Chapter 4 #2
John has the decency to at least look slightly ashamed.
Or maybe I’m reading too much into the flush that’s slowly creeping up his neck.
“It was great. Thanks for asking. We’re headed out of town today for our, ahem, honeymoon,” he rushes through this last bit so quickly that it sounded more like ‘oarmumuroon.’
“Ashley wanted to stop in…She prefers your store to the airport, you know. Shop local!”
Shop local? So incredible to know the woman (She Who Will Not Be Named) who took up with my ex-fiancé prefers my bookstore to the airport! “Ah, great. So thoughtful.”
Like Beetlejuice, Ashley suddenly pops up from behind John like she’d been hiding in his pocket this whole time.
Ashely. She’s a picture-perfect new bride.
Luminous in her chic, wide-leg black pants with a cream silk shirt casually tucked in.
Tasteful but clearly expensive gold jewelry wink at her ears and around her neck.
She looks put together in a way I could never dream to be.
She’s the type of person who instantly adds a degree of luxury to whatever space she walks into— “a broad that classes up the joint” as my grandfather would have put it.
Which is probably why she’s been the number one realtor in the county since she decided to grace Silvercreek with her presence two years ago.
She was John’s and my realtor for the two seconds I considered selling my grandparents’ cabin. We all know how that ended—I kept the cabin; John kept the realtor.
“Paige! Oh my gosh, what is this I hear about you falling off a horse?” Ashley asks, her eyes shining.
If John’s voice was an oil slick, hers is a ruptured pipeline.
She oozes sympathy, leaning over the counter to—what—pat my face?
Her exceptionally voluminous blonde head is now much too close to my face for comfort, so I scoot my chair back and stand up slowly.
Hopefully, I’m giving off a nonplussed or at least grace-under-fire vibe, and not a my-bones-are-halfway-to- breaking one.
On my feet, I dig deep, smile my brightest smile (that hopefully doesn’t look anything like a wince), and ask, “What can I help you find today, Ashley?”
“Oh, girl, I just know you’re the perfect person for this, so I insisted John and I stop in here on the way to the airport.
We’re on our way to our honeymoon in Turks and Caicos.
” So thoughtful of her to remind me. In case I’d forgotten after John said ‘honeymoon’ twenty seconds ago.
“A whole week on the beach with nothing to do but love up on my man, drink my weight in pina coladas, and read!” Amazing!
… Where are the needles for me to stick under my fingernails?
“Now I trust your opinion way more than Reese and Oprah, you know.” LOL. YEAH, RIGHT.
“Just load me up with whatever you’d bring on a beach vacation!” There it is. The knife twist.
She smiles her 10,000-watt smile, the same smile she uses to close multi-million-dollar property deals, tapping her perfectly rounded blood red nails on the countertop glass for emphasis.
It’s impossible not to notice the blinding diamond infinity band that is now nestled up to her knuckle-buckling solitaire.
I wiped down the counter first thing when I came in this morning, but I get some joy from the fact that my butt was the last skin to touch that surface.
“Absolutely! It would be my pleasure,” I reply, coming around the counter to lead her into the shelves.
Given that the only other time Ashley’s been in the store was to drop off her business cards when she’d first moved into town, I know this visit has nothing to do with Ashley’s love of books or supporting small businesses and everything to do with her final victory lap.
She probably only reads emails and text messages.
Less than ten minutes later, she is following me back to the counter, arms laden down with some excellent honeymoon beach reads: John Updike’s Couples, Jenny Offill’s Dept. Of Speculation, and, just in case she’s looking for a palate cleanser, B.A. Paris’ Behind Closed Doors.
If she actually cracks a spine, I’ll sell Pages and take up goat herding in Andalusia.
“Well thanks for stopping by before your trip,” I say, handing John the receipt and the bag of books. “Have a wonderful time!”
John takes the bag and gives me an embarrassed half smile.
They deserve each other.
The door dings again, marking their exit, and I can finally breathe. What in the actual hell was that?
That whole interaction was so comically bizarre. Seriously? Coming in to my bookstore to buy books for your honeymoon? This was the closure I needed. The John I knew never would have been so callous. The person who was standing in front of me just now was a complete stranger.
Yes, I’m alone now. Yes, most mornings I have no clue what to do with myself or how to move forward. I’m relearning how to live my life, and sometimes that really, really sucks.
But at least I know I’m not a complete and utter asshole.
* * *
I feel oddly invigorated after my encounter with John and Ashley. I dial Katherine Webber’s publisher with steady fingers. Maybe today’s my lucky day and the woman I pissed off on Friday will be out sick.
“Fairbook Imprints. Hold please.” A woman with a recognizably thick Boston accent answers on the second ring. It’s the same woman from Friday. So much for luck.
By the time the hold music ends, my palms are in a full sweat, and I have to readjust my grip on the receiver.
“Hello, this is Monica. Who am I speaking with?”
“Hi Monica, this is Paige O’Flynn from Pages Booksellers.” I pause and clear my throat. “I believe we spoke on Friday about my recent order.”
“Ah, yes. Paige from Pages.” Monica says and her voice dips to a flat monotone. “I remember you. What can I do for you?”
“Well, first I want to apologize. I realize I was unprofessionally short with you when we last spoke.”
“You called me a tool bag.” Monica says and I wince.
“Yes, I did say that, and I am so deeply sorry. You’re the opposite of a tool bag. You’re a luxury purse.” What the hell am I saying? I need a rewind! “Wait…you’re not a bag at all. You’re an angel—"
Monica sighs loudly. “Paige, please stop. Just tell me what you need so we can stop wasting each other’s time.”
“I need two-hundred copies of Windswept delivered to Pages Booksellers before Friday...without the rush shipping fee.” Monica barks out a laugh, but I continue. “I’m prepared to pay the normal shipping costs. I’m just hoping there’s room to negotiate on the rush fee.”
“That’s real cute,” she replies. “With that timeline, you’re basically asking me to hand deliver this order for free. To your bookstore in the middle of nowhere that’s already a pain in the ass to get deliveries to.”
It’s now or never. Time to bring out the big guns. “Monica, I’m going to be honest with you. I’m not well.”
“Paige, unless you’re going to place an order—” Monica has clearly had enough of me.
“I apologize in advance for oversharing, but Friday was easily the worst day of my life. My ex-fiancé got married right across the street from me, the book order fiasco happened, I really overstepped my boundaries with a tourist—"
“Hold on. Your fiancé was getting married to someone else across the street?”
“Ex-fiancé. But yes.”
“Hunny, that is awful.” Monica says and then launches into her own tale of woe that almost puts mine to shame.
By the time I hang up the phone, an hour has passed, and Monica and I might be best friends. Turns out Monica is a fellow jilted lady with an axe to grind. She promised to send along the correct book order in time for Friday’s author event with only a partial rush fee.
This is cause for extreme celebration. Now all I have to do is sort out the catering…
and find a Fae Prince. Maybe I can blackmail Andy to do it?
I’m sure I have some compromising photos of him in a box somewhere from high school.
The future is finally looking bright! I squeal and hobble-dance around the register, stopping only when I hear the front door ding.
“Hey Paige! You look surprisingly chipper today,” Mindy says, slightly breathless.
Mindy is the president of Silvercreek’s Bad Bitches Who Read Book Club.
BBWR members are some of my most devoted customers.
Mindy was the librarian at Silvercreek High when I was a student, and it has taken me ages to get used to calling her by her first name instead of Mrs. Johnson.
She has a wicked sense of humor and a deep appreciation of YA Fiction.
I always make sure to stock the titles she recommends.
“My to-do list today is at least a mile long. I’ve been running around like a madwoman.” Mindy combs her fingers through her salt and pepper locks. “But I have to tell you I just love seeing the posters you made for the book signing all over town!”
“That’s so sweet,” I say, genuinely touched.
“I dropped off a stack at the library a couple of weeks ago for Stella and the girls to hand out. They’ve gone above and beyond.
I think I even saw a poster in the bathroom at the grocery store the other day.
” Nana’s voice rings out loud and clear in my head.
Thank God in heaven you convinced that Monica woman to send the right books in time, Paige.
Otherwise, you’d have been tarred and feathered by a horde of angry librarians.
Mindy chuckles. “It’s nice to see something else advertised around here besides Mayor John’s re-election campaign.”
We share an eye roll.
“If there’s anything I need to see less of,” Mindy adds in a conspiratorial whisper, “it’s that man’s face.”
It’s now my turn to laugh. “I second that.”
“I didn’t just pop in here to chat, though. I need to order three extra copies of next month’s book choice. And I brought you a present.” She plops a small brown paper bag with a logo I know too well on the counter.