“You’re okay,” he said after a moment, and she realized she was. She’d just experienced the kind of panic her body knew well, nerves shouting at her to run, but she hadn’t run. She’d endured it, and she was okay. She would be okay.
“Sorry,” she said. Duncan leaned against the counter, his legs crossed at the ankles. They were so close, Alice perched on the stool and Duncan standing above her, that their thighs touched. There was a searing at the point of contact, at least for Alice. She wondered if Duncan felt it too.
“I’m glad you’re here.” Alice waited for him to continue. Instead he pointed to her empty glass. “More?”
Alice nodded because she could use another moment alone. She handed him the glass, their fingers grazing.
Alone, Alice breathed deeply. She gave herself a pep talk that mostly consisted of insults.What are you doing? Can’t you act like a normal person? You’re going to make him think you’re a complete and total freak.Perhaps it was not a pep talk at all.
“Say, Alice?” Duncan called from the back. “Come here for a sec. I have something for you.”
Alice held her breath as she walked through the curtain that blocked off his workshop. Inside, it was immaculate. Not a speck of dust anywhere. It smelled like a mix of leather, ink, and glue, a piquant scent she inhaled deeply, wanting to make it part of her. It was the perfume that often wafted off Duncan’s body. The center of the room hosted the printing press and several vises. One wall was completely magnetic, holding metal rulers, brushes, scissors, spools of thread, and small tools that Alice did not recognize. A large linoleum counter spanned the length of the room in front of a window overlooking the alley beside the shop. Boxes of flowers lined the sill, making what would have been a view of concrete into a garden. Right away Alice knew that Duncan had planted them, that when he stood at the counter, working on his desktop computer, the paper cutter, he could see a little beauty beyond. It was the sole window in the studio, yet it let in enough light to make the room golden.
Along the back wall finished books were stacked by customer’s last name above several drawers labeled in neat handwriting that she assumed was Duncan’s, indicating the types of leather, muslin, and cotton within. It struck her then that she was not familiar with Duncan’s handwriting, and that he didn’t know hers either. They’d shared so many words but not the hands by which they were composed.
Duncan stood at the counter with his back to her. When she cleared her throat, he motioned her over. On the perfectly clean linoleum rested a gold book. It was large, like a cookbook.
“What’s this?”
“I made it a while ago, before we stopped...before I messed everything up.” Duncan lifted the book off the table and showed her the pages, which were lined with columns for clients’ names, hours logged, fees accrued. “You probably already have a system for keeping track of your stories.”
Alice took the book and flipped through it. It was the ledger of her dreams. Rather, the ledger of her story, Madeline’s ledger. “It’s perfect,” she said, deciding then that she would use it, that she would continue to be a love scribe.
The phone rang in the store, but Duncan ignored it. As it continued to ring, he sighed and told her he’d be right back. She heard him answer, heard him detail the binding services he offered and estimate that it would take two weeks to complete the job. She heard him give the person on the phone his email address. As she listened, she wandered around the room, letting her fingers touch everything. She liked the idea of leaving her mark on his private space.
When Duncan returned, he introduced her to his tools and printing press, which he called Hercules. He showed her vises that held the books as they dried, others that stretched the leather around the cardboard covers.
“I wasn’t sure I’d see you again.” Duncan picked up a spiral brush and stroked it against his palm. “I hope you know how sorry I am.”
“I know,” Alice said. “I’m sorry too.”
Duncan snorted. “What are you sorry for?”
“For letting my fear win.” Her heart pounded again, threatening to overtake her. It was good fear though. It meant she knew what she wanted.
“Well,” Duncan said, reaching out to twist a strand of her hair, “you’re here now.” He whispered her name,Alice.It was such a simple name. In Duncan’s mouth it became exotic. Ornate.
Alice stroked his cheek, scratchy with stubble. Without thinking, she leaned down and kissed him. As she pressed harder into him, he opened his mouth. She wasn’t worried about whether he liked what she was doing or what might happen if he pulled her shirt over her head. She didn’t keep kissing him because she was afraid of it ending. She kept kissing him because at that moment there was nothing else she wanted to do more.
When Duncan pulled away, she wasn’t filled with dread. He held her face, the smooth skin of her cheeks against his calloused fingers and looked into her eyes. His were green with brown flecks, something she hadn’t noticed before. He tipped her head so their foreheads touched, their faces so close that they could commune without words, without movement.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Alice told his dirty sneakers.
He laughed. “You think anyone does?”
Certainly some people knew how to do this. Most people knew how to do this better than she did. Maybe each time, though, no matter how many loves you’d had before, maybe each time you had to learn again. In that way love was a lot like writing.
“What I mean is, I’ve never been—” She wasn’t prepared to use the L-word in front of him. “Whenever I start to feel something, I try to mess it up.”
“Then stop trying.”
“I’m not sure it’s that easy.”
“It doesn’t have to be easy,” he said, kissing her again. They kissed until their lips were sore. Alice didn’t want to stop, but she had one more thing to do.
She strode through the workshop into the store and found her cat drive on the counter. She hadn’t read the story she wrote. She wouldn’t, not until Duncan bound it, but it had worked its magic. It had made her brave.
When Alice returned to the workshop, she offered Duncan the drive. “I’m hoping you can bind it for me.”
“I can’t promise I won’t read it,” he said.
“I want you to read it.” Alice held the drive out to him. He needed to understand what it meant for her to stay put, to face her fear.
“Okay then.” He took the drive, twirled it. “I’ll get to it.”
She smiled and waved goodbye. In a moment she would worry that she’d left too soon, that whatever spell had settled over them broke the moment she walked out. In a week she would stress if she hadn’t heard from him, certain the story had scared him away. For now though, she felt a foreign comfort in not knowing what would happen. He’d bind the book, return it to her. Then it was time for their story to begin.
