‘Ah.’ He leaves a pause, waiting maybe for his joke to land. It’s a good one, actually– and appropriate, since the stress of Independent Bookstore Day actually does mess with Lexi’s digestive system every year. Not something she intends to bring up with Sam, though. ‘I’ve got to run now.’
She tries not to picture him running. His shapely legs in too-tight shorts. A sheen of sweat on his forehead and upper lip. She swallows hard.
‘You run too?’
She pictures their meeting like a high-poweredWest Wingscene: the two of them running around the tidal basin, with the marble dome of the Jefferson Memorial looming imposingly ahead of them. Him, too out of breath to refute her brilliant ideas and incontrovertible argument that he should leave the fun events to her, forever. Because, of course, in this scenario, even though she only runs short distances as an occasional stress-buster, she’s fitter than he is.
‘It’s a figure of speech, Alexandra.’
Her breath catches. Why does her full name sound so good on his tongue and his lips?
He tilts his head and looks at her, like he’s trying to figure her out. Like he’s going to ask her a thousand questions. ‘Let’s grab a coffee sometime soon, and maybe a walk in Lincoln Park? And talk IBD?’
He does air quotes around IBD and Lexi can’t tell if it’s because he’s making fun of the acronym, or because he thinks it’s an excuse to talk about other stuff. She hopes, for the sake of the plan, that it’s the latter, that he thinks she’s finding ways to be around him because she likes him.
She nods, trying to be nonchalant. Grabbing a coffee at Peregrine and walking around Lincoln Park gives her mild PTSD: in the spring of 2020, her entire social life and more than a few terrible dates consisted of doing just that. When Lexi can’t sleep, she closes her eyes and counts its trees in her mind’s eye:that’show well she knows it now.
‘Ping me,’ he says, and then he’s gone.
Chapter Eleven
Lexi is bending down to tie up her laces for a quick run around Lincoln Park when Erin comes down the stairs with a pile of wedding magazines, ready to makeaneveningofflicking through them in front of Netflix.
‘Stress run?’ she asks, knowing full well Lexi isn’t a fan of exercise for its own sake.
‘Yeah.’
For about half a second, Lexi considers telling her about the frustration of increasingly feeling alone, of being the only silent one at brunch while all her friends share tales of proposals and dates, of scrolling through Instagram, her breath hitching every couple of seconds with each engagement ring or perfectly choreographed young family in matching sweatshirts. But Erin is part of those Instagram pictures now, part of the reason for that hitching of breath, and Lexi doesn’t want to rain on her parade, to imply anything less than full-throated support and excitement for her.
Instead, she veers onto another, subject of frustration.
‘Sam,’ she says simply.
‘Yeah,’ Erin says. ‘About that. How’s this going to work, exactly?’
Lexi unties and reties her shoes, thinking about how to respond. Thinking about how much to divulge, aware that it sounds perhaps a little bit bonkers.
‘I’m taking a leaf out of Jane Austen’s book,’ she says. ‘Piano recitals, balls, a turn about the park, that kind of thing.’
‘You’ll be waiting a while for the next inaugural ball,’ Erin points out, ever mindful of this kind of detail.
‘It doesn’t need to be so literal,’ Lexi replies, though she has to admit she wouldn’t hate something with a presidential flavour. January 2025 is a long way off, though. ‘Any party will do, really.’
‘And he’ll take your hand to dance and hate will turn to love and then he’ll let you have bookselling on the Hill all to yourself?’
Lexi has tied and untied each shoe three times now and stretched the limits of plausibility for being down near the ground, avoiding Erin’s eye. She stands up and faces her.
‘Something like that,’ she says, in response to her sceptical tone. ‘I admit I’m fuzzy on the detail.’
‘Please be careful,’ Erin says. ‘I don’t want to see you get hurt.’
‘It’s fine. If the rumours about him are true, he’s probably got a heart of stone.’
‘It’s not him I’m worried about, though.’
‘I’m fine. I’ve got the bookshop.’
Erin opens her mouth to say something, then closes it again. But it’s too late; Lexi’s seen.
