Two Hearts Alone

by Harper Bliss

  “Don’t we all?” God, this family. I should ask Brooklyn to introduce me to Jaden, just to see what he’s like.

  “Yeah,” she says wistfully. “All I’m asking is that you’re… kind to her.” Did Sherry’s voice just break a little.

  “Of course.” I’m not sure what gave her the impression that I would ever be anything else.

  The door of the store opens and that seems to snap Sherry out of whatever she was thinking of saying to me next. “I’ll let you get on with things. I’ll come by later to buy my Valentine’s Day gift.”

  I wave Sherry off and greet the woman who just walked in. She goes straight to the Kids’ Books section, which has proven to be the most popular so far. There must be a lot of parents of young children in Donovan Grove.

  As I walk over to her to see if she needs any help, I ponder what Sherry just revealed to me about Anna. I hadn’t expected her to give me what was basically a warning. Either way, both mother and daughter are quite the characters.

  17

  Anna

  At least now I can walk my usual route along Main Street and past Bookends again, but it takes me until the next Thursday to gather the courage to go inside the store. It’s closed on Mondays, and on Tuesday and Wednesday, when I walked past, there were people inside, and I wasn’t in much of a people mood. I also didn’t know what to say to Zoe. But today, I’m in actual need of a book. I just finished the one I was reading last night and I won’t be able to go to sleep if I don’t have another one ready. Obviously, I have quite a few books at home that I haven’t read yet, but this is what I’ve told myself so that I can make it over the Bookends threshold.

  Something in my belly does a funny spasm as I open the door. I truly don’t know why I’m so nervous. Or yes, I do. I like Zoe and whereas for most people that would make them more inclined to seek out her company, in my case, it’s the opposite, because the many voices of anxiety in my head have already laid out to me in great detail how this is going to play out—not well.

  But, I told myself—and those relentless voices—maybe we can be friends.

  “Hi.” Thankfully Zoe doesn’t greet me with a kiss on the cheek, although I had mentally prepared myself for the possibility. “Lovely to see you,” she says.

  “I’m looking for some litfic.” I actually know which book I want to buy, if she has it in stock, but I’m curious what she might recommend.

  “No lesfic?” Zoe asks.

  “Do you have any?”

  “No,” she says dryly, and does something with her face that really appeals to me. She’s trying to be serious while all she really wants to do is smile.

  “Do you have any recommendations?”

  “I do, but let me say hello to this handsome guy first.” She walks from behind the counter and crouches down to pet Hemingway elaborately. If she keeps this up, I’ll become jealous of my dog. But no, that’s not what I want. Friends. It’s good to have friends. To make a new one once in a while. It will only add points to my normality score—to be able to make friends with the new woman in town.

  Next thing I know, she’s standing beside me. Her soft-pink sweater clings to her skin in a—in my opinion—very inappropriate way.

  “Hi,” she says again, as though she has only just realized I walked into her store.

  “Hemingway really likes you too,” I say. He likes everyone, I think, unlike me.

  Zoe grins at me, then cocks her head. “Are you free for lunch?”

  “Sorry? What?” She keeps throwing these curveballs at me. And it’s only eleven thirty.

  “I’m closing in half an hour. Would you like to stay for lunch? Nothing fancy. Just a quick bite upstairs.”

  I want to say yes and I want to say no. This never-ending indecisiveness inside my brain is what trips me up the most. I take a breath. This is Zoe, whom I have just identified as a possible new friend. Moreover, Zoe needs friends in Donovan Grove, not that she’ll get far with me as a starting point—I doubt she’ll want to go to Lenny’s with Sean and Jamie on a Friday night.

  “Depends,” I say, surprising myself. “Which book you recommend. It will tell me a lot about your preferences and thus your personality.”

  She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. “You’re putting my bookseller skills to the test?”

  “I feel like I should. Have your personal book recommendation skills been tested at all?”

  “A little.” She chuckles and the sound of her soft laughter soothes me in a way I hadn’t expected. I want to hear that chuckle again as soon as possible. “I could do with the practice, though. But, I have to disappoint you, Anna, my stock’s a bit low on smut.” She puts a hand on her side.

  “Cheap shot.” I’m actually quite curious to see Zoe’s apartment, although I don’t expect to find any steamy lesbian fiction lying around, what with her sharing the house with a teenager.

  “Oh, come on.” She softly elbows me in the bicep. I hardly feel it because I’m still wrapped in my thick winter coat, but still.

  “Do you need time to prepare your recommendation?” I zip open my jacket because I’m starting to get really hot.

  “Not at all. The new Xandra Melani came out on Tuesday and I’ve been waiting to sell you a copy.”

  I can’t suppress a smile. “That’s actually the book I came to buy. I’ve been looking forward to it for a long time. Have you read it?”

  “Halfway through.”

  “Does it live up to your expectations?”

  “I wouldn’t be recommending it if I thought it was bad, but everyone is different. Still, I think you’ll enjoy it.”

  “Sold.”

  “Did I pass the test?”

  “You did, but it was quite easy. Harder tests will follow. But for today, I’ll give you a break.”

  “Well, then, if you would be so kind as to browse the Valentine’s Day merchandise until the clock hits twelve.” Zoe beams me a wide smile—one that I know will get me into trouble with my intentions of trying to be her friend.

  “I won’t do that, but I can pack it all in a box for you so you can just pretend the whole travesty doesn’t exist.”

  “How about I ring up your book and you browse the rest of the store. Or if you want, you can go upstairs already.”

  “Really?” I’m amazed she would let someone into her home like that, unsupervised. “What about Hemingway?”

  “Both you and Hemingway are very welcome.” Zoe has a way of saying things that adds extra meaning to the message. She makes it impossible for me to misinterpret her invitation—and I’m the queen of misinterpretation. What I realize, as I stand here before her, is that being around her just makes me feel really good—almost normal, even.

  “I’ll give his paws a thorough clean, of course.”

  “Thanks.” Zoe heads behind the counter. I see how she takes a copy of the book she recommended from a shelf behind the counter, as though she kept one back for me especially—maybe she did.

  “I’ll wait for you,” I say, and head to the Young Adult section. Sean got an email from a YA author this morning who is looking to rebrand a trilogy. “I have some research to do.”

  “Bookends should get a percentage for all the inspiration it provides you,” Zoe says.

  “But instead, you’re offering me lunch.” It’s hard to focus on book covers when it’s just me and Zoe in the store.

  “I have something to discuss with you,” Zoe says.

  Now my ability to focus on anything else but Zoe has completely deserted me. “What’s that?”

  “Have you spoken to your mother recently?”

  “Yes. Just this morning, actually.” I did notice that Mom sounded a bit less buoyant than usual, but I figured that even the hurricane that is my mother has slower days.

  “Did she happen to mention that I came out to her? Or more accurately, that she asked me if I was a lesbian?”

  “What?” I put the book I’m holding back on the shelf and walk over to Zoe. “Oh God, I�
�m sorry. She can be so obnoxiously direct.”

  “It’s fine. It’s not a secret. And she only asked because I told her I’d been to your house.”

  I’m trying to figure out why my mother didn’t call me the minute she learned that Zoe is gay—and that she’d been at my house. Both facts must have delighted her beyond reason.

  “Ah,” is all I can think of to say. “I do hope she didn’t ask anything else inappropriate.”

  Zoe purses her lips, but doesn’t say anything. But I know my mother and I know that once she gets going in a conversation, she doesn’t know when to stop. It’s highly unlikely that asking Zoe if she’s a lesbian is the only untoward thing she said.

  “She’s… very concerned for you. It was quite touching, actually.”

  For crying out loud. As if I need my mother expressing her concern for me—her very grown-up daughter—all over town. “She means well, but it’s kind of infuriating. I hope she didn’t overstep any boundaries. She does that. A lot.”

  “It’s really fine, Anna. I just wanted you to know. And I was curious if she’d said anything to you about it.”

  “She might be keeping so quiet because she’s planning our imminent, inevitable wedding already,” I joke.

  Zoe now gives a loud cackle of a laugh. It’s a true delight to see her face light up like that. “She’s a piece of work.”

  “You have no idea.” I shake my head as I think of my mom, who I’m a hundred percent certain means well. For that reason, I can easily forgive her for her lack of boundaries, which is good, because, in my world, forgiveness is a million times easier than confrontation.

  18

  Zoe

  “You should do ‘blind dates with a book’,” Anna says, holding a spoonful of soup in front of her face. “I’ve seen it on Instagram. The book is completely wrapped so you don’t know which one it is, and it only comes with a very short, but intriguing description. If you put that in the window display, instead of those heart-shaped candles, people won’t be able to stop themselves from coming in.”

  There’s a lot to unpack in what she has just said. Anna’s on Instagram? I should look her up. But I start with, “Those heart-shaped candles have been my best-selling item since the store opened.”

  Anna just groans. Most of all, she amuses me. I don’t think she realizes that she’s really fun to be around. I’m also quite fond of teasing her, which is rather easy.

  “You have an Instagram account?”

  “For business. It only shows the covers I make. As adorable as my dog is, I’m not one of those people who post pictures of their pet every day. Or their child. Or how picture-perfect their life is.”

  Oops, sounds like I hit another nerve.

  “Have you heard of the grump lit genre?” I ask.

  “Yes. I love it,” she says so matter-of-factly, that I burst out laughing.

  “Are you sure you’re not secretly writing some under a pen name?”

  “Oh, absolutely certain, because female writers aren’t allowed to create such grumpy characters.”

  “You could use a male pen name.”

  She shakes her head. “I’m not a writer. I prefer to express myself visually.”

  I’m reminded of what Sherry said about Anna only painting people or things she really likes.

  She spoons some more soup into her mouth and a drop lands on her sweater. When she notices, her cheeks pink up, making her look utterly adorable.

  “This is why you’ll never see me in expensive clothes,” she mumbles.

  “Really? That’s the reason?”

  She just shrugs and when she fills her spoon now, she takes extra care when she brings it to her mouth.

  “I really like your blind-date-with-a-book idea. I might try it out this afternoon.”

  “Then I’ll have to stop by tomorrow and try to guess which book’s inside.”

  Something in me lights up at the prospect of her coming into the store again tomorrow—or even just walking by the window. Even though I’m getting very mixed signals from Anna, I can’t help but think she quite likes the idea of seeing me again tomorrow as well.

  “Are you on Instagram?” she asks.

  I nod. “Just to see what Brooklyn’s up to, mostly.”

  “She hasn’t blocked you?”

  “She’s not allowed to. I’m her mother.”

  “Jamie’s always complaining that Jaden blocks him on social media. These teenagers don’t want their parents knowing what they’re up to all the time.”

  “Then they shouldn’t post it on Instagram.”

  “Jaden hasn’t blocked his Aunt Anna, though. Maybe because he knows I won’t tell Jamie.”

  “You don’t tell your brother what his son is up to when he asks you?”

  “Of course not. It’s not my job to tell him that.”

  When she puts it like that, it sounds really convincing. “Do you have a good relationship with your nephew? Because Brooklyn sure seems to like him.”

  “He’s a good kid. A bit of a geek. I’m surprised your hip city girl of a daughter likes to hang out with him so much.”

  “Why?” Perhaps it also surprises Anna how much I like hanging out with her.

  “I don’t know. The balance seems somehow off. Don’t get me wrong. I think it’s great, for both of them. That Brooklyn has made a good friend so quickly, and that Jaden is coming out of his shell a bit more.”

  “I’m thinking of having him over for dinner, just to get to know him a bit.”

  “Probably a good idea.”

  “Would you… like to join us?”

  “Me?” It amazes me how Anna can sometimes have no clue of where a conversation is going. “Why?”

  “Because he’s your nephew and I don’t think I’m quite ready to invite his parents yet.” And it would be a good opportunity for you to get to know the most important person in my life, I catch myself thinking.

  “Okay. Sure,” Anna says curtly.

  “I’ll wait a little while, though. See if they still like each other in a few weeks.”

  “And if we still like each other in a few weeks,” Anna says.

  I can immediately tell she hadn’t intended on saying that at all. She drops her spoon and looks away.

  “Why wouldn’t we?” I’m not one to let a comment like that slide.

  “Many reasons.” She sounds very determined.

  “It’s not the first time you’ve put yourself down like that. Why do you insist on doing that?”

  “Because I’m… more of an acquired taste.”

  “I don’t think you are at all. In fact, I think you see yourself very different than how you actually come across.”

  “You haven’t known me for very long yet.”

  “But I’d like to.” I lock my gaze on her even though I can tell it makes her very uncomfortable.

  “You really…” she begins to say, then pushes her chair back.

  “Please, don’t do that. Don’t run away again.”

  She nods and then just sits there with her chair pushed away from the table.

  “Why do you do that? We’re just having lunch. We were having a perfectly nice conversation. What did I say that made you suddenly feel so threatened you wanted to escape?”

  “Zoe, I… it’s not you. It’s—”

  “You could have fooled me, Anna.”

  “I’m not very good at expressing what I feel. Not in words. I mean, you must have guessed that I quite like you, but I don’t really know how to deal with that. I just want to avoid disappointment all around. For both of us.”

  “So you keep saying, but what does that mean?”

  “That’s not a conversation I can have right now.” Are her eyes getting misty? What on earth did I say to provoke tears in Anna?

  “When do you think you could have it?”

  “I don’t know. When I’ve prepared for it, maybe.”

  “Okay. How much time do you need to prepare?”

  “You’re bein
g very forward.” Anna stares at me with a defiance I haven’t seen in her before.

  “Is that a problem?”

  “I don’t know yet.” She pulls her chair closer to the table again.

  “There’s so much either one of us doesn’t know yet, Anna.”

  “I know,” she says, and smiles. “Are you free tonight?”

  My social calendar hasn’t exactly filled up yet—I should really make some more effort.

  “Ideally, I’d have you over tomorrow, but I always go to Lenny’s with Sean and Jamie on Fridays after work, so.”

  “Tonight’s fine.”

  “All right. I’d better go and prepare then.” As she gets up, so does Hemingway.

  19

  Anna

  By the time Zoe arrives, I have a good idea of what I want to say to her, but no clue, as always, where to find the words. The very prospect of having sentence after sentence of what I’m trying to articulate coming out all garbled and not making sense has prompted me to reach for my phone multiple times and call Bookends to cancel tonight.

  Something stopped me, however. The thought of Zoe in my house again, I presume. It can really only be that. When she rings the bell and stands in my doorway in all her glory—all dolled up and overdressed again—I know for certain that, despite my nerves, and despite only seeing her a few hours ago, I’ve been dying to feast my eyes on her again.

  We settle in the living room and I see how her gaze is drawn to a small painting of the shelf against the opposite wall that I’ve framed and put on said shelf.

  “Is that the same…”

  “It is. I call it ‘shelf within shelf’.” It sounds so ridiculous when I say it out loud. I don’t think I ever have. Apart from my family, I haven’t had many people over since Cynthia and I broke up.

  “There’s something about it. I mean, it looks exactly the same. What happens when you change something in the actual shelf?”