Not Your #Lovestory

by Sonia Hartl

  “You’re tweeting,” he said. Not a question. He’d seen my fingers tapping against my screen.

  His flat tone had me straightening my spine. “So?”

  “Why are you getting involved?” He words were laced with simmering anger, not at me, but at my phone resting on the counter. “Did you like strangers showing up at your house? Do you enjoy being torn apart for sport?”

  “What do you know about it?” My voice quiet. A gentle, probing question. The closest I’d ever come to pushing him or asking him about why he avoided social media.

  The light that always seemed to surround him died out, taking him someplace else. And that place wasn’t kind. “I know more than you can imagine.” I had a snapping retort on the tip of my tongue, but he continued before I could speak. “I’m not trying to be a bossy asshole or tell you what to do. I’m trying to warn you.”

  I lifted my chin. “I don’t need saving.”

  “I never said you did.” He gave me a half grin, nodding to the counter, directly above the shelf where we kept the wrench. “Just … be careful about how much you give them.”

  “I always am.” Until now. Until Jessica Banks had made it impossible for me to separate myself from Misty Morning and R3ntal Wor1d.

  Paxton went back across the store and I reopened my Twitter app. The bell dinged above the door, and Fanny Vanderlugt walked in smelling like cinnamon and sugar toast and waved at me. She picked up Die Hard for her husband and Die Hard 2 for herself, bringing them both to the register. As one of the handful of people in town who still had a VCR, she always grumbled in the summer when tourists took all the good movies.

  “That’ll be five dollars even,” I said.

  She tilted her head. “You sure about that? I got two movies there.”

  “I know. Second one is on the house.” I winked at her. “Thanks for the bread the other day. It was delicious. We ate the whole loaf in one sitting.”

  “You’re a good girl.” She patted my hand. “Beatrice Combs was clucking her chicken-shaped head off about that baseball business the other day, but I told her to shut it. I told her there is no way Gracie Evans’s daughter would ever disgrace her like that.” She gave me a look that suggested it was more of a question than a statement.

  “No, ma’am,” I said to the floor. “I didn’t go into the bathroom with that boy.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t.” I tried to ignore the way her entire body relaxed, like she’d believed it. Whether or not she’d wanted to, whether or not she’d told Beatrice Combs to shut her mouth, she had believed I’d gone into that bathroom with Eric.

  Speculation would only increase with our upcoming date. It also kept the clicks coming. I couldn’t have it both ways, and I’d chosen my path, but it still hurt.

  After Fanny left with her movies, I rested my chin in my hands. We only had another hour until close, but that last hour of work was like three. I swiveled my stool back and forth. The bell dinged, and Elise came in.

  “Hey, loser,” I said. “Don’t people usually spend their off shifts away from work?”

  “Hey, hypocrite. You’re just mad I’m not here to see you,” Elise said. “Momma wanted me to drop off Midnight’s tamale order, then I’ll be on my way.” Momma Gomez ran a second business selling tamales out of her kitchen, the only plus of living in a town that was basically a corn ocean. She had back orders for weeks. She and Gram had a long-standing barter arrangement going back before Elise and I were born, and tamales accounted for a tenth of our diets. No complaints.

  As soon as Elise disappeared into the closet/break room, Paxton wandered back over to my counter. “I noticed we both have Wednesday off,” he said.

  “We do.” I had a date with Eric that night. Our first public appearance as an—air quotes—couple. “Have any plans?”

  He shuffled his feet, not meeting my gaze. “I was kind of hoping we could hang out.”

  “You want to hang out with me?” Date. Date. Date with Eric. My boyfriend for all intents and purposes, if those intents and purposes included helping ourselves to blog hits and subscribers. “Why do you want to hang out with me?” I squeaked as Elise came out of Midnight’s office and looked us both over with a slow grin.

  “A day without my favorite cashier is like a day without magic.” Paxton gave me a half smile, that gentle humor I adored radiating from him like unfiltered sunshine.

  I rested my elbows on the counter and cupped my face with my hands. “A day without my favorite repair guy is like a day I’m forced to switch bodies with my mom to learn the true meaning of selfless love.”

  He leaned against the register. “A day without you is like a day I’m forced to hang out in the ice-cold Atlantic because someone is too greedy to share that big-ass door.”

  My cheeks hurt from grinning so hard as I spun my stool from side to side.

  Elise threw her hands up. “Would you two just get a room already?”

  “What room?” Paxton looked around and pointed at the floor. “This room?”

  “This room is nice,” I said.

  “Forget it,” Elise grumbled, and stomped toward the exit.

  “Is this not a good room?” The pure innocence in Paxton’s tone had me stifling a laugh. “Do you want to help us pick out a better room?”

  “I hate you both!” Elise yelled on her way out.

  “She’ll be fuming all day tomorrow,” I said.

  “Good.” The mischief in Paxton’s eyes dimmed as he ran his finger over a small dent in the counter. “So, uh, do you want to? Hang out?”

  “Oh. Um.” I did. I really did. But Eric. Future. Subscribers. Ugh. “Normally, yes. But I kind of have a thing. A previous obligation.” Was I supposed to tell him about my not-date? It wouldn’t exactly be a secret, but I didn’t want to get into it. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Sure, no problem.” Paxton pushed off from the counter like everything was fine, but the light in his eyes had dimmed. “Maybe some other time.”

  I knew how those “other times” usually went. Might as well have been code for “never.” Little prickles of regret poked at my heart, but I hardened myself against them. This thing I was doing with Eric was bigger than a date. Everything I’d been working toward depended on the believability of our ruse.

  Midnight came out of the break room, grinning while she tapped away on her phone. She must’ve been texting Elise. On anyone else that freshly-in-love smile might’ve been endearing. On Midnight, it looked like a murder clown in a Stephen King fun house.

  “Isn’t cell phone usage against company policy?” I asked.

  Midnight glared at me. “You’re one to talk. I’m surprised your skin hasn’t molded to your phone case yet.”

  “Fair point, but then again, I don’t claim to be the shift supervisor. I just thought you’d hold yourself to a higher standard than the rest of us lowly employees.”

  “Fuck off.” She grabbed the zipper bag holding last night’s credit card receipts and slammed the door to the office behind her.

  “That went well,” Paxton said, not looking up from his vacuum.

  “She’s talking to Elise. I don’t like it.”

  “I know you don’t.” His slightly mocking tone had me gritting my teeth. He rested his arms on the table and leveled his gaze at me. “But it’s not your call to make.”

  “They’re making a mistake.”

  Paxton gave me a blank stare and went back to focusing on the vacuum. “No matter what you think, they might live happily ever after or they might destroy each other. Who knows? It’s their choice. And maybe for them it’s a risk worth taking.”

  I didn’t even know who he was talking about anymore. “Are you talking about Midnight and Elise? Or someone else?”

  He looked at me with the kind of intensity that made me feel more exposed than the night my red bra had shown through my wet tank top. “Who do you think I’m talking about?”

  Tension snapped in the air between the video and the repair sid
e. Like we both had mental swords drawn and were perched on the opposite ends of a sparring ring. It left me feeling … unbalanced. “Why are you being weird? Are you mad I have plans on Wednesday? Because I really do want to hang out. It’s just—”

  “You don’t owe me an explanation. It’s really not a big deal.” He shook his head and grabbed his backpack, full of whatever odds and ends he’d brought to work. He hefted it over his shoulder. “See you later, Macy Mae.”

  He walked out of the store without a backward glance.

  Who do you think I’m talking about?

  His question lingered in the air, around the store, in my brain. It was a question I couldn’t let myself think about. Not when I had plans for my future already in motion while I waded into these viral waters to see just how far I could go.

  With fifteen minutes left before we closed, Midnight joined me to start closing duties. She held two thin strips of paper. “We draw for who wakes up Butch.”

  “As much as I love playing your games, Unholy Mistress”—I gave her a sweet smile as she gnashed her teeth—“why not just lock up and let him sleep it off?”

  “Because last time he woke up in the middle of the night, he forgot where he was and peed all over the middle row of the Drama section. So, unless you’re in the mood to do some cleaning in the morning, draw.” She shoved the slips of paper under my nose.

  I shuddered and grabbed the paper closest to me. From the way her grip tightened slightly, I knew I had her beat before I pulled it all the way out. She balled up her shorter strip and threw it into the trash, her heavy combat boots stomping across the concrete toward his office.

  She didn’t bother with nice as she flicked on the lights and yanked his rolling chair back, sending his feet crashing to the ground and almost causing him to face-plant onto the desk. I had a feeling she did it that way for the Unholy Mistress nickname alone, but if he wasn’t technically the manager, I had no doubt she would’ve dumped a cup of scalding coffee over his head.

  Butch stood in a daze, as if he had forgotten where he’d fallen asleep. He glanced down at Midnight like he’d never met her before. “What time is it?”

  “Closing time.” Midnight held his office door open, a not so subtle gesture for him to leave. “I ordered those snacks you told me to. I’ll print the receipt tomorrow.”

  “What snacks?” Butch glanced at the video side of the repair shop and weaved a bit, eventually grasping the door frame and hauling himself out of his office. “I didn’t ask you to order any snacks.”

  Told you, I mouthed to Midnight. She didn’t seem like she cared, and she probably didn’t if she planned to sell those snacks for her own profit. Butch stumbled toward the front door, which Midnight again held open, as if directing him where to go.

  “Is he driving?” I asked.

  “Nope.” Midnight stuck her head out the door. “He made it as far as the bench in front of the pharmacy. Okay, he’s asleep again.” She shut the door and locked it.

  Sighing, I picked up the phone, called his wife to come get him, and shut down the register to count the till. Midnight kept throwing me glances as I flicked dollar bills between my thumbs, opening and closing her mouth like she wanted to say something. After the fourth time, I shoved a stack of fives into the night deposit bag and faced her.

  “Whatever it is you want to say, just spit it out already.” I gave her an overexaggerated bow. “You have my full attention.”

  She chewed on her thumb as she looked me up and down. “Elise told you. About us.”

  The semi-argument I’d had with Paxton brushed up against my mind. “Yep.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

  “Would it make you feel better if I threatened to hit you with a wrench if you hurt my best friend again?” I gave her a closed-lip grin, but it didn’t come close to touching my eyes.

  Her gaze darted to the counter where I stood, as if she knew I’d only been half joking. “It’s different this time.” She let out a breath. “I’m different. And I don’t care if you don’t believe me, but I do care about Elise and I don’t want this to come between you and her or me and her or any of it.”

  I tilted my head. This certainly didn’t sound like Midnight. And I wanted Elise to be happy, of course I did, even if I’d never understand why she’d found that happiness with the Unholy Mistress. “I don’t know if I believe you, but I don’t not believe you either.” Paxton’s words rang in my head again. “I’ll stay out of it.”

  “I guess, given our history, that’s the best I can ask for.” Midnight picked up the night deposit bag, and I brought the register to the safe in back. She unlocked the door to let us out, the ring of keys clinking against the old metal door as she locked it again. “Be careful around Jared. Keep away from him at all costs, until this temporary fame thing goes away and he forgets about you again.”

  It seemed like everyone and their dog wanted to dish out warnings tonight, but something in her tone made my pulse jump. “Why do you say that?”

  Her eyes were nearly as black as her spiked hair as she looked squarely at me. “He learned at his father’s knee. Consider yourself very lucky that Brady was there.”

  The cold rolling off her sliced through my veins and I rubbed my arms, as if I couldn’t get enough heat, even on this warm summer night. “What did he learn at his father’s knee?”

  She just tilted her head toward her car. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride home. You shouldn’t be walking around alone at night anyway.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  THE NEXT MORNING, I woke up way too early. I’d had a nightmare that a nude photo of me had started circulating with all of my Instagram ones. I opened Twitter and double-checked to make sure I hadn’t been tagged in anything like that, though I wouldn’t have put it past someone to get creative with Photoshop.

  I now had thirty thousand followers, while Eric had gone up to fifty thousand. Jessica had followed me, but I wouldn’t follow her back. I had nothing to say to her. She retweeted my Dirty Dancing video. I’d take the clicks, but I wouldn’t take the hand of friendship she kept trying to thrust in my face. Sickness and urgency flooded me again as I compulsively scanned the hashtag.

  @HollyYale: did you all see the #todayshow? #baseballbabe even said on here he didn’t have sex with #flyballgirl. let it go and leave them alone.

  @JimmyEatsYourMom Replying to @HollyYale: sit on my face

  @trudylennoxx Replying to @HollyYale: I think #baseballbabe is really in love with #flyballgirl and is afraid he won’t be able to bring her home to meet the family if everyone thinks she did him in a public bathroom.

  “Trudy, please. You’re embarrassing yourself with your bad takes,” I mumbled to myself.

  @suzy_qrs: I hope #baseballbabe is in the next video #flyballgirl uploads. The movie ones are boring, but I’m obsessed with these two. Please let them have babies.

  @helpsmerhonda: sitting here with my popcorn, waiting for #flyballgirl to tweet again. #baseballbabe #lovestory

  @pettybettyhatesyou: I’m fucking sick of #baseballbabe, someone send me pictures of cute animals please.

  @baseballbabe2020: Guess who I’m talking to tonight? #flyballgirl #excited #beautifulgirl #baseballbabe

  We had no plans to talk. It was all part of the game.

  @MacyAtTheMovies: Looks like *someone* is as #excited as me for tonight #FlyBallGirl #BaseballBabe

  Ugh. I needed to stop. I had to get out of the house or I’d spend my entire morning scrolling through Twitter until my eyes bled. None of it felt good, not even the nice comments. I felt like a runway model wearing six-inch heels. Sure, the shoes were great, but everyone was really just waiting for me to fall on my ass.

  Since I didn’t work until the afternoon shift, I had time to wander around town. At this point I would’ve been willing to scrape roadkill off the highway if it meant staying away from Twitter for a few hours. The Bees had finally decided on the Definin
g Moments in Recent History theme, and no one had lost a limb over it, so they no longer needed a watchdog while they got down to the business of embroidering.

  I put on a sundress Gram had made me out of leftover fabric from last year’s quilt, and the patchwork of different floral fabrics was my absolute favorite. I’d never post a picture of it online. After the comments about my seashell shirt, I’d likely never take selfies in anything fun or interesting again. Just plain vanilla tops from now on.

  My flip-flops smacked against the floor as I entered the dining room. “I’m going out for a little while, but I have my phone on me and I won’t talk to strangers.”

  “Where are you off to at this hour?” Gram asked through a cloud of smoke.

  “I don’t know.” And I truly didn’t. Our house felt too small with all the Bees crammed into it, and if I stuck around, Gram would just roll out a list of meaningless tasks for me to do. “I might go down to the lake. It’s going to be hot today.”

  “I bet that boy from the Internet would drive up here to join you,” Peg said.

  I rolled my eyes. “Maybe if you spent a little more time on your quilting and a lot less time bugging me about my love life, you’d actually finish in time for the fair.”

  Donna let out a barking laugh. “She’s got you there.”

  Peg flipped her off, and the two of them adjusted their shoulders, ready to set off another round of their perpetual war. Gigi leaned forward between the two of them. “We have our theme, and we’re short on time. Save it for after the quilt’s done.”

  Gram sighed and stood. “This is why you can’t ever leave us, Gigi.”

  She went into the kitchen, and glasses rattled around as she put together a tray of sun tea to get them started on the long day of embroidering. They still had patterns spread around, but today they’d fold up the dining room table and bring up the open sewing table for handwork. Even with their various squabbles, the Bees worked as a hive, their strengths blending into perfect cuts of cloth and thread.

  “If you’re bored, Paxton could probably use a hand before his double shift today,” Gigi said. “He’s been so busy getting Matilda ready for the fair, he hasn’t had time to properly groom the others.”