It’s not that Lexi walks past Sam’s shop on purpose on the way to her own. There are, admittedly, several routes she could take if she wanted to avoid it. But his stretch of street is the prettiest, with a row of identical houses in different colours, a DC specialty that helps make this neighbourhood so lovely to walk around.
Lexi doesn’t know for sure that any of those things are the actual reason her feet so often seem to take her past Great Expectations, but for the purposes of retaining some internal dignity, that is what she tells herself. There is also, though, the nosiness factor: she wants to know what the workers were measuring for the other day. Somehow, she didn’t get a chance to ask Sam when she was busy bandaging his arm and fighting off her own lustful impulses, or when Amanda was there giving her side-eye.
Itcouldjust be a new bookshelf, of course, something as straightforward and harmless as that– although perhaps she shouldn’t make assumptions on the harmless part, because who knows what he’s planning next: a shelf of Jane-Austen-themed merch, maybe? A bookcase in Sam’s hands could spell doom for her.
She slows down as she rounds the corner leading to Great Expectations. She’s hoping to look in without having to stop and press her face against the window like some kind of desperate competitor, or worse, a jilted lover seeking any glimpse of the one who broke her heart and whom she can’t stop thinking about. Because that would be pathetic, right? And she is not pathetic. She is a strong and independent woman, businesswoman and entrepreneur. And, as luck would have it, someone’s pushing the door open as she walks past, so no pressing her face against the window is needed.
And she hates to say it, but... what she sees is a genius idea. Ugh. Why does he have to be so good at this? It’s a bar. He’s going to sell wine, which is genius for two reasons. The mark-up on wine is much higher than on books; it’s easier to make money fast. But also, as she well knows from the tipsy book clubs that meet in her own shop, a tipsy browser is an uninhibited browser. A few sips in, all the resolve to read the books you had at home before you let yourself be tempted by a new one– let’s face it, a flimsy resolve to begin with– has vanished as if it never existed. So the wine pays for itself twice. More sales of books on top of the sale of the wine.
It’s a genius idea. It’s alsoheridea. She’s told him about this, told him that tipsy browsing is the best browsing and that, in fact, if she didn’t have the whole Austen thing going on, she’d probably have called her shop Tipsy Browsing. She’d probably sell wine. She told him that. She can’t believe he has taken her idea, and yet, of course, she also can. Because this is Sam: ruthless. He makes her so angry, and she really wishes this anger wasn’t also a turn-on. Never mind the Jane Austen obsession: this seems like a way more harmful personality quirk.
She’s wound up and steaming by the time she’s made it to Pemberley Books. It must show on her face, because Natalie visibly recoils.
‘You okay?’ she asks Lexi, looking mildly panicked.
Lexi tries to rearrange her face into a reassuring smile, though she’s not entirely convinced it works. ‘Yes. Hi. Did I scare you with my thunderous face?’
‘A little, yes.’
‘It’s okay,’ Lexi tells her. ‘It’s not you. It’s not anyone here.’
‘Great Expectations?’ she guesses.
Lexi nods in unnecessary confirmation.
‘What have they done now?’
‘They’re getting a wine bar.’
‘Oh.’ Natalie’s tone is the tone of someone who was expecting worse news, is relieved it wasn’t, but also is concerned her delusional boss might be overreacting. But then she gets it. ‘Oh. That’s kind of genius.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Is there any reason we can’t do that, too?’
That... is an excellent point. One that Lexi will certainly consider.
‘I guess not. Beyond being a copycat.’
‘There’s an argument to be made that he copied us first.’
There certainly is.
There’s no monopoly on the bookshop idea, Sam told Lexi once. As far as she knows, there’s no monopoly on wine bars either. He took romance; she can take back the wine idea. What was it he said to her the other day? All’s fair in love and capitalism.
The cogs in Natalie’s brain are whirring. ‘We’d have to get a liquor licence, though,’ she says. ‘I don’t know what that process is like. But I can find out.’
‘Would you? That would be great.’
‘I don’t think you need a liquor licence togivewine away, though.’
Lexi wants to hug her, to kiss her on the cheek. ‘Natalie,youare the genius here. I can picture it now: free wine on Saturday nights.Sure, you could go and buy wine at Sam’s. Or you could come and get it here, for free.’
‘I love it.’ But Natalie’s face clouds over, and Lexi can see another practical objection forming. ‘Could get pricey, though.’
‘Maybe we should do a pilot evening. Test it against purchases. Draw up some graphs.’ Although the very thought of graphs makes Lexi’s stomach roil.
‘If we wanted to be really mean, we could trial it the weekend that Sam’s wine bar opens.’
