The porch looked over a short yard that tumbled into the forested hills beyond. One of the dogs she’d met this morning, the golden retriever she thought was named Crosby, lifted his head to give her a single bark as she stood at the base of the stairs. Dell’s voice, low and rumbly, the words just audible, paused mid-verse.
“Oh, come on,” Mae accidentally said into the silence.
Dell lifted his head, fingers frozen on the frets.
“What?” he finally asked.
“You’re all…” She flailed her hands. It was like Dell McCleary was following some textbook titledCliché Ways to Turn Mae Kellerman On.And he was following it to a T. “Iron and fucking Wine over here.”
Dell stared some more.
“I was playing Fleet Foxes.”
“I know you were! Oh, fuck you.”
Flustered with herself for even walking over here in the first place, Mae turned to leave.
But at the last second, she pivoted on her heel.
“We launched our website and socials today. Bay Books. You should follow us.”
“Bold,” Dell muttered, turning back to his guitar with a small, derisive shake of his head. Mae steeled herself for the points he was surely about to make about launching marketing before a single bookshelf was installed.
But all he said was, “Who’swe?”
Mae blinked, mind still preparing rebuttals about how people would love following renovations online, about the importance of building a following before opening day.
“What?”
“You said ‘welaunched our website.’ Who’s we?”
Mae hesitated.
“Me and my graphic designer.” It was the truth, technically. Conveniently, it also sounded more professional thanme and my one friend who believes I can do this.
Dell only grunted, staring across the deck into the trees.
For some reason, Mae kept talking.
“Our Instagram’s @baybooks.oregon. If you want to look us up.”
Dell looked back down, plucking some strings.
“That’s okay. I’m out of space anyway.”
Now Mae was the one who prolonged her stare. “Space?”
“I only follow a couple hundred people,” Dell said, almost absently, his focus clearly returning to the instrument in his lap. “Strict personal policy.”
At that, Mae’s words ran out.
She stared another minute until she thought,Enough.Time to stop thinking about Dell’s thighs and listening to his guitar.
Time to get to work.
Bae Books and Bae Books only. All in.
She turned with purpose and walked toward the little structure in the woods where she slept almost too well.
