The Bookseller's Boyfriend (Copper Point: Main Street Book 1)

by Heidi Cullinan

  He loved the way every glance, every touch, every exchange felt different now. Before, he’d constantly dialed himself back in deference to Jacob’s wall, but now that he was on the other side, he didn’t attack the way he knew Jacob both longed for and feared. Now that he could swoop the man up anytime he wanted, he was going to milk this courtship—a real one this time—for all he could.

  The near-kiss behind the checkout counter, thrilling as it had been, wasn’t his best move. He kept a clear berth from Jacob after that as they worked together until Gina came for her afternoon shift. When Jacob hinted Rasul should maybe go write, he instead declared he was going home to get a shower before class. There was zero chance of him making any words today.

  His class picked up on his good mood right away, though. They teased him, and he let them, derailing their lessons a bit to tell stories from book tour days and answering questions about the publishing process. He redirected to the other published authors in the room, especially Meg, who brought some much-needed levity to their dreams.

  “But seriously, what good thing happened to you?” Ben asked, grinning as if he already knew.

  “Let’s just say I’m enjoying my relationship and leave it at that,” Rasul replied.

  When he got home, he opened his laptop and did a quick check through social media, though he didn’t post—couldn’t, obviously, on Instagram. Two days ago he had posted on Twitter, apologizing for disappearing without notice and saying that he was on hiatus to finish his novel, and now his notifications overflowed with people encouraging him. There were also several Adinastans asking why he’d abandoned her, but there were even more people asking about his new relationship, wondering if that had worked out.

  There was also a DM from Adina on Twitter.

  Hey baby. Glad work’s going well for you. Wish I could say the same, but you know. Still think about you a lot. We make a great team. I mean, I know that relationship you say you’re in right now is fake.

  His gut churning, he immediately called Elizabeth, even though it was late.

  “This is unexpected,” she said by way of greeting. “What’s up?”

  When he read her the message from Adina, she sobered.

  “What does she mean, she knows your relationship is fake?”

  “I don’t know,” Rasul replied, and he meant it. “It’s not fake.” Not anymore, anyway.

  “That woman makes me nervous. Screenshot that and send it to me, then block her.”

  Rasul’s gut twisted. “Seriously? Block her?”

  She sighed. “Well, maybe not, you’re right. Jesus, she’s work. Okay, what about this. Because I’m all about protecting this momentum you have going. Would you allow me to manage your Twitter and Instagram for a while? Let me have the password so I can monitor it for you, including these DMs?”

  God, that felt highly, highly intimate. “Um, there are some risqué DMs in our history.”

  “I assumed. Look, I had straight sex once. It wasn’t great, but it didn’t traumatize me. I promise I won’t judge you. I may scan through it just to see if there’s a pattern or warning sign you’re missing, but I promise I’m doing all this to help you. I want you to finish this book for your own sake as much as mine. And I want you to keep dating this Jacob guy. You’re so much calmer and focused since you started seeing him. Don’t let Adina derail you.”

  In the end he agreed to give her the passwords, so long as she swore not to change them. It made him super nervous, but it also relieved him. If he were to trust anyone with his account, it was Elizabeth.

  After that, he didn’t go online at all, only to do research and check his mail, which he did with less and less frequency, except for his school account. It was weird, but also good. It also left him with even more time to read, but also time to ruminate on how best to move forward with his relationship with Jacob, which despite their mutual admission of feelings had remained in the same place as it had the night they drank scotch together.

  One Wednesday afternoon, instead of going over to Jacob’s to work, he trudged through the cold afternoon drizzle to the store just past Moore Books: Engleton’s Fine Clothing. He had to pass the bookstore on the way, though, and he saw the blond employee in the window arranging things. She ducked away again at the sight of him.

  Seriously, what was with that kid?

  Rasul hadn’t been in the clothing shop before, but he regretted the lapse the second he stepped inside. It was elegant and soothing, full of wood paneling that seemed to be real wood, and carefully arranged displays that made him consider purchasing a breezy button-down even though his current wardrobe was nothing but ragged knit T-shirts and pullovers. They had those too, without the ragged part, of course, and Rasul was browsing the henleys and sweaters when Matt Engleton approached him with a polite, professional smile.

  “Mr. Youssef. What a pleasure. How can we help you today?”

  Rasul raised his eyebrows and was about to make a joke regarding Matt’s formality, since they’d met several times now and Matt had always called him Rasul, but then he spied the elderly balding man peering through the curtained door behind the register, regarding Matt and Rasul with intense interest.

  Twenty bucks said that was Daddy Engleton. Or, honestly, it might be Grandpa.

  Rasul filed away his ribbing and matched Matt’s tone. “It’s getting colder faster than I anticipated, and I realized today I just don’t have winter clothing enough for Copper Point. The perils of living in Los Angeles.”

  “You’ve certainly come to the right place.” He raked Rasul’s body with a professional gaze. “Hmm. I’d say you were a 16 neck, 34 sleeve, 43 chest? And….” He tipped his head to the side. “32 waist, 30 inseam? How close am I?”

  “Frighteningly.”

  Matt winked at him. “Favorite colors?”

  “Whatever looks good.” He couldn’t bring himself to say whatever Jacob would like.

  “I think this burgundy sweater would do nicely, and this oatmeal-colored henley in a waffle pattern. Shall I start a fitting room for you?”

  “Please.”

  Rasul wasn’t exactly a clotheshorse, but he enjoyed the luxurious experience of having Matt patiently wait on him, suggesting colors and styles, dismissing one outfit but offering a replacement. By the time he was done, he had almost three hundred dollars’ worth of new duds, and he wasn’t even sorry.

  “The only thing is, now my junky tennis shoes are going to show up your great clothes,” he remarked ruefully as Matt rang him up.

  Matt didn’t miss a beat. “Paris Shoe Company is next door.” He passed Rasul a card from beside the register. “One of the original Copper Point stores, run by the descendants of the original family.”

  Rasul took the card. “Paris, huh?”

  “Copper Point was originally settled by French traders, including the Blanchetts, no relation to Cate. I believe there was a time some of their shoes came directly from Paris, hence the name. Italy and of course Asia are far more represented now.”

  “I’ll check them out.” Rasul glanced at the curtain behind Matt. It was unmanned, but just in case, he lowered his voice. “Any chance I could take you out for coffee later? You and maybe Gus as well? But not Jacob.”

  Matt regarded him carefully. “If you take us out for coffee, we’re going to get a text from Jacob before we so much as place our order asking what’s going on. Even as off the grid as he is, people will text him to let him know. If your goal is to talk to the two of us in private, I’ll arrange something more subdued.” He glanced at his watch. “Gus will be a bit slammed until six thirty. I’ll see when he can steal some time and let you know, but I’m betting it will be seven. We’ll meet here. Come to the back door and knock.”

  “This feels very Spy vs. Spy.”

  Matt raised his eyebrows. “That’s… an incredibly old reference.”

  “I’m a bit retro.” He gathered up his bags. “Thanks for helping me shop, and thanks for arranging the meeting. I’ll go check
out Paris now.”

  He was just checking out another hundred dollars’ worth of purchases next door when his phone made its discordant clang to let him know he had a text. It was from Matt.

  7 pm, back door of Engleton’s. Don’t drive. Bring snacks. Gus says they should be homemade.

  Shaking his head, he punched back a laborious ok thnks and gathered his haul to take it back to his apartment.

  He still hated his living quarters, but he’d grown accustomed to them as much as he suspected he ever would. Christopher, the math professor, had pointed out the best way to get rid of cooking smells was to infuse the place with his own, and thus Rasul had begun the marathon cooking adventures that had occupied his first month, sometimes in the middle of the night. His favorite thing to make right now was kimchee, because the smell lingered so long after. Indian food was another usual for the same reason, and of course Syrian. He cooked some of his grandmother’s greatest hits, kawaj and tabbouleh and, one Sunday when he was particularly lonesome and frustrated, mujaddara. He’d fed quite a bit of the leftovers to Jacob, who he’d learned would eat just about any food but resisted cooking any of it. Now that he was courting the man in earnest, he planned a far more aggressive culinary assault.

  Right now, though, he needed a better lay of the land.

  At six thirty he got dressed in one of the new outfits and his new pair of shoes, packed up his latest culinary adventure, and set out for Engleton’s. It was raining again, this time with a little more emphasis, but he still walked, huddling under an umbrella as he made his way down the street, passing the now familiar shops and somewhat familiar people. He was still a minor celebrity in town, but people seemed to have gotten used to him, and only regarded him with mild curiosity, as if at any moment he might do a trick and entertain them. When he got closer to the community center and library, there were more children, and several of them waved at him. He recognized a few from the bookshop, some of them having been patrons that very morning.

  He wondered if he could do something at the library, something low-key. The librarian had approached him the first week he was in town, but he hadn’t wanted to draw more attention to himself then. Maybe he could lead a book club? Though if he did that, he should probably do it at the bookstore. Or should he? He’d ask Jacob.

  His musings took him all the way to the clothing store, and as directed, he went around the back, shaking out his umbrella as he stood under the awning.

  Gus answered his knock, his gaze falling immediately to the bag in his hand. “So you did bring snacks. And you made them?”

  Rasul passed him the bag. “I had some time, yeah, so I made maneesh and baba ganoush.”

  Gus made appreciative noises as he stuck his head deeper into the paper sack. “Mmm. You could give up the author gig and open a Middle Eastern restaurant. We’d make sure it was a success.”

  He followed Gus into a small hallway leading into a storeroom full of hanging clothing and unopened boxes. “Funny, I never cooked much before I came here. I was always on the go. I’m into it, though, especially trying to recreate my grandmother’s recipes.”

  “Well, we fully support you and volunteer as taste testers.”

  Matt was already seated at a table in the middle of the storeroom, pouring out coffee from a carafe. “Come on in.” He nodded at a Keurig in the corner. “That’s my dad’s. Gus won’t let me touch it and brought us coffee from his shop.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Rasul set his offerings on the table and took a cup from Matt.

  “I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask this,” Gus said as he took a seat, “but I’ve never figured out a good way to do it, so I apologize if I mangle it. I know your family has been in the States for some time, but… do you have family still in Syria? Are they in any trouble? Ever since you came, I hear reports from there on the news and feel a bit more ill than usual.”

  It had been a while since Rasul had been asked this, though he got it often in Copper Point. He took a sip of the coffee. “Some distant relations. We went there a few times when I was in high school. My dad did what he could to get people out, but with the immigration restrictions….” He shrugged against the hollow pit in his stomach. “We’ve lost contact with most of them. A few made it to Turkey, but they’re in camps. Or, they were. It’s been a while since I’ve heard anything.”

  Gus grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

  Rasul packed his complicated feelings about his distant family and his father’s homeland away and rested his hands on the table. “So. I wanted to pick your brains about the best way to court Jacob, for real.” When they shared a heavy glance and raised their eyebrows, Rasul added, “I was still at his place when he came home the night he got drunk with you. He… got chatty. We both did, to be honest.”

  Matt shook his head as he pulled the plastic wrap off the baba ganoush. “I knew we should have walked him all the way up.”

  Rasul cracked open the container holding the maneesh and pushed it toward Matt and Gus. “But now I know how he really feels, and I think he’s open to us getting closer, if I’m mindful of how I go. I wanted to know if there was anything I should be careful of, or bear in mind, and if you guys had any information that would help me out.”

  Gus and Matt didn’t say anything at first, only dragged their maneesh through the baba ganoush and regarded one another solemnly while they chewed.

  “This was a tactical error,” Gus said at last, “to ask him to bring food when we knew we’d have to sit in judgment.”

  “But can anyone who brings food like this be all bad, truly?” Matt licked some errant baba ganoush off his fingers and leaned back in his chair. “Here’s the thing. We like you, more than we expected. But Jacob is….” He rubbed his cheek. “Not fragile, exactly, but he’s self-protective for a reason. When he was younger, he was a lot more adventurous. If you’d have come here when he was in high school, he’d have pursued you, or even if you’d met while he was in college.”

  It was difficult to picture. “Did his parents’ deaths affect him that much?”

  “They tipped him over the edge,” Matt said. He consulted Gus with a glance again, Gus shrugged, and Matt dove in. “His job already wasn’t going well, and he’d had a few overly complicated romantic relationships. His parents were worried about him and kept trying to get him to come home because they worried he was dangerously depressed, which I think he was. They wanted him to talk to someone and look into medication. I know this because they were friends with my family. Jacob’s a little older than me, but we hung out even when we were younger. I idolized him in middle school and would hang on him when he would come back from college. But his parents were always talking about him, and they worried out loud constantly when they came over to the store while he was in Chicago. They were our accountants. Anyway, they were going to drive to Chicago and address things in person, but the snowstorm first delayed them, then took their lives.”

  Gus sighed. “I didn’t meet him before, since I’ve only lived here from college on, but everything people told me confirms this. I didn’t know him while I was in undergrad, not until I started making a project of the coffee shop I’d eventually own. When I first met him, he was a shell of a human. I tried to lure him into the shop a lot and engage him, but it was hard. I think it’s mostly that he lost so much that he treasured all at once, at the same time he was questioning his occupation and plan for the future. Obviously he’s a lot better now, but….” Gus looked helplessly at Matt, who shrugged. Gus grimaced and continued. “It’s a little complicated that you’re here. You have no idea how weird it is for him that his favorite author exists in Copper Point at all, let alone that said author is trying to date him. On the one hand, we’re excited for him and for you. On the other, we’re afraid he’s going to break again.”

  Matt cut Rasul off as he started to speak. “Look, I know what you’re going to say. You’re thinking, so he had an author crush on me, maybe even a celebrity crush. But now we’ve gotten to kn
ow one another, so it’s fine. Right?” When Rasul nodded, Matt snorted. “Wrong. That man carried your books around like they were Bibles and he was the head priest. Your stories were the reason he crawled out of the pit, but there was a long time he was pretty unsteady even with that. It was like he hinged his whole sanity around that point. Over the years he’s evened out, and he looks back at those first days with embarrassment, but they still happened.”

  “I think he worries his feelings for you aren’t real, that it’s impossible for him to untangle the you in his head from the you in front of him,” Gus said. “He got upset, not excited, when he found out you were coming. I think he was fully cognizant both that he had kind of a weird place for you in his psyche but also that it was super important to him.”

  “Granted,” Matt added, “he’s come around since getting to know you. He does genuinely like you.”

  None of this was exactly news to Rasul, but he’d never had it all laid out like this before. He sat back in his chair and contemplated the tabletop. “So what you’re saying is that I need to… what? Convince him this is real? That I’m not a figment of his imagination?”

  Gus shook his head. “No. He gets that. We’re not saying he’s still where he was right after his parents died or before he opened the bookstore.”

  “But you do, basically, take him back to where he was at that time, just by existing,” Matt finished. “Not completely. But enough that he’s at a kind of war with himself. Personally, I think it’s good for him. He’s been walled off too much for too long. And in a way, only you could have broken him out of his shell for good.”

  “Don’t toy with him, though,” Gus added. “We’re not saying you have to relocate to Copper Point, but don’t view this as a fling. If you do, it’d be better to stick to friendship, or your fake dating or whatever.”