We roll to a stop at an intersection and face each other. “Like?”
“Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Stanton. Lewis and Clark. Churchill and FDR.” He’s more serious now. Passionate just reciting those duos. “The stories where two people unite and change history because of what they become together. A greatness as two that never would have been as one.” His expression stays neutral as he adds, “Especially when one of them is way out of the other’s league and could pick any man she wants.”
Well played, Nash Fletcher.
“Well,” I say, forcing my gaze out the window, “guess that explains why seeing Popeye and Olive Oyl in the Tijuana bibles is so inspiring for me. Two people coming together and all.”
He laughs a sound I’ll never unhear.
Too soon or not soon enough, we’re at a winery, flights in front of us on a small metal table in a corner of a patio. I don’t taste the wine or feel the late-May sun on my skin or pay attention to the folksy music playing. This man is all there is. Him telling me stories about history between sips of cabernet and tunes on his harmonica. He looks at me like he plans on doing it for the rest of his life. I laugh and blush and feel more than I have in the first thirty-four years of my life.
And when we end up hand in hand strolling the rows of vines after sunset, I’m the one who kisses him first—I can’t not. I could blame the wine, but it’s simply him. Simply us. Lips turn to hands turn to our clothes being shed in the middle of the vineyard. The weight of him hits the weight of me in a full-blown collision.
Nash was wrong when he said I’d fall in love with him: I crashed into it.
Even though I told myself not to.
Even though it went against every belief I have about being cautious with my heart.
Even though he was a man who wasn’t made to stay.
One
Eight Years Later
“You ever notice Batman gets tights, but Robin is bare legged?”
I squint at the 1959 comic in Dirk’s beefy hands. On the cover, Batman and Robin are frozen in ice cubes while getting blasted by Mr. Freeze. Robin’s legs are, in fact, bare. And a little creepy now that I notice. He looks like a child standing there in green underwear.
“No,” I say with a slight laugh before taking a sip of the coffee in a paper cup. “Seems unfair.”
Dirk doesn’t look at me as he thumbs through the pages. “It was the style of acrobats at the time. Wanted him to look athletic and young.”
Weird.
I hum in acknowledgment and turn my attention to the rest of the shelves of comics and display cases of old coins. Coins & Comics is the only place in Fontain specializing in the two. Old Vines has small collections of each, but serious collectors always come to Dirk first. A comic book like this one might sit with us for months—even years—but he won’t have a problem moving it. I got it in a random box from an estate sale—only paid fortydollars for the lot—but from my limited knowledge and little bit of research, this one is a gem, childish legs and all.
He sets the magazine on the glass display case that holds the rarest items in his collection. “She’s a beaut, Rue.” He scratches the bald spot on his head then folds his arms over the retro X-Men T-shirt stretched across his belly. “First edition. First character appearance of Mr. Freeze. Minimal wear and tear.” He sputters out a Morse code-like breath and looks at me over the rims of his thick glasses. “You know I can’t pay you what a collector can.”
I blow my bangs out of my eyes and shift my weight between my feet, cupping my coffee with both hands, anxious.
Because I do know that, but I also know the store is a sinking ship.
If I hold on to it, I could sell it for two thousand dollars to the right buyer, but I don’t have the time to hold on to something in hopes of getting more money later. We need it now. “I know.”
He scratches his jaw. “Something going on?”
Some might see us as competitors in the antique world, but our customer bases are vastly different. People come to him for coins and comics; they come to Old Vines for everything else.
Or used to.
Dirk and I aren’t especially close, but we are friendly. I could tell him everything and he would lend an ear. Maybe even sympathize. Every business owner knows what it’s like to hit hard times. But the truth is, the store is losing money, and I hate talking about it. We just had a new roof put on after the old one started leaking, and I’d really love to be able to send my kid to college one day. Dwelling on this won’t get me any closer to solving the problem. “Just making space for new inventory.”
He eyes me, sighs, and says, “I can give you seven hundred dollars.”
I look at Robin in his underwear, weighing my options as I chew the inside of my lip. We have been in the red every month for the last year. I need this money.
“Deal.”
