “Hope everything’s okay.”
I wave a hand. “I’m sure it is.”
* * *
• • •
A week later, I’m eating my words. Clearly things with Ivan and the renovation are not okay.
It’s the end of July and for a solid week, the renovation crew hasn’t shown up to do any work. For the first couple of days, I didn’t even think twice about it. Construction work schedules can be sporadic even at the best of times.
But yesterday marked a full week of the crew no-showing. And we haven’t seen Ivan in days. When we’ve called him for a status update, he’s never picked up. All of our voice mails have gone unanswered.
So today after work, we finally said screw it and walked over to the front of the building to see the situation for ourselves.
And now, as I stand next to Max in the middle of what was supposed to be the eventual new and improved Lanie’s, I’m panicking. The schedule was already a month behind, but when Ivan broke the news about that weeks ago, I didn’t care about a month. I was hooking up with Max and nothing could faze me.
But now, I’m faced with the very real prospect of losing my business space. Judging by the state of things, the crew isn’t going to make the beginning-of-August deadline Ivan gave us—that’s just days away. Which means Max and I won’t be moving back into our store spaces anytime soon.
Panic settles like a sharp cramp in the pit of my stomach. I do another slow gaze around the bakery, which looks like a disaster. Butcher paper covers the new hardwood flooring, which seems to be the only part of the interior that’s completely finished. Part of the ceiling has been removed, revealing metal ducts and wires. A stack of lumber sits in the corner, along with two brand-new windowpanes. Sawdust coats almost every surface.
When we make our way to Max’s bookshop, it’s a similar scene. Half of the wood flooring has been replaced, while the other half has merely been torn up. The ceiling is intact, but there’s a giant hole in one of the walls that separates the actual store from his office.
Max gazes at it, a dazed and concerned look in his eyes. “What the hell were they even trying to do?”
I shake my head in disbelief. What does this mean for our businesses? Are we even more behind schedule now? Did Ivan have some sort of emergency, and is that why he’s been MIA? Did he fall out with the crew?
A million scenarios flit through my mind, like a stack of papers fluttering around in a windstorm.
“Why won’t Ivan just call us back?” I say, as I trip over an errant power drill.
Max reaches his hand out to steady me. Then he clenches his jaw and tugs at his hair. “I wish I knew, sweetie.”
I wrap my arms around his waist and press into him. Just the sound of my pet name from him eases the panic spiraling inside me the tiniest bit.
His muscled arms squeeze me back. And then he sighs and lets go. “I gotta get home and feed Doughnut and Muffin, then take Muffin for a walk.”
“I’ll wrap up here and meet you there soon.”
“Don’t take too long, okay?” The hint of mischief in his gaze is enough to make me smile in this uncertain moment.
“I won’t.”
He pulls me in for another hug. “We’ll figure all this out. Promise.”
I close my eyes and breathe in his spice-mint scent, hoping that what he says is true.
After he leaves, I head back to the shared space to finish closing up. As I round the corner to the entrance, I spot Ivan walking up while glancing down at his phone.
“Ivan. Hey.”
His eyes go wide as he stops dead in his tracks. “Hey, Joelle. I, uh, I didn’t know you’d still be here.”
The way he fidgets before shoving his hands in his pockets throws me.
I ignore his odd body language and decide that now’s as good a time as any to ask him directly what’s going on. “Max and I have been worried about the state of the renovation since we noticed the crew never showed up this week. And we never got a heads-up from you, so . . .”
I trail off as I take in the twist in his expression. He looks like he’s in pain. He opens his mouth but hesitates. And that’s when I notice the bags under his eyes and how pale his complexion looks. His dress shirt and pants are rumpled to hell, almost like he slept in them. Even his glasses are askew.
“Ivan. What’s going on?” I try to sound as gentle as I can even though I’m stressed as hell about the situation.
He shoves both of his hands in his mahogany-brown hair. His lips quiver. “Joelle, I’m so sorry. I’m so damn sorry for leaving you and Max hanging this past week, I just . . .”
His voice breaks and that’s when the tears come. As sobs rack Ivan’s body, I stand there, speechless.
“It’s okay,” I finally say after watching him cry for several seconds.
I rest a gentle hand on his arm, quietly observing how thin he feels in my hold. Ivan’s a slight guy to begin with, but he’s lost weight. What is going on with him?
I lead him slowly into the shared space and coax him to sit down. He rests his elbows on his knees and cries quietly, his face in his hands. I dart over to grab him a handful of napkins and bottle of water from the refrigerator on the bakery side.
“Here, drink this,” I say as I hand him the water.
He mutters what sounds like a “thanks” through a whimper.
I crouch next to him. “Just breathe. It’ll all be okay.”
He takes three deep breaths, then a long gulp of water. I hand him some napkins. He dabs at his face as he shudders out an exhale.
Even though I’m dying to know what’s going on, I don’t push him. Ivan is clearly distraught and peppering him with questions will likely make him feel worse.
A couple of minutes pass, and I pull up a chair to sit next to him.
“Are you okay? Do you need me to call anyone to come help you?”
Ivan shakes his head, and a dejected expression settles across his face. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” He repeats what he said to me when I ran into him minutes ago.
He’s not looking at me as he speaks. His gaze is fixed on some random spot on the floor.
“Well, I’m here. And I want to help you. What’s going on?”
He finally looks at me. “I’m sorry, Joelle. I’m so fucking sorry.” When his voice starts to break, he swallows. “The renovation . . . I don’t . . . I mean, I think . . .” He lets out a breath. He sounds like someone just kicked him in the stomach. He scrubs a hand over his face. “It’s a mess, Joelle. And I don’t know how to fix it.”
My brain struggles to make sense of the fragments he’s said. “What are you talking about?”
“The renovation is over.”
“Clearly it’s not. Max and I walked over there a bit ago and they’re maybe halfway done . . .”
I stop speaking when I realize I’ve misunderstood Ivan.
“I don’t have the money anymore. It’s gone.”
My mouth hangs open as I struggle to process how in the world that can be true.
“What? Ivan, what do you mean you don’t have the money? You said you’ve been thinking about this renovation, planning it, all that. I mean, yeah, it was a surprise to Max and me when you sprang it on us, but—”
He shakes his head. “Listen. I fucked this up. I fucked this up big-time. And I can’t keep it from you guys anymore.”
Dread takes hold of me, like a fist twisting through my lungs.
“Tell me,” I say in a weirdly calm voice.
“Remember my dad? He was with me the day I told you and Max about the renovation.”
It takes a second for me to pull up the memory.
