“How can I help you?”
He holds up a book, and I recognize the illustrated cover immediately. “You recommended this book for my daughter the last time I was here, and I wanted to say thank you. She absolutely loved it and begged me to come back for the rest of the series.”
The image makes me smile, though it’s bittersweet. Jasmine’s the one who originally recommended the Candy Buttons graphic novel series to me. When I happened to catch this guy asking Beth for a recommendation for his daughter who’s not a big reader, I had to swoop in and suggest graphic novels might do the trick. And, of course, I had to make some suggestions when he asked.Candy Buttonswas a natural choice, since I’d already suggested Beth buy it for the tiny section that was almost entirely (the excellent but far more obvious) Raina Telgemeier andLumberjanes. I mentioned a few more of Jasmine’s favorites as well, which Beth ordered for him on the spot. I couldn’t believe either of them had trusted me so readily, but here was proof I knew what I was talking about.
Or at least Jasmine did.
“We definitely have the second book here,” I assure him, “and I’m sure Beth will be happy to special order the third. It comes out next week.”
“I’ll go ask her right now, thank you.”
I expect him to walk away, but he doesn’t, and I realize he might actually want some coffee. “Did you want a drink too?”
“No, I just… really wanted to thank you. I’m never the hero with gifts for her. I always manage to fu—uh, screw it up. This is the first time I’ve ever nailed it, and it’s a big deal. So… yeah. Thank you.”
It’s a good thing I’m definitely not tearing up because the room is already somehow getting blurry. “You are very, very welcome,” I say, and God, I hate that I can’t tell Jasmine. Her secret mushball heart would melt. “I have plenty more recommendations when you run out.”
“You’re wasting your time behind this counter,” he says. “You should be in sales.”
Well, there’s no great way to admit I lost that position when my mom made me bail, and now I have to watch this random college kid named Greg suck at it. He literally goes entire days without recommending a single author who isn’t an old white guy. I’d tell Beth how much he sucks, but I’m pretty sure she knows, and it makes me feel bad. She must’ve been really desperate to have hired him. “Feel free to tell Beth I deserve a raise,” I say instead. He laughs as he leaves, but somehow, I think he’ll do it.
The rest of the morning continues like normal, but that interaction stays with me for a while, including during my break, when I treat myself to a white hot mocha. (I’m allowed one fancy drink every half a shift, I swear.) I’d been completely stunned by Jasmine’s reading choices over the summer, assuming she was one ofthose chic ice princesses who always seemed to be readingAnna Karenina, but the way she told it, her mom got her started withPersepolisby Marjane Satrapi andMausby Art Spiegelman, and a love of reading words mixed with visuals fell into place.
She lent me book after book, though I only got through maybe a quarter of what she did. I had no idea speed-reading was a real thing until I watched her devour four books in a single day. We spent a lot of time at the Kill Devil Hills Library, enjoying the air conditioning and browsing the artful displays. Jasmine was horrified to learn I’d given up a job at a bookstore to come to OBX. Apparently, she’d dreamed of being a librarian as a kid, something she confided she’d never told anyone else. Web design and photography were more her thing now, but she said even if she kept up with them in college, in reality, she was probably gonna go to business school and do something boring.
I really, really hoped she wouldn’t.
“Hey, Larissa.” I look up to see Beth standing in front of the counter, a pile of flyers in her hands. “Can you hang these up around the store, and take a few to hang up around town?”
“Sure.” I take a bunch from her and skim the paper. “Holy crap, you’re getting Clementine Walker to the store?”
“You’ve read her stuff?”
“Every single book.” I look at the date. It’s a Sunday, two days after Homecoming, but no matter how exhausted I am, I will absolutely be here working.
Jasmine’s bookish thing is graphic novels; mine are smutty romances with a heavy dose of humor, and Clementine Walker is the best of the best. She’s the author who first made me want to try my hand at writing my own. Jasmine read a few of her books in exchange for my readingherfavorites, and let’s just say they went oververywell.
Goddammit, it would be really fun to bring her to this.
And yet, the thought of her doesn’t conjure her presence. Instead, it conjures Chase Harding, who comes ambling over to the counter, flashing Beth a smile that could definitely lighten the darkest of souls. “Hey,” I say, and I can’t help smiling too, even though I have no idea what he’s doing here. In the past I would’ve frozen up at a surprise Chase sighting, but now I feel like I could chat with him over hot mocha lattes for an hour. “Beth and I were just talking about my favorite romance author coming to town.” I hold up a flyer. “Please tell me you’re a closet fan.”
“Oh, nothing closeted about my fandom for…” He squints at the flyer. “Clementine? Isn’t that a fruit?”
“A fruitanda killer name for a killer author.” I take a flyer and pin it on the bulletin board, glad I wore my good-butt jeans to work today. I feel his eyes on my backside like laser beams. “So, what’s up? You here for a drink? I make a mean chai latte.”
“Sure, I’ll take one of those,” he says, leaning against the counter and pulling out his wallet. The bell over the front door tinkles, and Beth scurries off to welcome thenew customer, since we both know Greg won’t. “I also wanted to thank you for driving me home last night, and make sure you got back okay.”
I make change from his ten and note with satisfaction that he leaves a tip in the jar. “Oh, I was actually murdered last night, but doesn’t my ghost look fantastic?”
He grins. “It sure does. Which brings me to the other reason I’m here—to see if you’re free tonight. I thought it might be nice to hang out without two hundred of our closest friends.”
For a moment, as I pour from the pitcher of chai I prepared that morning into a hot cup, all I can think is that I need a Q-tip to clean out my ears. Because I could swear Chase Harding just strolled into my place of employment and asked me on a date. Like it was no big deal. Like he would enjoy hanging out and possibly buying me a burger or holding hands throughout a movie.
It’s a very weird thing when you have imagined something happening for God knows how many years and then it… does.
A ridiculous part of me wants him to take it back, because as soon as it’s out there, I miss waiting for it, dreaming of it. And it doesn’t feel like I thought it would either. It feels like… a question. A question I could easily say yes or no to. A question that isn’t the be-all and end-all of everything.
And then I realize the answer actuallyisno, and there’s a little twinge in my gut.
