It’s like Sam has been waiting to have this argument, like he’s been practising this exchange in his head for months. He leaves no time at all between their texts.
I just didn’t think that you of all people would want to play that game.
Me of all people?
You know what I mean.
Lexi does know– and she takes it as a compliment, actually– but that doesn’t mean she’s going to make it easy for him.
No. Enlighten me.
Sam makes Lexi wait for his response. Maybe he’s serving a customer. Maybe he’s formulating a cutting and winning argument. But Lexi waits and waits; she replies to an email or two; she feeds Pippin; she waits some more, and nothing.
All day, she has an uneasy feeling. She should be pleased to have had the last word. But that’s not what it feels like. Like so many things between them, it feels unfinished. And that makes her a little queasy with unease.
Chapter Fifty-Two
It feels like opening day all over again on the first Tipsy Friday. Lexi’s staff have actively embraced it and put as much energy into the day as they do with the annual birthday celebration or Independent Bookstore Day. There are balloons tied to the chalkboard outside:Tipsy Browsing is the Best Browsing, Megan has written in swirly letters, surrounded by bottles with smiley faces. The Washingtonian and CityCast DC are sending people to report, and this is not just a good sign, but a sign that before the evening has even started, people are talking about Pemberley Books again. The shop is not just a beloved, long-established local business, but it’s also innovative and cool, and that most precious commodity of all: newsworthy.
For that, Lexi supposes she has Sam to thank, in a way. They were chugging along, doing okay– doing well, even– but not really challenging themselves. Now they’ve got Jane-Austen-themed celebrations and new book clubs in the pipeline as well as Tipsy Browsing, on top of all the reasons why people already loved them. They’re somehow both diversifying and staying firmly within their niche. Plus, Pippin’s a great asset, and it’s thanks to Sam that Lexi still has him. So, all in all, Sam does have his uses.
And just as Lexi is thinking this, it’s like she’s conjured him: there he is, walking through the door. She’s behind the counter, because she loves to be in the thick of action on days like this, and he makes eye contact with her as he walks in. Her stomach lurches, not entirely unpleasantly, and she swallows hard.
‘Thank you,’ he says with his most flirtatious smile as he takes a glass of bubbly from one of the youngest staff members, whose cheeks instantly pinken. Lexi’s protective instincts kick in and she wants to warn him away from charming her booksellers, especially given that he’s already lured away one of her best. But she’s determined to have good vibes only in this place today. She’s also determined not to allow herself to get distracted, though she notes in passing that his shirt brings out the green in his eyes and that he’s had his hair trimmed and it’s looking tidy and smart in that clean-cut way she likes.
‘Well,’ she says to him as he approaches the counter. ‘This is most unexpected. To what do I owe the pleasure?’
The smile doesn’t leave his face, and the butterflies don’t leave her stomach.
‘I wanted to come experience tipsy browsing for myself,’ he says.
For some inexplicable reason, she can’t stop matching his smile with her own. ‘Welcome to the party.’
And it does feel a lot like a party. The shop is filling up, slowly but steadily, laughter ringing out from various corners, the volume of chat increasing to a pleasant buzz. Lexi hasn’t allowed herself anything to drink yet– she intends to stay as close to The Serious Professional as she can bear, even though she knows she’ll cave eventually.
‘Champagne,’ Sam says, lifting his glass in her direction. ‘Nice touch.’
This is torture for Lexi: she wants to be judged as richer and classier than she actually is and let him believe it’s actual Champagne, when in fact she’s desperate to correct this common American misnomer. And she can’t do it; she can’t leave it unsaid.
‘Actually...’
Sam’s satisfied smirk tells her that he was goading her, poking the pedantic bear in her. ‘Let me guess. Not actually Champagne, because it’s not from the appropriate region of France?’
‘Exactly.’
He shakes his head. ‘You make me laugh.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
‘Oh,’ he says, smiling wider somehow, ‘it is.’
And they stand there, in this crowded shop, looking at each other. It’s only a few seconds, but Lexi’s heart is thumping. She knows she’s going to give in and have the non-Champagne Champagne much earlier than she’d planned– to steady her nerves, her shaky hands, and her treacherous heart.
Eventually, they tear their eyes away from each other’s faces– hard to tell whether she’s first, or whether he is, or if it’s some kind of Mutually Assured Preservation. She watches as he and his glass of non-Champagne disappear into the increasingly large and lively group of customers-turned-revellers.
At least, Lexi hopes that they’re customers and not just revellers. But just as she’s beginning to question the wisdom of handing out free bubbly without any obligation to buy anything, a slightly flushed regular makes her way to the till with a pile of books, one of which Lexi has seen her pick up and regretfully put down several times over the last few weeks.
‘I was trying to resist,’ she says, sliding them towards Lexi so that she can scan them. ‘But then I thought, what the heck, you’re only young once.’ Then she catches Hazel’s eye and looks mortified, like she’s said a terrible thing. ‘Not that old people can’t enjoy romance novels. Not that age has anything to do with it. I just—’
