"Good to see you, Owen," she said, a dejected sigh weaving through her words. "You too,Cole."
"You have a great shop," I said. "Awesome selection, fantasticlayout."
"Yeah, I try," she said. She glanced away and touched her fingertips to her brow, brushing aside a lock of hair. "Is there anything I can help youfind?"
"I think we're good," I replied at the same moment Owen said, "Cole wants a few mystery novels. Can you recommendsome?"
"Oh," Annette said, surprised. "Oh, sure." She took one hesitant step forward, another, and then she was scurrying around thestore.
"Look what you did now," I whispered to Owen. "You activated her hummingbirdsetting."
"Me?" he asked, his head swiveling as he watched Annette. "This is definitely yourfault."
"Only because I wouldn't let you lead this woman on for another decade," I replied. "We could've paid for your book and left, but you laid down the bookish lady challenge instead and now she's trying to prove apoint."
She flew around us, snatching up books and tucking them under her arm as she stomped. "Let me pick out some books for your new boyfriend, Owen. That's what I do, make everyone else happy. Sure! Mysteries. Fantastic! Everyone else gets their happy and I get to pick out books.Fabulous!"
"So," I murmured. "This is reallyhappening."
"It is, and I don't like being the asshole in her story," Owen said tome.
"Mysteries. I love a mystery. Sometimes I think I live in a mystery. You know, thewhat is happening in my life?mystery. Because I sure as hell don't know." She slammed a pile of books on the counter. "Can I get you anythingelse?"
"No, this is plenty," I replied while Owen said, "Did that special order comein?"
From her position behind the counter, Annette seemed to deflate. Her shoulders fell, her jaw unclenched, her grimace wilted into a frown. "Yeah, Owen, it did," she said. "I'll need a minute,okay?"
She didn't wait for a response, instead smoothing her hands down her skirt, turning around, and heading for the backroom.
"It would've been easier to let her think we had a chance," Owen said, loosening his hold on me. "That would've been better thanthis."
Owen shook his head and walked toward the butcher block counter where the cash register was located, leaving me to chase afterhim.
"No, it wouldnothave been better," I replied. "You can't continue that way. It's not right, and it's not fair toyou."
"It's fineand—"
"It's not fair to me," I interrupted. "It would be one thing if she had a simple crush on you. But it's not a simple crush. It's not the same as that girl at the fish market in Bar Harbor who eye-fucks you every time we stop in. Hell, I've seen half the women on the seacoast undress you with their eyes. That's a different story. It's temporary. This is hitching her hopes to your dick and waiting for you to learn to like the feel ofit."
Owen stared at me, his expression impassive as always. Then, "Okay. You're right," he said. "But you should know the other half of the women on the seacoast undressyouwith theireyes."
Annette emerged from the back room, a book in hand and smudged mascara under her eyes. "Here we go," she said, adding the paperback to our toweringpile.
"Annette," Owen started, "about all of this. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. If I did, I'm…I'msorry."
She waved away his words with both hands, shaking her head. "No apologies needed. I wasn't thinking. I wasn't being smart," she said. Then, softly, "I knew but I stillhoped."
They stared at each other, Owen with his furrowedI don't want to hurt youbrows and Annette with her big, tear-filled Disney princess eyes. A different iteration of me would've offered a pithy remark, something intended to cut the tension and trivialize the moment. I couldn't do that. I cared about Owen, enough to march him into this face-off. Instead, I scanned the immediate area and found a display of Maine coastline photography books. I grabbed threecopies.
"This looks like something my mother would love. My sisters, too," Iannounced.
Annette dragged her gaze away from Owen only to shoot me the most unimpressed glare in the modernhistory.
"My mother loves a good coffee table book," I continued. This much was true. "She likes to dig through the clearance piles at her local bookstore. For reasons I don't understand, she hates paying sticker price for anything. Unfortunately, she doesn't live in a region where bartering is part of the cultural norms. She lives in Palm Springs. It's hotter than hell there. Come to think of it, I have a funny story aboutthat."
It was Owen's turn to scowl at me. The upside? They weren't locked in some Romeo-and-Juliet-but-one-of-them-is-gay tranceanymore.
"My mother plays tennis with a former Catholic priest," I said, waving my arm as though I was holding a racquet. "They play tennis and then drink boxed wine spritzers. White zin and store-brand seltzer. I don't know how they found each other or why he left the priesthood, but it's sufficient to say they're good friendsnow."
