Austen Box Set

by Hart, Staci

  I was resolved to hold out for something more. I didn’t even really know what that meant and was—probably naively—banking on the hope that I’d know it when I saw it or that it’d hit me like a Mack truck—something undeniable, unavoidable, and potentially fatal.

  Kinda like the feeling I’d gotten when I met Annie. Who I couldn’t date. At least not for a minimum of five years, which would put her in the vicinity of a reasonable age.

  I found myself frowning as I hopped the curb in front of Wasted Words and stopped at the door, propping my longboard against the building as I dug my keys out of my pocket and unlocked it.

  The closed bookstore was weirdly still, like an alter ego of its open counterpart, especially compared to the nights when the place was jam-packed with people and chatter and laughter. I headed to the bar just as Cam came out from the back.

  She was a tiny little thing with dark hair and big glasses, wearing a T-shirt illustrated with Phoenix from X-Men, jeans, a worn-out pair of Chucks, and a smile.

  “Morning, Gregory.”

  “Morning, Cameron.”

  She hopped up onto a barstool as I packed my gear in the cubbies under the bar. “Rose told me about your unauthorized new hire,” she joked with one dark eyebrow arched. “What’s up with that?”

  I shrugged and turned to the register computer to clock in, avoiding her eyes. “You guys were busy.”

  “I mean, you could have at least asked Rose.”

  “She would have said no.”

  Cam bobbled her head. “Maybe, maybe not. So, are you gonna tell me the story? This is the first time you’ve ever expressed interest in new hires who aren’t working the bar.” She leaned in, watching me like a chess board.

  I sighed and rested my palms on the counter in front of her, hoping I had my face in check. Because if Cam caught a whiff of my interest in Annie, I’d be doomed.

  “I dunno, Cam. Just a gut feeling, I guess. She seemed like she needed a job, and she got a thousand times too excited about your coaster quotes. I got the feeling she would fit in great. I figured you and Rose would be all right with it. I mean, it is okay, isn’t it?”

  She smiled, but she was still watching me a little too closely for comfort. “You like her.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Not this again. We’ve agreed you aren’t allowed to set me up anymore.”

  “Oh, I don’t think I’ll need to do much setting up at all. That’s why you hired her, isn’t it?” she asked, eager as a Jack Russell terrier.

  “No. I told you why, and I meant it. Honestly, wait until you meet her. You’ll get it.”

  Her eyes darted to the door, and her smile widened. “Well, speak of the devil.”

  I turned as Cam hopped off her stool. Annie stood outside the glass doors, looking unsure of herself, bottom lip pinned between her teeth as she knocked, and by the look on her face, it wasn’t the first time. We hadn’t heard her over The Ramones playing over the speakers.

  She smiled when she saw Cam, her worry gone, replaced with sunshiny happiness.

  I found myself smiling, my heartbeat speeding up just enough to notice.

  In other words, I was fucked, and in the moment, I didn’t even have the good sense to realize it.

  They were chatting as they approached and walked past the bar. Cam gave me an I-told-you-so look, and Annie raised one pink mittened hand in a wave.

  She barely spared me a glance.

  I tried not to consider the horrifying possibility that I might be invisible to her.

  While I didn’t consider it, I kept myself busy setting up the bar, carting ice from the back and rubber mats from dish while Cam showed Annie around.

  A few minutes later, Ruby flagged me from the sidewalk outside, and I trotted around the bar to let her in, her fire-engine red bob peeking out from her black beanie and her dark eyes smiling.

  “Heya, Greg-o.”

  “Hey, Ruby. I think you’re training a new hire today.” I nodded over to Cam and Annie behind the register counter.

  “Aw, she’s adorable,” Ruby cooed. “So, does this mean I’m finally getting promoted to cocktail?”

  I winked at her. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Yes!” she whisper-hissed and fist-pumped. “Mama needs a new leather jacket.”

  We split up—Ruby for the back, me for the bar—but I realized I had finished setting up. So, I grabbed my laptop, poured myself a cup of coffee, and slipped into a booth to work on the bar schedule.

  It really wasn’t a bad idea to move Ruby up to cocktail; she could work in both the store and the bar for a while until she got her footing, and it would free up hours for Annie. Done and done. And as I looked over the schedule, it’d be easy to double Ruby in.

  Harrison showed up to take over the bar just as it was time to open the doors. His smile was crooked, and his blond hair looked like he’d both just rolled out of bed and messed with it in the mirror for half an hour.

  I headed to the liquor cage in the back to work on inventory—for real this time—setting up my phone to play music. The first half of my shift was spent locked up with cases of beers and shelves of rum and tequila. The only interruption was Cam, who popped in to tell me that I was right—Annie would fit in great—and that she knew I liked Annie.

  She skipped away with the know-it-all pride of a nosy kid sister before I could argue. Not like it would have done any good. Once Cam saw an opportunity for hooking somebody up, she wouldn’t quit. It was part of her charm just as much as it was my personal curse.

  Around lunchtime, I emerged from the fluorescent cave to gather up lunch orders for delivery. But what I found at the bar had me slamming on my brakes so hard, my sneakers almost squealed.

  Harrison was leaning on the bar with a sideways smile on his face, and his eyes were locked on his prey, just like I’d seen him do a thousand times.

  Except this time, it was Annie.

  She was laughing at something he’d said, but her body language told me she didn’t realize he was interested in her, which was crazy to me. I could see it from across the room.

  I stormed over, schooling my face as I approached.

  They looked over, and Harrison’s expression told me I’d done a piss-poor job.

  I ignored him. “Hey, guys. I’m ordering sandwiches from Jonesie’s. You hungry?”

  “Starved,” Harrison said. “Get me a Philly, extra onions.”

  I smiled as I made a note in my phone, hoping it would give him dumpster breath. “How about you, Annie?”

  Her face quirked in thought. “Hmm. I’ve never been there before.”

  “Annie just moved here,” Harrison offered enthusiastically.

  “I heard,” I said flatly, turning back to Annie. “It’s pretty standard in the way of sandwich shops. But their Monte Cristo is the stuff dreams are made of.”

  Her eyes lit up. “I’ve always wanted to try one of those.”

  “You’ve never had a Monte Cristo?” I shook my head. “Man, you’re missing out.”

  “You know what it is? The idea of putting jelly on meat. I just couldn’t ever bring myself to do it. It’s like mixing peanut butter and banana or bacon and syrup. Something about mixing sweet and salty frays the fabric of my universe.”

  I laughed. “I’ll tell you what. How about I order something else? And if you don’t like the Monte, we’ll switch.”

  “Deal. Meatball or Reuben?” She asked the question as if the answer would determine my future.

  I didn’t even hesitate. “Either. You just named my second and third favorites.”

  Her smile said I’d answered correctly. “Meatball it is, extra cheese.”

  Ruby called her name, and she turned.

  “Ask Ruby what she wants, would you?” I called after.

  “You’ve got it,” she answered over her shoulder.

  I watched her for a second too long, turning to find Harrison still gazing after her.

  “A pretty little thing like that, mowing down
a sloppy meatball sub with extra cheese? Fucking dream girl.”

  My jaw flexed. “She’s eighteen.”

  The shock and disappointment on his face made him look like he’d just dropped his lollipop. “Aw, man. That sucks.” He dragged the last word out, and I found I could relate.

  Upside: he’d been effectively scared off.

  When our sandwiches walked through the door an hour later, Harrison and I were too busy for both of us to take a break, so we agreed I’d eat first and then take over for him. I waved Annie over, meeting her at a booth just behind where I’d interviewed her.

  “I’m starving,” she said as she slid in.

  When her eyes met mine, they were alight, bright and green as Emerald City, her pupil ringed with a brilliant burst of gold like sun rays.

  “Well, don’t let me keep you waiting,” I said, turning my gaze to my hands so I wouldn’t get lost in fascination. I handed her sandwich over and took a seat across from her.

  Annie unwrapped it with enthusiasm, her tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip and eyes bugging when she saw the massive deep-fried sandwich covered in powdered sugar.

  “Oh my God, that looks incredible,” she said, reaching for her bag with her eyes still on the sandwich.

  I angled closer and lowered my voice. “Wait until you taste it.”

  Her eyes met mine for a split second of amusement before shifting to her hands, which held a pink Polaroid camera. She turned the sandwich forty-five degrees and took a picture, the flash blinding. A little undeveloped photo slowly ejected from the slot in the top.

  I watched her, smirking.

  When she met my eyes again, she looked a little sheepish. “Sorry, I know it’s weird. My dad gave me this old camera when I was little, and I was obsessed with taking pictures of everything. And it just kinda…stuck. I have about a million tiny photo albums; I especially like to document my firsts.”

  “I like it. I feel like I forget everything. Here,” I said, extending my hand. “Let me take one of you eating it.”

  She brightened, handing it over before turning back to her sandwich. She picked up the gigantic thing and turned it in her hands, opening her mouth but closing it again with a discouraged look on her face. “How in the world am I supposed to eat this?” she asked.

  “One bite at a time.” I held up the camera.

  She laughed before taking a deep breath, opening her mouth comically wide. And by God, she took the best bite she could, which was something to be proud of. I snapped just as she got it in her mouth, and when she set it down, a little half-moon was missing from the sandwich. Her mouth bulged, and powdered sugar dusted the tip of her nose and chin, but she didn’t seem to notice or care, not even when I snapped another photo.

  Her lids fluttered closed. “Oh my God,” she whispered reverently around the bite. “How have I lived my whole life without this?”

  A chuckle rumbled through me. “I honestly don’t know.”

  “Mmm.” She swallowed and took another magnificent bite. “Mmm,” she hummed again with enthusiasm. “Dish ish sho good.”

  “You’ve got a little something right here.” I wiggled my finger at my nose.

  Annie set her sandwich down and picked up a napkin, swiping at her nose. “Did I get it?”

  “Almost. Here.” I grabbed my own napkin, and with delicate care that sprang from somewhere deep in my chest, I brushed it against the tip of her nose, then her chin. “There you go.”

  She laughed. “This sandwich might be too big for my face.”

  I unwrapped my sub, too amused to be appropriate or healthy.

  “I have a confession to make. I’m totally not supposed to eat any of this. I’m destined for a life of chicken and broccoli, but I sneak every chance I get. Don’t tell my mom.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  “I have this thing about trying things I’ve never done before,” she said. “Back home was…I don’t know. Safe and quiet and small. My world was small, but now I’m here, and here is just so big. I want to take advantage of that, you know?”

  “I do,” was all I said before I picked up half of mine and took a bite, echoing her moan with my much deeper one. “Goddamn, that’s good.”

  “Wanna split?” she asked hopefully.

  “Absolutely.”

  She dropped her half on the paper and dusted off her hands, swapping our halves. “It’s not as weird as I thought. The sweet and salty. Like, it still freaks me out if I think about it, so I’m just not gonna think about it.”

  “Does it make your world feel a little edgier? Jelly on meat. Next stop, street drugs.”

  That earned me a laugh that made me feel far too proud of myself.

  “I wonder why they call it a Monte Cristo,” she said, looking at the layers of ham and Gruyére and jam exposed by her bite.

  “Because it tastes like revenge.”

  She let out a single Ha! “Sweet, sweet revenge. And to answer your question, yes, I really do feel like a bonafide risk-taker. Not that they didn’t have Monte Cristos in Boerne.”

  My brow quirked. “Bernie? Like…Bernie Sanders?” It was the only Bernie I could think of on the fly.

  “No, B-o-e-r-n-e. It’s named after a German poet. Six square miles of Texas Hill Country just outside San Antonio, population eleven thousand.”

  I blinked at her. “I think there are eleven thousand people within ten blocks of here.”

  “I know.” She smiled and took another bite that would have been rude if she wasn’t so goddamn cute.

  “I can’t even imagine living somewhere so small. You’ve gotta feel claustrophobic here with all these people. Do you miss it?”

  Her face fell just a touch as she swallowed. “Not really. I feel like maybe I should, or maybe it’s just too soon to miss it. I’ve only been here a week after all.”

  “Why’d you move to New York?” I asked innocently, but judging by her reaction, it wasn’t a question that had an easy answer.

  She stilled, almost shrinking before my eyes as she resituated her sandwich, eyes on her hands. “My father died.”

  I lowered my sandwich, stunned. “I’m sorry,” I said softly, knowing intimately how poorly those words explained the core of my feelings while conversely encompassing everything I could possibly say or feel.

  Annie tried to smile and almost succeeded. “He wasn’t even sick. That’s the hardest part, I think. If he’d been sick or old, if we’d had any idea it was coming, it might have been easier. I keep telling myself that at least.” She took a breath. “It was a car accident. Mama survived, but she lost use of her legs.”

  “Jesus,” I whispered under my breath, my mouth dry as bone.

  “My uncle—her brother—lives here and offered to help us out while we try to…I don’t know. Figure out how to go on, I guess.”

  “But it doesn’t feel like there’s a way to move on, not really. Does it?”

  She shook her head. “Most of the time, it feels like wearing a plastic mask over the truth my feelings. Or wrong, like I shouldn’t even consider my own happiness or try to move on. But then I remind myself that it’s what he would have wanted. In fact, I think he would have insisted on it.”

  “I understand how you feel,” I said, my voice quiet. “My mom died a few years ago.”

  Her eyes met mine, wide and shining with understanding and connection. “Greg…I’m so sorry. I know that doesn’t mean anything—”

  “It does. There’s no real consolation to give, only the offer of acknowledgment.”

  She nodded. “That’s exactly it. I’d rather that than, Just give it time, or, It’ll get easier. Because I know it won’t. It’s a wound that will never heal, no matter how much time passes. I’ll just find ways to live with the pain.”

  “Years have passed, and I still sometimes forget she’s gone,” I said, half talking to myself, though I knew she understood. “The holidays are the worst.”

  Tears sprang in her shining eyes out of
nowhere. “Daddy died just before Christmas.”

  Her hand rested on the table, and I didn’t think, just reached for it, hoping she could feel that I understood as best I could.

  She nodded again like she’d heard me, her throat working as she swallowed. “It’s never going to be okay, that holiday. It used to be my favorite. The magic, the lights, the love, the food. And now…now, it’s only going to remind me of what I lost.”

  “Do you have any siblings? Because that’s what got me through—being there for them, with them and my dad.”

  “I have two sisters—one older, one younger. They’re all I have left, besides my loss.” She drew a breath. “It’s just so hard to grasp how quickly everything changed, everything I’d ever known, all in the span of a moment. A stoplight. A phone call. A sentence. And now, I’m here. But I can hear him in my mind and in my heart, telling me not to waste the chance I’ve been given moping around.” She laughed, her nose a little stuffy. Then, she smiled. “So, I’ll listen to him like I’ve been taught.”

  I smiled back. “I bet he’d have approved of that.”

  “I hope so.”

  She moved her hand out from under mine to pick up her sandwich again, and I reached for my own.

  The moment passed.

  But the connection didn’t.

  Annie

  Greg and I finished lunch—courtesy of the pocket money Susan had been keeping me stocked with—and as I stuffed the last bite of the meatball sub in my mouth, I found I felt lighter than I had in some time. I’d shared my grief with someone who understood, someone who could shoulder it.

  Grief was strange that way. It was a constant companion, one my family saw and felt and understood too well; we could share that grief, but sharing sometimes made it harder. Because my loss was heavy, and they had their own weight to bear. I felt compelled to keep my grief to myself so I wouldn’t weigh anyone else down more than they already were.

  But Greg understood. He’d been through it too, in his own way. And the sense of connection, forged by sharing an experience so profound to both of us, was so strong and alluring, I yielded to the heady desire for more.