Dating by the Book

by Mary Ann Marlowe

  But he finished, “. . . let me know if your plans change.”

  As soon as I hung up, I flipped through my wardrobe, indecisive. Did I want to dress to impress him or play nonchalant? Did I want to make him rue the day he left or tempt him to want to woo me back?

  I pulled out the polka-dotted A-line. The last time I’d worn it, we’d fought over a dance lesson, but it was more than that. It was about his unwillingness to share me, not just with the town, but with my own aspirations. The argument represented Peter past, and I needed him to prove I could still consider a future with him. Short of a wedding gown, it was the most passive-aggressive dress I could have worn. I slipped it on and tugged at the zipper on the side, but it stuck at my first rib. I barged into Layla’s room and woke her up to help me.

  Pinching the fabric together, she managed to move the zipper another inch, but a hole gaped open below the eyelet.

  I sucked in my stomach as if that would shrink my rib cage. “Keep trying.”

  She frowned. “It doesn’t fit anymore, Maddie.”

  I laughed out loud at the symbolism. I couldn’t get literal or figurative closure from a stupid dress. I pulled the zipper down and let it fall to the floor. “You can have it.”

  Tempted as I was to wear worn jeans and a soft T-shirt, I didn’t want to yield the advantage to Peter so easily. In the end, I dug up a white gauze skirt he’d given me to wear on our honeymoon. It still had the tags on it. Playing dirty, I paired it with a ruched off-shoulder crop top that he’d always loved.

  As I was unlocking the bookstore, Mrs. Beckett pulled up in the van again. I got out my phone and texted, Maximilian Beckett, have you quit your day job? Do you ever intend to show your face again?

  I didn’t expect him to respond, so I was more than a little surprised an hour later when he sauntered through my front door. His eyes popped out of his head when he saw what I was wearing. He bowed deep, and I imagined him in a long coat like we were at some royal ball, and he was about to ask me for a dance. He straightened. “You beckoned, my lady.”

  “Where were you yesterday?”

  He kept a poker face. “I had something to do.”

  “That doesn’t explain this morning.”

  “And it’s Maxwell.”

  “What?”

  “I figured you’d know my name is Maxwell, not Maximilian. Maxwell Jude.”

  I knew his middle name. His parents had named both their kids after song titles. Layla often complained Max won the name jackpot while she was saddled with Layla Prudence. I’d never stopped to ask what song Max had come from.

  “I guess I always thought of you like Maximilian de Winter from Rebecca.”

  “Oh. I like that.” He smiled, then leaned against the counter. “Debonair beats serial killer.”

  It took me a minute to mentally flip through the songs Mr. Beckett often played before I landed on the obvious, and I blurted out, “ ‘Maxwell’s Silver Hammer.’”

  Max chuckled. “That would be me.”

  “Why would your parents name you after that song?”

  His eyebrow rose. “You didn’t know I was lethal?”

  I bit my lip, trying not to crack up. “I may have had my suspicions.”

  “I’m a lady killer.”

  That made me burst out laughing, and his whole face lit up. He was really beautiful when he smiled. God, those lips. My libido cried in frustration at the thwarted sexual chemistry from the memory of those teeth dragging across my throat, and I flushed.

  Surely I could resort to hiring someone if necessary.

  Before I could say something I’d regret, kids started to roll in for story time, and I forced my brain out of the gutter. We’d finished Stuart Little the week before, and Silver Fox had given me the perfect suggestion for the next book. I settled in and announced, “Today we’ll be reading The Little Prince.”

  Max waved and raced out the front door. I’d chased him away from my store often enough I didn’t understand why I was disappointed to see him leaving before we’d had a chance to talk. I hid my confusion with a smile as I showed the cover art to the children. Some fidgeted, and some stared with wide eyes. I’d always loved this book, and I could still remember sitting on this same floor as Mrs. Moore read it when I was little.

  I’d almost finished the first chapter when the door burst open and Max came running in like a man pursued. He grimaced when he realized he’d disrupted the reading and had all the kids watching him. He tiptoed over dramatically and put a finger over his mouth to show he’d be quiet. The kids fell apart laughing, which only exacerbated the chaos.

  I arched an eyebrow at him, reproachful. He dropped to the floor, cross-legged like one of the kids, and I had an image clear as day of him in elementary school. He showed the same wide-eyed wonder as he’d ever had.

  Pretending nothing had happened, I cleared my throat and continued the chapter, but it was too late. I had to read at double time to keep their attention and finish before the kids began to misbehave.

  When I closed the book, Max jumped up and declared, “Show and tell!”

  He reached behind him and produced a bag. “Now, you’ve only just started, so you don’t know all the amazing characters you’re going to meet, but I’m going to leave you some pretty cool amigurumi figures. Do you know what amigurumi is?” The kids shook their heads. He held up the first blob, the little prince himself, made out of yarn and stuffing. It was kind of pathetic, but also kind of adorable. “See how this is knit? My mom made these for me when I was about your age. Pretty neat, huh?”

  He revealed a long lumpy brown object and asked, “Is this a hat?”

  The kids yelled, “No! It’s a snake!” in a raucous chorus.

  “Right. A snake that swallowed what?”

  “An elephant!”

  “Good. And later, you’ll meet these guys.” He proceeded to show them a rose, and then . . . “This is my favorite.” He revealed the fox. “You won’t meet him until later, but you’re going to like him.”

  The parents were starting to look at their watches, so I took over. “Everyone tell Max ‘thank you.’”

  A cacophony of shouted thanks ensued, and Max smiled. “I’ll leave these here.” He lined them up on the shelf next to the row of books standing open for display. “Don’t take them, okay? But you can touch them if you want.”

  While most kids returned to their parents, Jason Epstein and Marta Lewis wandered over to the ugly little knit toys and poked each of them. Marta asked, “Is there really an elephant inside the snake?”

  She turned her huge eyes to Max, who said, “Yes. Of course there is.”

  “Wow.” She lifted it and squeezed it. “It’s a soft elephant.”

  Jason picked up the little prince. “Who’s he?”

  “That”—Max opened the book to chapter two—“is the little prince himself. See? You’ll meet him next week. You’ll be here, right?”

  Jason nodded seriously. His mom called, and he wandered off.

  “This is pretty great, Max. Thanks.”

  Kids and parents mobbed the single exit once story time was over, though a few parents hung back and kindly purchased something before the store emptied out.

  The bell over the door rang again with an incoming patron. I glanced up, and there stood Peter, looking like he’d stepped out of some billionaire romance. Gatsby himself.

  Reflexively, I ran a hand over my braid and tucked in any strays.

  Despite the fact it was a Saturday, he wore a sharp suit and tie, and his salt-and-pepper hair fell in perfect, smooth waves from an expensive cut and the best products. He sported a tan he’d probably brought back from a recent business trip to Miami or maybe he’d relaxed for once on a beach in Cancun.

  Peter dropped a briefcase on the table and looked at me and Max as though he’d found us playing in a sandbox. He scanned Max from head to toe, like he was deciding if he wanted to buy the clothes Max was wearing.

  Max narrowed his eyes and tensed
. I couldn’t tell if he was worried for my sake or his.

  “There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.” Peter cast a glance at Max. “Alone if I could.”

  Max crossed his arms and planted himself on the spot as if to defy an order. “Only if Maddie asks me to leave.”

  Jesus Christ. I hoped they wouldn’t piss on my floor. “Max, it’s okay. I’ll see you later.”

  His face dropped into a mask of exaggerated disappointment, and I felt a little guilty for making him think I was siding with Peter, but I had agreed to talk with him, and I didn’t think I should have to explain my every move to Max, despite whatever had happened between us in the cellar on Wednesday.

  Just like that, my stomach flipped over in a kind of sharp physical pain that somehow also felt delicious. Like when we used to go sledding down a narrow trail in the woods by the creek in the winter. Every time, I was convinced one of us would end up slamming into a tree and breaking our necks. But it was a thrill, and we’d keep going until the trail turned to mud from overuse. My mind returned to the cellar and the moment Max’s lips brushed mine, and there it was again. Like I’d swallowed a baggie filled with sugar, and it just now exploded.

  What the hell was that?

  Meanwhile, Peter, unaware of my confusion, opened his briefcase and took out a manila folder that he laid on the table. “Come look at this.”

  I moved to his side and watched as he spread out several printed pages. His light citrus aroma blanketed him like a scent shield that couldn’t be breached by ordinary odors. He always smelled like he’d just come from a day spa. He emanated luxury. I leaned in to look at his documents.

  The top left paper showed a photo of a commercial street. The others were interior shots of an empty space.

  “What is this?”

  “This building is right in downtown Indy, close to where I work. And it’s for rent.”

  “Uh-huh. So why are you showing it to me?”

  He pulled out a chair and offered it to me. Once we were sitting catercorner at the table, he continued. “I never meant to make you feel like I didn’t support your dream of running this bookstore. I know how much it means to you.”

  “Do you?”

  “I think so, but you have to recognize by now it isn’t practical to try to keep a business like yours afloat way out here. Imagine how much easier it would be if you had a store downtown where there’s always traffic?” He started dragging over the pages with that light in his eyes he got when he was dogging a trail. He’d probably already talked to the owners and convinced them to hold off any other tenants until he’d gotten my consent.

  “You told me you had business out this way.”

  “I do.” He sighed. “This is business.”

  “You went to all this trouble because you’re worried about my bookstore?”

  “No.” He dropped the pages and folded his hands together. His nails were clean and perfect. “Maddie, I made a mistake.”

  I blinked several times. Had I misheard him? Was he ready to compromise? “Go on.”

  “The truth is, I’m hoping you’ll reconsider your decision to stay here. I’ve been waiting and watching for something to open that might lure you back to me.”

  “So you think you can waltz in here and spring a business proposal on me? Did it occur to you to just talk to me first?”

  “And say what? You told me not to come back, so I’ve stayed away until I could come to you with a valid compromise. You once wanted me, but you also wanted the bookstore and this town. You can’t have all three, but I’m hoping that if you could pick two of the three, you’d take the combination that includes me.”

  It was at least a concession. Selfishly, I still wanted to ask him why I couldn’t hold out for all three, but I’d heard enough from everyone to know he’d never consider it. I didn’t exactly blame him, but he was once again asking me to make a choice between him and my hometown.

  As long as I had a bookstore, couldn’t I be happy?

  “What’s changed your mind about the bookstore? You didn’t think it was a wise investment.”

  He spread out his hands as if to show me he wasn’t hiding anything. “That’s a fair question. I’ve been keeping up with the finances, and I’ve noticed some trends, times when your revenue spikes. I think we could maximize that in a prime location.”

  “What spikes?”

  “When you have events for example. Imagine how many more book signings you could get downtown.”

  That was true. I practically lived in the bookstore anyway, so what difference did it make where it was? Dylan was leaving. Layla was working. And Max . . . I swallowed. Max had nothing to do with this.

  When I said nothing, he pierced me with his steel-gray eyes. “Come on Maddie. Think about it at least. I want you back. I miss you.”

  Three little words.

  I’d come into this world unwanted, and my mom had raised me to know I’d been chosen, that they wanted me, and that I belonged to them. I was theirs regardless of biology. Still, a part of me always feared being unwanted, and part of my draw to Orion was that here, I’d never had to wonder where I belonged.

  But something about how Peter wanted me, something about how he made me feel I belonged to him, crossed from a sense of family to a sense of ownership. He’d always let me think I was making my own decisions, but he’d been the one driving the narrative. I’d made two decisions for myself—to become a writer and to buy this bookstore—and he’d hated them both. Or at least he hated that they both took me away from him, took me away from where he wanted me.

  Still, he’d come all this way to bring me this opportunity because he missed me, and I couldn’t deny my temptation to seize the life I’d once dreamed of with him.

  “Two questions.”

  “Go.”

  “How long do I have to decide?”

  “I don’t know. They just listed it last week, and they’ve already had interest. Maybe a week. Maybe a month.”

  “That’s not a lot of time, Peter. This is a huge decision.”

  “What’s the second question?”

  “Could I run that bookstore and still live here?”

  He looked like I’d slapped him, but he nodded. “It would be a long commute.”

  “You were planning to make it.”

  He looked away, and I knew then that he’d never intended to live in Orion. He’d always planned to string me along until after the wedding and then whisk me off to the big city.

  “Well, then, I guess we’ll be in touch.” I held out my hand to shake and end this transaction.

  He wrapped both hands around mine, so warm. “I never should’ve walked away. Biggest mistake of my life.”

  It was the best of times. I’d waited seven months to hear that admission. And it hung in the air with no resonance. It wasn’t a magic incantation that could transform everything from bad to good. At most, he returned a modicum of my pride, but a bruise doesn’t go away with words.

  However he felt now, he’d hurt me then. It was the worst of times.

  “So why did you? Why didn’t you just ignore everyone and show up for your own wedding?”

  “Because whenever we’d do anything in this town, it was obvious nobody wanted me here.”

  “Except me.”

  “Not even you. You were one with this crazy community. And I understand the lure, Maddie. Here you’re always the star of your own fiction.”

  All the air left my lungs, like I’d been punched. For a second, I couldn’t breathe. “What do you mean by that?”

  “You aren’t the same person here as the girl I met, the girl who had set a goal to start a real career and build a life with me. You came here and became the queen of the struggling artists.”

  I actually guffawed at that. “And you assume this is the fiction?”

  “I’m just saying I was trapped in a love triangle here, and I lost you long before our wedding day.”

  “Love triangle? With who? Dylan
?”

  He snorted. “Not with Dylan. With this whole place. I couldn’t compete with whatever draws you here, and everyone here made sure I knew that. I hoped I could deprogram you and get you back. I still hope I can, but the clock is ticking, Maddie.”

  “This is my home, Peter.”

  “I’d kind of hoped I was.”

  I had, too, once. “I’ll think about it.”

  He tugged my hand and brought my face inches from his. “Think about this, too.”

  He planted a kiss on me like bestowing a gift. It caught me by surprise, much as Max’s had. I thought, This should be right. This should be okay. I’d kissed him thousands of times.

  In my parallel universe, this kiss would have been a part of my normal life, but on our wedding day, when he hadn’t kissed the bride, when he hadn’t even appeared at my side, he’d instead turned our relationship into blackmail. Love me or leave me. He might as well have said, It’s me or them.

  “Stay or go,” I’d told him later. “I’ll be here either way.”

  Then my future forked, leaving me stranded over in this time line. Now here he was, looking to carry me back through the portal. But that gate had already closed, and the world had rebuilt itself without Peter. And just like he’d said, I’d become the hero of my own adventure.

  I broke the kiss. “Thanks for coming out, Peter. I’ll let you know.”

  He lifted his head. “We have an audience.”

  Sure enough, Gentry peered in through the front door window. Satisfied we were no longer sharing a private moment, he let himself in. “Peter! It’s so good to see you!”

  Peter held out his hand. They clasped like a couple of sharks. “Nice to see you again, Gentry. How’s business?”

  Gentry looked around, and his eyes landed on the photos Peter had left on the table. Peter immediately stacked them and dropped them into his briefcase. “Convinced her to unload this sinking ship finally?”