Rash and Rationality

by Ellen Mint

  Brandy snickered. “This is nothing. I had to be up at four, sometimes even three in the morning.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “I…” She paused. “I used to be a baker.”

  He chuckled at that. “And I can see why you quit.” His assumption on her life faded as he turned to stare out through the giant, polished windows. There were no local band posters taped to them, no lost dog signs, no fading PR from indie publishers. It was all scrubbed clean, save the two giant signs advertising their big sales and the latest bestseller tied in with a new movie.

  “Excuse me,” he shouted, his hand waving at someone outside. “The store doesn’t open yet.”

  She heard such a banging on the window it sounded like someone desperately needed respite from a storm. But the weather was calm, if not too balmy, so more than likely the person was drunk instead. It wasn’t until the voice struck her that the broom slipped from her hands.

  “I’m looking for someone. Do you have an employee called…?”

  Marty’s plea faded as she rose to stare at him. He looked red-eyed, with bags piling up under his lids, but that could be due to allergies as much as anything else. “Brandy,” he whispered so softly she couldn’t hear. Only the formation of his lips revealed that he spoke her name. She used to feel happy at the thought. Now it shivered through her.

  “Please,” Marty shouted louder, knocking twice as hard on the door. “Please, let me talk to you!”

  “Sir. You cannot enter the building until official opening hours. Store policy,” her manager said.

  Marty’s face fell. He darted his eyes from her to the man hovering close. But he stopped trying to break the glass with his fist, at least. That seemed to be enough for her manager, who gave a little tip of his head. “I’ll head to the break room. If he becomes a problem, please come and get me.”

  A problem? Her heart thundered at the thought of Marty being anything but a blessing. Then the reality crashed down around her and she nodded to her manager. “Thanks.”

  He seemed to take it with a smug smile, spinning on his heels and marching to where he could no doubt lean to his heart’s content. But before he vanished, he said, “And you’re not allowed to unlock the door.”

  “Understood,” she said, even as her eyes lingered where the mass of keys were crammed into the two locks on the ceiling and floor. It was an instinctive response. Why would she even want to talk to Marty?

  After what he did. Said. Left me alone and broken.

  Why should she even want him?

  “I’m not supposed to talk. I have work to do,” she said as loudly as possible in the hope he’d leave her alone.

  Brandy slipped behind the counter, her back straight as she faced the sea of books before her. She was so focused on being the best employee that when the glass knocked directly over her shoulder, she leaped into the air. Spinning around, she spotted Marty holding an open notebook flush to the glass. On it he’d written Daisies For Summer page a hundred and twenty-seven.

  Her eyes narrowed, trying to tell him that this was her job, her brand-new job that she didn’t have time to play at. Not like anyone here would get or appreciate their game. They were all too busy cleaning. Or rearranging. Or just keeping themselves important to the algorithm at all times so they wouldn’t get fired.

  Brandy shook her head. She didn’t owe him anything.

  When he tugged back the notebook, she expected that to be the end of it. For Marty to wander back to his car and speed away into the night. She’d probably never see him again. One chance and done.

  The notebook flipped back around with the word PLEASE added in giant block letters. He’d even drawn a few hearts around it, like this was junior high study hall. And, as foolish as it sounded, a part of Brandy started to melt.

  Well, at least the book was right near the front. And if she did it, he might go away. Less chance of her manager firing her because of him hanging around.

  With those flimsy excuses in her mind, she picked up Daises for Summer and thumbed through to find the right page. “‘I’m sorry,’” Brandy read aloud, then she stared through the window. “Is this from you or me?”

  Marty didn’t answer and flipped the page. The number Forty-five was written this time. “You’re not playing the game right,” she said. They always worked forward through the book to build up the plot. As her sight graced the page, she clung tighter to the book. “‘There are none in this world stupider than I.’”

  Through the heavy glass, his face half-hidden by the harsh reflection, Marty mouthed along with her. His head hung lower, his hand placed on the window as if to reach for her. So he was apologizing. That…that was a start, at least.

  Just as she was about to shout at him to wait until after her shift, he showed another page. This one bore a new book, Wings of Flame, and three numbers. Brandy tried to think where that would be. Sci-fi and Fantasy, or Romance? Laying Daises on the counter, she dashed into the shelves. Despite the store being the size of a small aircraft hangar, she spotted the familiar fiery bird feather cover and ran back to Marty.

  A strange smile wound about her lips at finding him, as if she’d hoped to see him again. Pausing behind the counter, she tugged the book open. “‘It has taken me a lifetime to understand what was obvious.’”

  Marty banged on the window and jabbed at the next page for her. Flipping fast, she landed on fifty-seven and read aloud, “‘I love you, Daniel.’ Daniel?”

  He pointed at his notebook, where Ignore the Daniel part was written. “Wait.” Brandy inched closer to the window. “Are you serious?”

  After yanking out a marker, he caught the cap in his teeth and added a new number below the others. She thumbed quickly to find it. “‘Beyond the heavens and the stars, greater than the mountain’s peaks and valleys, deeper than the ocean’s crypts.’” Brandy pulled in a breath even as her hands rattled the book. The black letters danced across her vision and her brain tried to piece together what he was saying.

  She knew the words, the sentiment, but she didn’t understand. “Why? Why now? Why are you…why are you telling me this here instead of—” Instead of choosing to walk out of the door on me.

  Pulling in a deep breath, Marty raised his head and flipped to the last written page on his notebook. A new book was shown with orders for her to read an entire poem. Where do they keep the poetry in this place? Holding Wings of Flame tight in her arms, Brandy dashed deeper into the stacks.

  Past the manga, the cookbooks and the sheet music, she found it. The cover was nothing more than a simple pastel green color and the title, Songs of My Heart. For a moment, she froze, wanting to read the poem to herself before she confronted Marty. What if it didn’t explain anything? What if it was all an excuse? What if he didn’t really want to be with her, but wanted to tell her she could be loved?

  Dread sloshed in her stomach, keeping the book locked shut as she walked back to him. Marty still hadn’t vanished, both of his hands pressed to the glass as he waited for her to arrive and read his explanation. Standing below the halo light above the stack of bestsellers, Brandy opened the pages of Songs and dove in.

  “‘My eye slipped past your supple face,

  My hand missed all your subtle grace,

  My mind ignored your sumpt’us thoughts,

  But my heart, oh, it missed you naught.

  For though it have no sight nor voice,

  To my heart there was but one choice.

  My brain may dream of castles in the sky,

  My eyes flitter to glints of a magpie,

  My ears caress songs beyond the sea,

  But my heart, sweet heart, belongs only to thee.

  Time that it needs to grow strong,

  To whisper in my ear, to find the song,

  To shower my eyes with what is true,

  To tell my mind it’s always been you.’”

  Tears washed across the words, wiping away the work of a poet Marty must have scrounged through hundre
ds of books to find. As she stared at that confounding man, her hand clasped to her mouth, he began to shrink back, his hands wadded in his pockets, the notebook fluttering to the ground. He mouthed something, but she couldn’t make it out.

  Without a second’s pause, Brandy marched to the front door and cracked open the first lock. No rain of hellfire burned her skin, no flock of reapers came for her soul, so she unlocked the second and walked out into the night.

  Marty, the man she’d always pictured with floppy hair and a cheeky grin, stood in the dark alone. “I’m so sorry. What I did. How stupid I am to get caught up in… That it took me this long to figure it out,” he said as she walked to him. “I keep thinking over and over how if I’d just—”

  Her lips silenced his pleading apology, Brandy pouring her heart into the kiss. It was sweet, a touch naïve, and praying for him to finally realize what he had in front of him. Hands cupped her cheeks, Marty’s thumbs wiping away the tears dripping from her eyes while he deepened the kiss.

  “I love you,” he whispered as if awestruck. Then the familiar smile returned and Marty shouted, “God, it feels so…right to say that. Did you hear that, world? I love her!”

  His cry rung through the parking lot, pinging off streetlamps and employee cars. And straight to her heart. From his pocket, he tugged out a paper bag and passed it to Brandy. Her confusion melted to understanding at the dented and cold donut inside.

  “I swear to whichever God you want me to,” Marty said, causing her to smile. He cupped his hands around the nape of her neck, pulling her to him until their foreheads crested together. Running his nose against her cheek, he finished, “I will never forget what my heart knew all along.”

  As Brandy kissed him, praying it to be so, the indigo of night gave way to the vibrant pinks and rose of a new dawn. She looked up, about to point it out to her hopeless romantic, but Marty took her for another kiss instead.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Seventeen months later

  The ball of mistletoe dancing in the breeze kept him distracted from the sea of books spread across the table. Not the ding of the cash register as hungry pilgrims from far and wide made the trek to the holy reliquary of caffeine and sugar. Nor the slow glare of his brother from across the table, eyebrows perked in their ‘I have something serious to share’ way.

  It was all that damn mistletoe, and—worst of all—Marty had no one to blame but himself. He’d insisted on it and the owner had humored him.

  “This archival system will be the death of me. Turn a corner to find my body splattered to the ground, and there, with a bloody knife in its hand, stands EAS ready to finish the job.”

  Eldon chuckled, causing Marty to stare in terror at his brother. He might still be the same stick-up-his-bum Eldon Dashwood, but the hard edges had smoothed down from their razor-edge finish. God save him, but his brother had even left his scarf slightly unknotted inside the bakery.

  “I’m proud of you. Already working on your master’s.”

  “You sound like Mom,” Marty sighed, trying to hide the blush of family acceptance. It was no doctor or lawyer, but they seemed to approve of ‘I think I want to be a librarian.’ Which meant endless schoolwork for his foreseeable future.

  “Here you go,” a voice called from behind his ear, and a jelly donut covered with powdered sugar landed before him.

  “There’s a mistake,” he said, spinning in his chair. “I ordered two.”

  Even with her cheeks dusted in sugar, Brandy smiled wide. Her fingers, probably coated in flour, ruffled through his hair. “I already ate mine.”

  She moved to rush back—hungry customers and all—but Marty wrapped his fingers through hers. Before she could slip away, he tugged her close. “Mistletoe,” he whispered and kissed her less-than-chastely on the lips. It’d be a downright obscene, ladies-fainting-in-the-aisles kiss if there weren’t people watching.

  Sadly, he had the whole of the morning to wait until he could hold her in his arms again. Releasing her back to her throngs of famished worshippers, Marty watched Brandy resume her place at the counter. That apron knotted tight at her waist certainly did wonders for her sugar-dusted booty.

  The sound of shuffling papers redirected his attention to his brother, unfortunately. “Hey,” Marty shouted, yanking back his homework. “No cheating off me.”

  Eldon scoffed at the outlandish idea. But, as he stirred his tea using one of Brandy’s legendary biscotti, he said, “I am amazed you’re working so diligently this early in the morning.”

  A laugh broke from Marty and he scratched at the nape of his neck with a pencil. “This is late. I’ve been up since four.”

  “You? Four a.m.? What in the world for?”

  With a sigh, he turned to watch his beautiful baker. Her entire face lit up in joy as she passed over a bag of beignets to the cherubic businessmen. He’d suffer a thousand early mornings in exchange for waking to find her in his arms, to kiss her goodbye before they had to abandon their cozy cocoon and return to the world outside. Even if he now required a gallon of coffee to make it to ten.

  To his foolish, romantic heart’s surprise, Eldon gave a knowing smile and slipped back into his chair. “I understand. Mamá was wondering about Christmas.”

  “I will be eating my weight in tamales, yes.”

  The snort from his brother told tales of the year Marty really had tried to beat the record. “This is regarding the seating arrangements and…”

  Rising from his chair, Marty said, “Hold that thought. I have to do something.” His brother grumbled at being interrupted, but he didn’t care. Gliding across the small, new bakery opened just in time for the Christmas rush, Marty approached the woman at the counter.

  “Hey,” he said, to pull her from the racks of tasty treats waiting to be frosted.

  With the back of her hand, Brandy swiped up a stray tendril of hair and faced him. “Hello yourself.”

  “There’s something I’ve been wanting to know, and I hope you have the answer.” From his pocket, he pulled out a small wooden puzzle box and pushed on the mechanism. Three cracks formed along the box, each edge pulling and folding down to reveal the treasure inside. A small gold ring with a bright emerald twirled in place. “Would you marry me?”

  Brandy smiled brighter than the sun, her fingers trailing above the spinning promise that he wanted no one but her for his life. Giggling, she nodded, wiped at her cheeks and said, “Yes.”

  Without pause, Marty leaped over the counter, sending her business cards splattering to the floor. All around them, people clapped at the happy news as Marty scooped his bride-to-be into his arms. She laughed with him. He couldn’t spin with glee in the tight space, so Marty danced with her in his arms. Slowly, he pulled her forehead to his, both lost in each other’s eyes while he slipped his abuela’s ring onto her finger.

  “Congratulations,” Eldon said, rising from his chair and adding to the applause. “I must say, I’m rather shocked at the subdued proposal.”

  Marty stared at the ceiling and said, “Ah, about that…”

  “Last night he took me out on the river in a rented boat he covered in roses,” his fiancée said.

  “Not covered. You could still get to the wheel, if you stood on one leg and hopped.”

  “And, as night crested across the surface of the river, bright letters rose from the water. A dozen floating glow sticks asked me to marry him.” Brandy turned and planted her lips to his cheek, wiping away the sting of shame and leaving only a lovesick fool in its place.

  He didn’t even listen to the sigh of exhaustion from his brother. Marty was too busy being enraptured with not just the woman who’d be his wife, but with Brandy. The woman always wearing flour in her black hair, fluffy socks in bed and holding his heart in her hand.

  “Why this, then? More pomp?”

  “I asked her on the water, surrounded by a million stars,” Marty said, “But I wanted to hear the answer by the light of day. A life of both romance and…all tha
t other boring stuff Eldon can’t stop going on about.” His brother groaned, but Marty didn’t care as he spoke to Brandy. “I want you to want both.”

  She brushed her nose against the side of his, her lips parting to whisper, “It’s always been yes.”

  “I love you,” he answered back, the two of them entwining in a kiss to start a new journey between them.

  And so, the princess of sugary dough and the dashing Latino librarian lived happily ever after.

  Want to see more from this author? Here’s a taster for you to enjoy!

  Some Like it Haunted: Ink

  Ellen Mint

  Excerpt

  Ten minutes to midnight.

  Ten minutes to Halloween.

  Ten minutes to my birthday.

  “Ah, shit!” I fumbled, my phone slipping to the unfinished staircase. Luckily it bounced, and the three zombie sours sloshing through my system didn’t stop me from catching it.

  “Careful, Layla!” my fellow nursing student Fariah called.

  Dana stuck her head out of the back window and shouted for the entire block to hear, “Sorry your gift’s late. But I swear, you’ll love it when it arrives. Ten or twelve times a day until the batteries run dry.”

  I waved a hand at the girls, which was supposed to insist I didn’t mind the lack of a gift, but that shot of whiskey rebounded and I slapped the mailboxes instead. “Sonnofa…!” The second curse of the night snapped to growling as I inspected the rising red welt thanks to my drunken buffoonery. Luckily, Fariah—our eternal DD—was already slipping off to shuttle the rest of the group home.

  If they’d seen me, they’d have pulled out our anatomy books and come up with a dozen different treatments for ‘drunk girl punches a wall’. Not that I was any better, my soggy brain wondering if I had a wrap back in the apartment while I stumbled up the stairs.

  Slapping a wall, nearly breaking a phone and making a colossal fool of myself in front of the hot bartender would probably dim most people’s birthdays. But honestly, compared to past ones, this year’s was almost palatable. It helped that I’d stopped celebrating on the thirty-first when I was six. Last thing anyone wanted was to go to a kid’s birthday party when they could be trick-or-treating.