Dating by the Book

by Mary Ann Marlowe

I straightened to my full height. “This ship still belongs to me, Gentry.”

  He glanced at me, then at Peter. “Well, you know where to reach me.”

  “What did you need, Gentry?” I didn’t think for a minute he’d come in for any other reason than to suck up to Peter and pressure me to abandon my post, but he at least attempted to put on a show.

  “Ah, right. Don’t forget we have a town meeting tomorrow. See you at nine?”

  To give Gentry a hint and usher him out more quickly, I said to Peter, “Let me walk you to your car.”

  He’d parked his Lexus around the corner. I hadn’t anticipated the level of interest Peter would attract, but the rumor must have spread as soon as Max said the first word to whoever he’d griped to. No wonder Gentry had raced over. Shawna peered out her door and made a face like we were a couple of worn-out zombies ambling down the sidewalk with our guts hanging out. Team Peter was not represented in Orion.

  The whole town would know about that kiss soon enough as well. Gentry was the worst gossip.

  We approached from the back of Peter’s car, and I giggled at his license tag that read EQUIFOX, a nice play on words for someone in finance.

  “I’d forgotten about that,” I said.

  “It was your idea.”

  “Was it?”

  He ran a finger across my forehead and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “Have you forgotten so much?”

  “Survival mechanism.”

  “It’s been a hard year. I wish things had worked out differently.”

  “They could have.”

  “I hope they still will.”

  With one last glance, he gracefully slid in and started the engine. As his car pulled away, I watched him exit scene left before I dropped onto the sidewalk and pulled my knees to my chest, fighting the urge to call him back.

  Chapter 22

  Everything around me suddenly bustled, as people who must have frozen to observe my conversation with Peter went about their own business. Heads that had been poking out of shops withdrew and doors closed as soon as my drama was no longer on full display.

  Sometimes I questioned why I fought so hard to stay here.

  Then Layla sidled up beside me and sat down. “Hey, I was just, you know, out for my afternoon stroll as I do.”

  I laughed. Someone must have called her to get her to emerge from her cave.

  “And I thought, you know what would be great? A beer. You wanna go grab a six-pack from Wilson’s and get drunk?”

  That was why I stayed. Where could I get nosy friends who knew who to call to be there when I needed a shoulder. “Nah. I’m fine. I’ve been through a black moment, but that must mean there’s daylight on the other side, right?”

  Layla said what everyone else always did. “Can we keep at least one foot in reality? Come on. One beer?”

  “Thanks. I need to get back to the bookstore.”

  Before she could react to that, Gentry intoned, “Ladies, please do not block the sidewalk.”

  It wasn’t as if he couldn’t have gone around. A couple of kids on skateboards turned the corner, caught sight of Gentry, and jumped off to run the other way.

  Rather than argue, I said goodbye to Layla, leaning in for a hug. As she went back to her own dramas, a light rain began to fall, chasing me to the world of books, where I at last felt at home.

  Before the rain could damage my inventory, I rushed to pull the table covered in books back inside. When I came back for the sidewalk sign, I saw the joke Max had scrawled at some point.

  BOOK LOVERS DO IT BETWEEN THE COVERS!

  It would have made me laugh, but it only served to remind me that my covers would remain very cold unless I could find a way to take my bookstore to bed. Was I crazy to stay in my sinking ship? Was I so stubborn I was willing to drown rather than let myself be rescued?

  I was about to drag the sign inside when I saw Max on the step outside my apartment.

  “Why are you sitting out in the rain?” I called over.

  My hair started to stick to my forehead, and a drop of water broke free and rolled down my cheek and into my mouth. I licked my lips. When Max crossed the street, he looked like a brooding hero striding across the moors.

  “Do you want to come inside?”

  He shook his head. “What did Peter want?”

  Just like that. As if the question wasn’t fraught. “I don’t want to talk about Peter.”

  “Are you going to take him back?”

  “That’s none of your business.” My fists clenched, and I nearly turned and left him standing there.

  “Isn’t it? Do you really think that people who care about you are required to stand back and watch you make a mistake?”

  “Oh, and you always have all the answers?” I brushed a raindrop from my cheek. I could have been crying for the river tracing a jagged path down my face. “I’m a big girl, Max. I can make my own decisions.”

  He looked down at his hands, at an envelope he held. “Look. Last year, you didn’t want to hear what I had to say. I had a lot to say.”

  I leaned against the doorjamb, curious enough to listen.

  “I’ve heard you say over and over that you were living in an alternate dimension. You seem to think you can bring two worlds together, that you can fix what Peter broke and find a happily-ever-after. I know this is crazy, and I shouldn’t show you this.” He lifted the envelope. “This is the road not taken.”

  I took it and started to open it, but he said, “Not here. You’re probably not going to want to talk to me after you read it.”

  When I stepped away, he laid a hand on my wrist and said, “I’m sorry.”

  As soon as I got inside, I ripped open the envelope and pulled out four pages handwritten in his distinctive print-cursive combo. I sat down to read.

  Maddie’s Unparallel Universe

  With no objections from the unconcerned onlookers, the bride and groom say I do, sealing their union in the eyes of God and man. Henceforth, no one can put their marriage asunder. The couple is now yoked. Whither the groom goeth, so goeth the bride.

  They leave the church, man and wife, and head straight to the reception. The bride dances with her groom before the rest of the wedding party. When a friend of the bride’s asks if he can cut in, the groom scowls but acquiesces. He doesn’t leave the dance floor, but he also does not ask another to dance. At the next opportunity, he reclaims his bride, only jealously allowing another to take his place. Soon, the requests stop altogether, and this pleases him. She no longer belongs to anyone but him, and he doesn’t like to share.

  When at last the party comes to an end, the couple runs out into the night toward the rented town car that will whisk them to the honeymoon he carefully planned. While the bride has always dreamed of a big trip to England to visit all the places she’s read about, her groom believes a traditional honeymoon to St. Lucia is in order. The bride agrees this is a sensible trip. They can spend the time getting reconnected at a romantic destination. After all, this trip isn’t about her, she thinks.

  Alas, business never sleeps. After the first night of wedded bliss, which, to be honest isn’t that different from an ordinary Wednesday, she finds herself searching for breakfast and bringing him back a plate filled with local fare from the hotel restaurant. He waves her off so he can hear the conference call and drink the coffee. Each morning, she spends a little more time away, watching the other honeymooners, envying them as they feed each other pieces of fruit or sneak kisses between bites.

  She reasons these people haven’t been together as long as she’s been with her groom, and so it makes sense she and her ball-and-chain aren’t displaying the same level of intimacy they once did. Don’t all relationships grow more practical over time?

  Soon, they return home, except not to the home she expected. During his many business calls, the husband has finalized an offer on a house closer to the city where he works, miles away from where she expects to move. He knows where she wants to live
and spent a year letting her dream of buying that raspberry bungalow in her hometown, all the while proposing houses she’d never choose, never intending to stay.

  What can she do now? She’s his wife.

  What will happen to the bookstore she runs in her small town? Will she have to commute back and forth?

  Maybe that’s fair since she expected the same of her husband. They both need to make sacrifices. Surely she can still spend time with the people she’s grown up with. Surely she can invite her friends to visit her at her new house.

  Right?

  But her husband wants her home after work. He doesn’t like her friends and makes them feel uninvited, so they quit coming over in time. And she wonders: Am I an independent person, or have I been reduced to a piece of property?

  If only her friends had known where this would lead and warned her. Why didn’t they warn her?

  The day she sells the bookstore to the neighboring proprietor, she rationalizes, “Maybe I wanted too much. Maybe I’m not so special. Maybe I don’t deserve anything more.”

  But she’s wrong.

  The words ran out. I folded the pages and pushed them into the envelope. Max thought I’d be angry with him for writing that, but it only made me want to cry. Reading his concerns on paper drove home how well he understood what I wanted, how much he cared about my happiness. I couldn’t say his vision of my intended life was entirely off base. I’d had those same fears. If anything, he confirmed the doubts that had prevented me from leaving with Peter in the first place and the reason I needed him to meet me more than halfway.

  Maybe Max thought I’d be annoyed at him for calling me out on my tendency to rationalize Peter’s behavior and shift the blame to my own unrealistic expectations. But he was right. Peter appeared to be the kind of romance hero that fueled wish-fulfillment novels. He had it all, and I’d once allowed myself to think that was enough. But no matter how hard I tried to have it all, it was always going to come down to a choice with Peter.

  Peter’s proposal was another fork in the road. He was right that I could be more successful in the city. It would give me the illusion of having what I wanted: Peter and the bookstore. In exchange, I’d merely lose my identity.

  No. As long as I could eke out a living, there was nothing appealing about swapping one bookstore for another, or my town for his. Not even if it meant swapping loneliness for companionship. The spell had broken. The Wardrobe had closed. My choice was made. I was ready to make this new world my reality.

  I took out my phone and sent a text. I’ve made a decision.

  No response. He was probably driving. I didn’t need him to ask me to elaborate. I was done playing games.

  Thanks for coming all the way out here, but I’m going to stay here.

  Even though I knew I was making the right decision, it still twisted my gut. All that waiting had been in vain. We’d had so much potential, it was killing me to concede defeat, but as long as neither of us would bend, we had different paths to follow.

  I owed Max an apology and a debt of gratitude for daring to express his unwanted advice. I was lucky to have him as a friend.

  * * *

  When I closed up for the night, the rain had stopped, leaving a clear sky. The rain had fit my mood better, but with the cooler temperature, I decided to walk out to the creek and think. I stopped at the bridge, sat down, and dangled my feet. As I stared at the water below, I tried to figure out where I was going, what I was going to do. Peter would most likely want me to buy him out of his share of the bookstore, something I wasn’t able to do.

  My worst fears were coming true.

  From the other side of the bridge, a voice said, “Don’t jump.”

  I looked around and saw Max coming down the end of the driveway from my raspberry cottage. “What are you doing?”

  He shrugged. “Picking up a little extra work. The Palmers needed a pair of hands, and I had the time.”

  I scooted over so he could sit next to me. “You need extra work?”

  “I know, right? You’d think the catering business in a small town would be booming.” He frowned. “Truth is, I’ve tried everything I can to get my mom’s business off the ground. When Gentry took on his own pastry chef, we lost a chunk of business, and now I’m working odd jobs to balance the ledger and pay rent.”

  “Adulting sucks.” I sighed, watching the water weave around smooth round stones. “Do you remember when we decided to follow the creek to see where it went?”

  “Yeah.” His voice rose half an octave. “We got in so much trouble.”

  “Layla kept telling us we should turn back, but it didn’t seem that late.”

  “Then all of a sudden it got dark.”

  “It took us twice as long to find our way back, and everyone was out looking for us.”

  We both laughed. He leaned against me. “Some of my best memories were in those woods.”

  As kids, Layla, Max, and I used to roam all over the trails, and we knew all the weird places to explore. “Do you remember that old abandoned concrete monstrosity? I wonder if it’s still there.”

  He stood. “Let’s go see.”

  The rain had left the air sticky. A mosquito buzzed near my ear, and I knew the woods would be teeming with insects waiting to eat me alive. I swatted my neck. “You sure you want to hike in this humidity?”

  He arched an eyebrow, challenging. “It never used to bother you.”

  That was true. When we were kids, I never noticed heat or cold, rain or snow. Whatever we did, we’d get so lost in our world, the weather couldn’t distract us. In the winter, after we’d go sledding, my toes would turn so numb I could kick a wall and feel nothing. In the summer, air conditioning was an intermittent luxury confined to libraries, convenience stores, and home. Exploring the woods on a humid July afternoon would have been ordinary. We never called it hiking then.

  I fanned my face. “I’m getting old.”

  “Hardly.” He held out his hand. “Come on, Tigger. Let’s go for an explore.”

  Only Max would reference Winnie-the-Pooh.

  The narrow trail wound down. The forest hummed with life—life that was taking an active interest in me. Max bushwhacked ahead, while I waved off gnats. And then, there it was, the massive cylinder in the middle of the woods. It was a complete mystery to us as kids, but later, we were told it had been intended to become a part of a large well or aquifer. Now it rested at such a steep angle we could step over its ledge on one side and lean against the high wall on the other.

  It wouldn’t have surprised me to see a younger Max pop up from behind the far wall and shoot me with a water pistol. The structure made an excellent fort, hiding place, rendezvous point, or make-out spot. Not that Dylan would have set foot in the woods for anything. Peter had never known about its existence.

  Max pressed his palms against the slanted curve. A line of sweat ran down the back of his shirt.

  I climbed in and sat on the ledge at the point where my feet could dangle. He sat beside me, which was also a little beneath me, so that I naturally leaned into him. I scooted up to no avail. Gravity only intensified with the curve of the wall.

  We sat quietly. I’m sure he wanted to ask what I thought about the pages he’d given me to read. I stared at a moth squirming against a spider web where it had gotten itself tangled.

  I finally confessed. “You were right. Everything you said. Spot on.”

  He picked at his thumbnail. “So, Peter?”

  “He wanted to show me a rental space in the city. It was tempting.” I figured I might as well admit why. “I’m worried about the future of the bookstore.”

  “Yeah. About that.” His lower lip disappeared between his teeth.

  I kicked his foot. “You’re not seriously going to pitch me your proposal right now?”

  “Not that. I owe you an apology.” He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled deep like he was meditating. “I know this is a kamikaze mission, but I’ve been thinking about what ha
ppened in the cellar for the past three days.”

  “Yeah.” I didn’t know what to say about that. My libido had finally gone full supernova, and Max had borne the brunt. Not that he’d seemed to mind. Maybe I owed him an apology, too.

  “I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair to you.”

  Maybe if we’d had an adult conversation about that kiss when we were kids, our friendship wouldn’t have taken such a hit. I laid a hand on his knee. He slid his hand underneath and threaded his fingers with mine. In all the years I’d known him, despite kissing him twice, despite spending hours and days in his company, he’d never held my hand like this. It was nice. Familiar. Comfortable.

  He traced my thumb with his, and it sent a jolt up my arm. My crazed sex drive was going to destroy our equilibrium. I closed my eyes until he started talking again.

  “Maybe I was wrong to kiss you, but it felt right.” He sat perfectly still. “Tell me you didn’t feel it, too.”

  I said nothing. If I spoke, I’d have to lie. His kiss felt . . . like an oasis in a desert. But I’d been parched, and he’d been the nearest source of cool, delicious water. I glanced at his lips now, and my heart pulsed in my fingertips, in my thighs.

  I couldn’t keep denying that my body responded to him like a furnace, and it would be nice to finish what we’d started the week before. But what I’d told Silver Fox held true. I wanted more than passion.

  He sighed. “Say something?”

  I thought back to that morning, to how we’d gone into that cellar together, chased by a storm. How I hadn’t been thinking of Max like that, how that kiss had forced me to think of Max like that. Yes, I’d liked it, but I hadn’t seen it coming. Like that night on the bridge, we weren’t kissing, and then suddenly we were. No preface. No foreshadowing.

  Or had I missed the signs?

  “Why did you? Why’d you kiss me?”

  “I thought that was obvious.” When he looked at me again, he had a hard resolve I didn’t recognize. “I love you.”

  I caught my breath. Three little words that flipped my world upside down, flipped my stomach like a Tilt-a-Whirl.