“It was.” Which happened to be true, even if Alice wasn’t talking about the movie.
After the film, Bobby walked Alice to the door. In the past, Alice might have stayed over in her childhood bedroom, not wanting to make the late-night drive back to Santa Barbara. In the past, they would have driven down the hill the next morning to their favorite Mexican bakery, where they would have been in no rush to part, no rush to begin their day. But Alice had stories to finish, and Bobby had plans to meet Mark for a sunrise beach walk.
“You could join,” Bobby offered.
“I’ve got a lot of work to do,” Alice said because it was easier than admitting she felt an unfamiliar, inexplicable distance from her mother, one she’d created by bringing her love.
“I’m proud of you,” Bobby said, tucking one of Alice’s curls behind her ear. “I hope you know how much I admire what you’re doing.” Alice waited for another lecture about saving some room for her own heart, theI just wishpreamble, followed by all the ways Bobby hoped Alice would open herself up to love. Instead she smiled at her daughter and nodded encouragingly. This seemed to be all she wanted to say, all she expected of Alice.
Each week Willow Bindery was a little busier, customers breeding like flies. When the bell on the door rang, Duncan glanced over annoyed until he saw that it was Alice and his face opened into a smile that she’d come to interpret as his smile just for her. He gestured that he’d be a minute.
She waited by the register, watching as a brassy girl held a pen too close to his face.
“Is there any way you can have these pens inscribed with my name? I’m a writer—” she brushed her red hair off her shoulder as she said this “—and the other writers I share an office space with are always stealing my pens. I want them to say,Fuck off unless you’re Jenni Malone.”
“That’s a lot of words to put on the side of pen,” Duncan said.
She guffawed, a laugh that bordered on hysteria. “You’re funny,” she said. “How about just my name then?”
Duncan went to his desk for a pad of paper. “If you leave me your number, I’ll call the company and see if they do special orders.”
She blushed as she wrote her number down. “You’ll call?”
“Either way,” Duncan promised. Jenni waved each finger individually as she said goodbye.
When Duncan turned his attention to Alice, something in her chest caught, a subtle nausea roiling in her gut.
“Do they put something in the water in Santa Barbara?” he asked. “People here are too much. Maybe it’s the sunshine?”
“You know you’re not actually funny. She was flirting with you,” Alice felt compelled to explain.
Duncan picked up the pen Jenni had left on the desk and rolled it in his palm. “Nah, she was just being California.”
“Yeah, California flirting.”
Duncan began crooning an off-key version of “California Dreamin’,” with the substitution offlirtin’. Alice covered her ears, which had the opposite of its intended effect, encouraging Duncan to sing louder. She expected everyone in the store to look embarrassed for him, if not mildly disgusted, but they must have been hearing a different octave than she did. Faces of all complexions flushed with desire, lured by Duncan’s pitchy siren song.
From across the room they heard a loud crash as a bespectacled man collapsed on the floor, a plastic rack and a bevy of cards threatening to bury him. Apparently he’d been leaning against it too forcefully, trying to eavesdrop on the conversation between Alice and Duncan. When Duncan skipped over and reached out to help him, the man looked away bashfully. He insisted he was fine, flustered, not letting go of Duncan’s hand, and began to apologize profusely, offering to pay for the broken card rack. It wasn’t broken, just dislodged from the shelf, and Alice helped Duncan reattach it. Once it was fixed and the cards restacked, the man nearly sprinted out of the store.
“You sure they don’t put something in the water here?” Duncan asked.
There were too many bodies in the small space, raising the temperature to slightly above comfortable. The majority of the customers were female, covertly eyeing Duncan as he wiped a sheen of sweat from above his upper lip. One girl locked eyes with Alice, looking disappointed, then turned away.
“They do. It’s called love.” Alice winked, reaching into her tote bag for the familiar cat thumb drive.
Duncan took it and placed it behind the counter, filling his arms with a stack of her red books.
“Your stories, milady.” He bowed as he presented them to her. A stray piece of hair fell from his ponytail into his face.
Alice’s face warmed as she took the books. Her stomach growled, loud enough to be audible above the ambient chatter in the store. Duncan raised an eyebrow.
“Did you skip breakfast this morning?”
Alice shrugged and her stomach growled louder, causing him to laugh.
“We’d better get you fed.” He looked around the crowded store. “Can you give me ten minutes? I’ll finish up in here and close for lunch.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Alice said, even though the prospect of being outside the store with him excited her.
