11. Brooke
11
brOOKE
“It’s such a nice day out,” I say to Lucas, three days after we tried to escape town. “Care to go for a bike ride?”
It is a beautiful morning. I’m sitting on the front steps of the small front porch. The temperature is in the seventies, a mild breeze ruffles the leaves of the oak trees that shade the McGillicuddys’ property, and the sweet smell of lilacs hangs in the air. Our legs have mostly recovered and our limps are barely noticeable.
“You’re hilarious.” He hands me a cup of coffee. “No kitchens were set on fire with the making of this product.” He settles down next to me, holding his own mug. It says Rise and Shine on it, with a picture of the sun. It’s a cheerful, completely un-ironic coffee mug. Who knew those even existed anymore?
Well, this is a Serena Lovelace universe, so of course we’re going to get the rose-colored-glasses version of everything.
Lucas glares at it. “I hate this stupid mug.”
“Of course you do.”
“I hate this town.”
“Do you really, though? ”
“Oh, hell, I don’t know. I just don’t want to be here.” Lucas heaves a sigh. “This town hates me.”
“Well, by the end of the book, they won’t. That’s one of our plot lines. Have you talked to Carmel or Weasel-face Dicktard? You probably need to at least go through the motions of working with the weasel to satisfy the storyline. Oh, and by the way, please thank Carmel for the muffins.” When we woke up this morning, there was a wicker basket of muffins on our front stoop.
“If you mean my COO, yes. He called me while I was making coffee, and for the briefest of moments, I thought that maybe the spell was broken, and we could escape, and my father was calling to yell at me about where the hell I’d been. For the first time in my life, I was actually looking forward to having my father rip me a new one.” Lucas shakes his head grimly. “But no, it was what’s-his-dick, telling me he needed me to sign some invoices for inspections. I told him I was having serious second thoughts, and therefore I refused to sign the invoices. He started spluttering about the investors. I hung up.”
He looks at me. “It’s not going to help fast-track us out of here, though, is it?”
I shake my head. “The story can’t be rushed. He’ll probably just ignore what you said and sign the invoices himself.”
Lucas lets out a slow, deep sigh. “So, apparently we need to go out on a dinner date.”
“I like how you talk about a date with me with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man picking out his last supper.” I roll my eyes at him and take a sip of my coffee. It’s kind of bitter, but Lucas did make the effort to make it for me, so I force myself to swallow it.
“Only because we’re under duress.” Lucas blows out an exasperated breath. “And where are we even going to go out on a date in this godforsaken backwater? Probably some mom and pop greasy spoon. If I were going to take you out on a real date, I’d take you to the best restaurant in Manhattan, or maybe fly you on a helicopter to the Hamptons, or... no, that’s not right either. That’s not really you. That’s me being Lucas Sheffield. If I were going to take you out, it should be all about you and making sure you have a magical evening that you’d never forget. Now that I think about it, you would actually like a small family diner, out of the way somewhere, probably somewhere that could really use the business. And then you’d want to go online and give them rave reviews and help them with their social media...” he frowns. “Maybe dinner theater. Since you like theater.”
He’s got a a faraway look in his eyes. I hold my breath. I don’t say anything because I don’t want to break the strange spell he’s weaving with his words.
He knows me. He keeps revealing, in little ways, that I was never as invisible to him as I thought, that I was more than just a walking appointment book for him. That I mattered, and he saw me.
Lucas shakes his head impatiently. “Anyway, that’s all theoretical, because we’re not actually dating and tonight’s dinner date will be a strategic move to help us escape Mayberry RFD and get back to where we belong. We just need to fool this stupid bookiverse into thinking that we’re a couple.
And there’s the boss I know and loathe.
He fixes me with his cool, steely gaze. “So, do you think you can find us a single restaurant that will serve us in this town that time forgot?”
I set my coffee cup down on the steps, hard enough to make the coffee slop over the edges, and stand up abruptly.
Time to go back to my role of Oppressed but Overpaid Girl Friday. “I’ll get right on it,” I say in a clipped, impatient tone. “Serena knows this fictional town inside out, so I’m going to head over to the Come On Inn and see what she suggests. ”
“That’s my girl. Always a strategic thinker.” Lucas stands up. “Done with your coffee? You barely touched it.”
“Feel free to flush it down the toilet,” I snap as I stalk away.
There’s no reason at all for me to be irritated right now. None whatsoever. Lucas is being Lucas, and what else should he be? I’m glad he wants to get this whole romance farce over with as soon as humanly possible. I’m glad this dinner is nothing but a chore to endure, and he’s not actually planning our dream date.
So glad.
“Are you mad at me for some mysterious reason that only women and romance novel readers would understand?” Lucas calls out.
“What was your first clue?” I shout back. I don’t even bother to look back at him. He wants to escape this universe, and any pretense of dating me, as fast as he can, and it’s my job to help him.
Everything’s great. Just great.
I kick a garbage can as I walk past it.
“Ow. Great, just great,” I mutter to myself.
_ _ _ _ _
“Seriously, why is she telling us to eat here? Does Serena love living in her crazy-ass creation of a town so much that she wants us to fail?” Lucas protests as we walk up the street to Velma’s. “Maybe it strokes her ego, running into all these fictional couples that she forced together with her deranged matchmaking powers.”
“No, she has her reasons, and they make sense,” I say. “And no, I am not going to tell you, because it would mess with the story development.” He gives me a murderous glare.
Fine with me. Unlike most of the minions who are subject to Lucas’s frequent wrath, I am immune to Lucas Sheffield’s rage-glares. And if he’s going to treat this date like a business assignment that he’d do anything to get out of, then I can enjoy leaving him in suspense.
“Just tell me what the plan is.”
“The plan is you pretend you’re actually enjoying this. That’s all you need to know.”
He lets out a low growl of annoyance. Ooh, is Mr. Control Freak having a hard time not being the one who pulls the strings?
I make a motion with my index finger and thumb, playing the world’s smallest violin.
“I saw that,” he grumbles, holding the door open for me. “And what makes you think Theodore won’t just kick us right out?”
“We have to at least try.”
The diner’s fairly crowded, but there are a few empty seats at the counter and two empty booths. Ruby and Edna are sitting in one of the booths. Homicidal Henry is sitting at the counter with his wife. He has a black eye. He’s glaring at us, and so is his wife.
So, sitting at the counter is out, then.
“Who’s Velma, anyway?” Lucas says, as the door shuts behind us.
Of course, Theodore has to be walking by us just then.
“Seriously?” he snaps, and shoots a death glare at him.
I chidingly shake my head at Lucas.
“What did I say wrong now? Should I just not speak?” he says in exasperation.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Is that even possible? ”
He lowers his voice. “We’re supposed to pretend to get to know each other better. How can we do that without talking?”
“Smoke signals. Charades. Interpretive dance.” I’m still annoyed at him for hating the idea of being on a date with me, even if I have no romantic interest in him at all. Whatsoever. None in the least.
Any sex dreams that I’ve ever had about him were purely based on his physical appearance and the sad state of my love life.
“You two. Get out.” Theodore points dramatically at the door.
“You have no right to kick us out,” I inform him. “Lucas will be paying for our meal. And why would you turn away business?”
“Because he plans on destroying my business.” Theodore stalks off, back stiff with anger.
I look around for Brenda, but she’s apparently not working this shift.
“We’ll seat ourselves,” Lucas says. He grabs two plastic menus from a wooden menu holder nailed to the wall next to the door and leads me over to a corner booth. I fish in my purse—well, Susie’s purse—and pull out a quarter to drop in the mini jukebox. Sam Cooke’s “Wonderful World” lyrics fill the air.
We sit there in awkward silence, looking down at our menus, which have all the standard diner fare with cute names like Adam and Eve on a Raft, for eggs on toast.
“I will get a Dolly Parton,” I say. That’s two chicken breasts.
“I’ll just be manly and get a steak, medium. Okay... we need to make this into an actual date, and we can’t make the usual small talk, like, oh, where do you work? Where are you from? So what do we talk about?”
I frown in thought. “You could berate me for my lack of work ethic and tell me how lucky I am to have my job,” I suggest to Lucas.
He waves the suggestion aside. “Nah. Been there, done that.”
“True, true. Oh, I know! I could mock you for being an overbearing workaholic with no perceptible conscience or social skills.”
Lucas pretends to consider it, then shakes his head. “Too easy, wouldn’t you say? Low-hanging fruit.”
The door to the diner opens, and Carmel enters, holding a basket of muffins. The smell drifts my way, and I start to salivate. Theodore stalks over.
“No way,” he snaps at her. “We’re not buying.”
Carmel’s face falls. I feel bad for her. I don’t believe that muffins actually solve anything, but they’re obviously very important to her.
“I was just going to offer them for free. I like making muffins. Everyone’s happier when they’re eating muffins. My abuela and I used to—”
“Backstory,” I whisper to myself. The muffins will be a cherished childhood memory for her, just like the world of storytelling was for me and my father... when he still had memory.
“I said no!” he barks at her.
Lucas leaps to his feet and hurries over. “That is no way to talk a lady... uh, Theodore, am I right?”
“Oh, you remembered,” he says snidely. “Yes, it’s Theodore. Theodore Galanis,” he adds, staring intently at Lucas. Clearly the person who Lucas is in this universe, Jasper Whitfield, had some kind of history here and should remember him.
I jump up and hurry over. “I’ll take a muffin,” I say brightly, because the tension is so thick the air is wavery with it, and also, Carmel’s muffins are dietary crack and I can’t stop myself. I grab a muffin from Carmel’s basket and take a huge bite.
I grab another one for Lucas .
Homicidal Henry gets up and stalks over to us, his wife scampering after him. “Don’t get yourself arrested,” she pleads with him.
“Susie, you have no shame,” he snaps at me.
“Well, I think we’ve established that already.” I nod in agreement. “But I do love this town and I’m not giving up on it.”
He glares at me accusingly, his right eye swollen half shut. “I thought you said you had a plan.”
“I do. It’s a secret plan, though. And it’s going to take a little while, but at the end of it, I think that all of the business owners are going to be happy with the results.”
He shakes his head at me. “You haven’t even been by your family’s theater.”
“It’s weird that you know that,” Lucas says.
“No, it isn’t weird. It’s just Green Acres,” I sigh.
He’s right, I haven’t gone to the McGillicuddy Theater. I could have gone by today; my legs weren’t sore anymore. Why would I not take the opportunity to go visit a theater and just breathe it all in?
I think because it would just be a painful reminder of what I can’t have. It doesn’t matter if I’m working for Lucas or not when—if—we get back to the real world. Most theater work pays starvation wages. My roommate can only afford to do it because she gets just enough money from a small monthly trust fund to cover her living expenses.
“Try one of Carmel’s muffins,” I tell him.
He glares at me, grabs one of the muffins from her basket, and takes a bite. “Terrible,” he scowls. “Tastes like rubber. I wouldn’t sell these at the general store if you paid me to.” He takes another bite. A big one.
“Thank you. And the answer is, I haven’t forgotten my roots. I’ve been busy working on my plan, but I will definitely visit the theater soon.”
“Fine,” he says, his mouth full. He scowls at Carmel. “This muffin stinks. I think I’m going to be sick.” He takes another bite. There’s only a quarter of a muffin left now.
His wife hesitates, then reaches out and grabs one. She takes small bite, and her eyes widen in surprise.
“Right?” I say to her.
“I must have your recipe,” she says to Carmel.
“Hey!” Henry protests, finishing the last of his muffin. “Whose side are you on?”
Carmel is beaming now.
“Get. Out,” Theodore grits at her.
“Fine, but you’re missing out. And you’ll give in eventually.” Carmel smiles and turns to go.
She pauses. “See you tomorrow at the cookie baking competition, Mr. Whitfield,” she calls out to Lucas. “And also, please stop by the office sometime soon. I have some projects I need you to sign off on.”
“Just sign off on them yourself.” Lucas shrugs. “I trust you. Also, I genuinely don’t care. Just sign whatever you want.”
She gives him a puzzled look. "Well, if you say so.”
Henry grabs two more muffins. Carmel starts walking towards the door, and several other customers wander over and grab muffins from her basket. By the time Carmel’s out the door, her basket is empty.
Lucas and I, shaking our heads, return to our booth. Lucas scowls, looking around the room. “This is insane. We’re in this fictional universe, and every time I see this Henry guy, he acts like he’s ready to murder me, over... nothing. None of this is really happening.”
“Where is his general store, anyway? Is it just off Main Street?”
“How would I know? Why would I care? It. Doesn’t. Exist. I don’t need to care about these people or their delicate feelings, because they don’t exist.” Lucas snorts impatiently. “This place is just one big hallucination. A hallucination where I can feel hunger. The muffin was a good appetizer, but I am a manly man, and I need meat. Is a waiter ever going to come take our order?”
I just look at Lucas.
“What?” he says impatiently. “I know that look. In what way am I being an asshole now?”
“I’m just not convinced that this world doesn’t really exist. We feel everything here, right? Pain, hunger, fullness, happiness, worry, taste...”
Lucas frowns, but he nods reluctantly in agreement. “So?”
“So, on some level this universe is real. And what these people are feeling is real. This place is on another plane of existence. So... it exists. And people can genuinely love and hate and care about each other and their community, and they can hurt when bad things happen, and celebrate the joys of life together when things are going well.”
Lucas chews his lower lip. “That’s one theory. I mean... I don’t know. Why would such a universe exist?”
“Maybe there are multiple universes. Maybe there’s a benign plan and people who need this place, or something like it, find it. I don’t have all the answers, or even most of the answers, but I do believe that these people are as real as we are, in some weird way, and that means their feelings and their lives matter, and I am going to treat them accordingly.”
"If you say so.” Lucas looks around. Theodore has his back to us, talking to Ruby. “Nobody is going to come take our order, are they?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
Lucas stands up, and I follow suit. As we start to head out, Theodore turns around and walks over to us.
Lucas shoots him a look of annoyance. “It’s too late. We’ve decided we’re not eating here.”
“Yeah? We’ve decided we’re not serving you. Before you leave, I’d like to give you a little tour. ”
He turns and walks away, so we follow him over to the wall at the far side of the diner. There are several framed pictures there.
One of them shows a woman standing in front of the counter, smiling, next to a small, solemn-faced boy.
“That is my mother, Velma, standing next to you. She caught you trying to steal food, and instead of calling the cops, she gave you a free meal and told you to come back any time. You weren’t even grateful about it. You said you didn’t take charity, and she said she wasn’t giving you food for free; she was hiring you to sweep her floors. She did that so you could have your pride and not starve to death.” Theodore is glaring.
Lucas looks taken aback. “I . . . Ah . . . Is she here so I can thank her?”
“No, she died last year.”
Lucas’s eyes widen and he takes a deep breath. “I am very—”
“Get out,” Theodore snaps.
Lucas nods, then turns and walks away, and I follow at his heels.
We walk out of the restaurant, where Lucas comes to a dead halt.
“Wait for me here,” he orders me.
“Surely you’re not going back in there.” My stomach is roiling with tension. Serena had told me to bring Lucas here because of Jasper’s history with the owner, but I wasn’t expecting... this.
“Surely I am.”
I’m not letting him march into battle on his own. I just hope the number of fistfights that he starts in there is less than five.
I follow him in and Lucas marches up to the counter, where Theodore is gathering up dishes.
“My childhood, as you know, was very bad,” he says to Theodore. “Because of that, I’ve worked very hard on forgetting as much of it as possible. Large areas of my childhood are just a blank to me. It’s like actual amnesia. But when I think about it, when I concentrate really hard, I remember your mother, and I just want to say, you were lucky to have a mother like her. And her spaghetti Bolognese was amazing.”
He spins on his heel and walks out. Theodore is standing there blinking hard, his grim expression set in stone.
“Did you actually remember anything about Jasper Whitfield’s childhood?” I ask in astonishment.
Lucas hesitates, the way he did when I asked him about the phone calls. “No, but I thought it was what he needed to hear at the time. I don’t know if that made a difference."
“Spaghetti Bolognese? That’s very specific.”
He shrugs, avoiding my gaze. “It was on the menu.”
I think he’s lying. Again.
But he also just did a really decent thing.
“It was kind and compassionate of you, and even if it didn’t make a difference to him, it made a difference to you to do the right thing.” And it made a difference to me, but I don’t say that part out loud.
We’re both going to get out of here and forget this all ever happened, so what difference will it make?