Chapter 4 – piper
four
piper
One of the most appealing factors of renting this space for my bookstore is the apartment above the shop that came with the building. For the cost of rent, I get to live here, above books. Tell me that doesn’t sound like a dream.
The downside? When I’m stuck in my office so late I practically sleep there and still need to open the shop the next morning. Sometimes the separation between work and my personal life is too thin. Practically nonexistent. The balance is completely off.
Like now, when I’m sitting at the desk at sunrise with a steaming mug of herbal tea and my cats-reading-books pajamas. They’re white, with mustard-yellow piping on the collar and hems. As if I don’t wear colors. Psh.
The bell above the front door rings, which means Natalie’s here. It also means it’s not nearly as early as I thought. I check the time and groan. We open in thirty minutes.
I really need to change.
“Good morning,” Nat says, poking her head into my office. She hangs her purse near the door and unwinds her scarf. “Any luck?”
It’s been two days since Dorian’s signing, and I’m no closer to finding a teacher for the classes that begin tomorrow. I refresh my email, but nothing changes. “Not yet.”
She drops into the chair in the corner, sighing. “This means we should probably start notifying the people who signed up and offering refunds.”
My stomach clenches. Refunds? I can’t do that. The writing classes are already my attempt to make the store float on its own. If they fail, that means facing the possibility of closing, and I’m not ready for that yet.
Not until I’ve exhausted all my resources.
Natalie must be thinking the same thing I am. “Unless you want to reach out to your old pal.”
I rub my sleep-deprived eyes and groan. “Fine. I’ll send an email to Hannah Brandt, but it’s shooting at the moon.”
“That’s not who I was thinking of.”
“I’m not asking Dorian.”
“So that’s his name.” Natalie grins. “Why not? He seemed interested in talking to you all night. You’re the one who kept running away.”
“I wasn’t running anywhere. Except a business.”
She throws her hands up. “I won’t complain about getting Hannah Brandt into the store. I just think you already have a bird in the hand.”
Her perception of the relationship between Dorian and me is off. One little interaction, when we’re both trying to be professional, isn’t enough to encompass all the awkwardness we endured during college.
“Hannah’s the better option. Trust me.”
“Okay. You know them better. I’ll go get started at the register.”
“Thanks, Nat.”
It takes nearly all the free time I have left just to compose the message.
I choose to frame it as an invitation mixed with a desperate plea for help.
We were friends once, and I beta read the books that put her on the map.
It was my idea for Patrick O’Hara to park in the middle of traffic, climb out of his sunroof to stand on his car, and proclaim his love to Minnie Barker, where she sat on a patio having lunch with a loser guy, and that scene has become a romcom legend.
In a sense, Hannah owes me.
She thanked me in her acknowledgments, so maybe she doesn’t see it that way.
Once the email is sent, I down the rest of my cold tea and put my computer to sleep. We open in two minutes, and I’m still not dressed.
Yet when I open my office door, I come face-to-face with the last sight I hoped to encounter for…ever. Dorian is waiting at the store entrance, peeking through the glass. He catches my eye and lifts his hand in a wave.
Why does the universe hate me so much? I lose my lead teacher—thanks, pneumonia—then have to put up with the longest signing in the world, on the heels of telling my college nemesis I love his books, and now he gets to see me in all my cats-and-books-pajamas glory. No makeup. Rumpled hair.
Who did I anger to deserve this?
“Nat?” I call through my teeth. There’s no reply.
Of course not. Why would she be anywhere but the storeroom at this moment?
I do my best to tame my hair as I cross the shop and unlock the door. “We aren’t open yet.”
Dorian’s gaze sweeps over my outfit, his eyebrows hitching. “No? Sorry, I thought you opened at nine.”
A quick glance at the clock shows it’s two minutes past. Whyyyyy?
“Yeah. Sorry. Come in.”
“I can wait in my car for a minute—”
“No need.” The damage is done. I look like a spinster low on sleep and high on cats, and Dorian looks like he just stepped out of a university faculty meeting where the common denominator is hot professors. He’s literally wearing a sweater with elbow patches. I mean, who does that?
When he steps past me to enter the store, I catch a whiff of scent that tumbles me into images of Dorian lounging on the sofa in his rental house with a group of guys from our program, nose stuck in a book, tousled hair, sleepy smile.
The flash is over as quickly as it came. Mostly because I shove it into a box and sit on the lid. “What can I help you with?”
“I never paid for the book my sister took.” He rubs the back of his neck, drawing attention to the lean muscle in his arms as the sweater pulls taut. “It occurred to me yesterday. I’m here to rectify that.”
At this point, I’m owning the way I look. If I act like it’s not weird to run a bookstore in pajamas and socks, then it’s not weird. “We can take care of that right away.”
There’s a small stack of leftover books from the event piled on a table near the register, so I grab one as I pass and immediately begin ringing him up.
He moseys over. “Is it pajama day?”
“No.” My cheeks burn, my laugh sounding stilted. “I live upstairs, and I’ve been up for a while doing other work. I just…didn’t notice the time.”
The back door closes. Natalie hums while she makes her way through the paths of bookshelves. “Any reply yet?”
“No,” I call back. “We have a customer.”
She pops her head around the corner. “Welcome back, Mr. James.”
He taps his card on the machine, and it beeps. “I couldn’t stay away.”
I lift an eyebrow. “We actually hear that a lot.”
He looks at me. “I believe you.”
Natalie leans on the counter, facing him, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders. “So you must be local, then. Unless you stuck around for some other reason?”
“I’m local.” His smile is tight. “I just don’t like readers knowing much about me. There have been some…concerning emails before. It’s better this way.”
“No doubt.” She pulls a face. “Does that mean you’d be interested in—”
“Natalie!”
She gives me an overly innocent look. “What?”
I try to silently beam my thoughts directly into her brain and communicate how awkward it would be to spend the next month working with this guy, but the way she blinks at me proves she isn’t getting any of it. “Dorian has way too much going on.”
He shoots me an enigmatic expression, and I’d give up breakfast and lunch today to know what he’s thinking. Which, come on. That’s a sacrifice.
“Besides,” I tell her. “I’ve reached out to Hannah—”
“Brandt?” he asks, surprised. “You still talk to her?”
Heat climbs up my neck. He’d dated her briefly—like a blip during sophomore year. “Not much, really.” His expectant look drives me to keep talking. “But I thought she might be a good candidate.” And I’m getting desperate, I don’t add.
He glances between us. “I don’t mean to put myself out there…but if you’re really in a bind, I can step in. Just until you find someone else.”
Natalie beams.
My entire body goes up in flames with embarrassment. Of all the people to Superman my situation, I didn’t want it to be him. “You don’t need to do this, Dorian. I know how busy you are.”
“It’s only four classes?” He looks down at the flyer on the counter. “You said a month, right?”
“Yes, every Tuesday night for four weeks,” Natalie says. “We convert part of the store into a classroom and hold the course after hours. There’s already an outline if you want to use it, but you’re welcome to write your own curriculum, too. Whatever you’re comfortable teaching.”
Dorian doesn’t take his eyes off me the entire time Natalie explains the situation. “It’s not a problem.”
“There are other guests lined up to co-teach two nights,” I say, “but we can easily divide the time in half if you’d prefer to go on your own.”
“Easily,” Natalie echoes. “We’re grateful you’re willing. Should we work out the logistics now, or would it be better if we emailed you?”
Dorian pulls out his phone and looks at what I assume is his calendar. “I can return this afternoon.” He glances up, his brown eyes landing on me. “Will you be free then?”
“Ravi is covering the store at one,” I say. “I can step away at that point.”
“You can step away anytime,” Natalie says with a pointed look.
My eyebrows hitch up. “You two still need adult supervision when you’re both on the clock.”
She glares, and Dorian ignores it. “Great. I’ll see you then.” He starts to walk away, then lifts a hand to Natalie. “It was nice to see you again.”
Her expression shifts, her grin so wide I fear what’s coming next. “Likewise!”
The moment the door closes behind him and the bell rings through the store, I head toward the door that leads up to my apartment.
Natalie is fresh on my heels. “You two have a history, don’t you?”
“Why do you always make crazy assumptions?”
“You mean, why am I so good at reading body language?”
“The CIA should hire you,” I mutter.
“I am vastly underutilized. But also, you make it obvious when you keep trying to push away the most perfect and willing candidate for saving all our bacon. So what happened? You mentioned a rivalry last night.”
I shove the door open, and Natalie leans against it, watching me walk up the stairs to my apartment. “Nothing. We just didn’t get along in college. If I’d known he was D.M. James, I would’ve had you cover for me during the signing. It’s just kind of awkward seeing him again now.”
“Didn’t feel awkward on my end,” she calls up the stairwell. “He seems eager to see you.”
“Probably so I can feed his ego some more.”
“I don’t think we met the same guy this morning. Unless there’s something else you’re not telling me, I assume your unresolved feelings involve romance in some way.”
I cringe, glad she can’t see my face from the bottom of the stairs. “Anyone ever tell you that you read too much?”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
“I need to change. I’ll be down in a minute.”
“What are you going to do about Hannah Brandt?” she calls.
I pause, holding the door open as I think. “If she replies and says she’s willing, I’ll lock her in to replace him so he’s off the hook. If she’s too busy, I’ll try to get her for the next session.”
“Attagirl.”
The door closes behind me, and I toss a piece of bread into the toaster while I get ready for the day.
When Hannah gets back to me, I could offer her a spot in the next session, if she’s interested.
For now, I need to worry about notifying all the paying customers about the change in instructors.
There’s no way they’ll be even a little disappointed.
I’m about to make twenty-five people very happy.
Then I can worry about seeing Dorian again this afternoon. How we’ll have to spend the next month together for this writing course.
And how I’ll manage to swallow my pride and not reveal to Dorian freaking McConkie that I just happen to be the secret pen name behind his number-one rival on all the charts for best thrillers.