Chapter 10 – piper
ten
piper
Since someone turned out the lights in some of the surrounding rooms, it’s dim in here, and the vibes are cozy and warm. I’m facing Dorian on the sofa, and he’s leaning back, looking into my eyes.
We’re the right sides of the magnets tonight.
I’ve been testing it since I sat on this couch.
Part of me has been touching part of Dorian for the last two hours—except when one of us was standing in the center of the room, taking a turn during fishbowl—and he hasn’t pulled away once. Not even a smidge.
This man and his signals are strong. I want this moment to stretch out indefinitely. So, before he can direct me to the car and start driving me home, I ask the first thing that pops into my head. “Do you still plot villain first?”
“I don’t plot anything right now.”
“Oh, you discovery-write? Extra impressive. You have a lot of moving parts to keep track of for that.”
He swallows, and I watch his throat move. “No, I mean I’m not writing.”
My body freezes. I look toward the office door, where we can still hear the rumblings of Luke on the phone. He could come out here at any moment, so maybe it would’ve been better to move to the privacy of a car. This feels huge. “At all?”
“My dad’s health scare. It just…” He shrugs, looking lost.
I shift on the seat, reaching for his hand. It’s an impulse, but once I’m holding it in both of mine, I don’t regret it. The feeling of his fingers wrapping around mine sends my body down a roller coaster I’m unprepared for. “You don’t have to share, Dorian. I shouldn’t have pried.”
“You aren’t.” He stares down at our hands. “It’s actually kind of nice to talk about. I try to tell my mom, but she’s just a fountain of positivity, and that doesn’t actually solve anything.”
I smile. “She sounds lovely.”
“She is.” He closes his eyes briefly. “But telling me it’ll work out and to keep my chin up isn’t actually working anything out. I don’t know; it’s hard to explain.”
“You need someone to listen.”
His brown eyes pierce me. “Yes. Something about facing my dad’s mortality made nothing in my books matter anymore.
I just can’t—it’s hard to face any of the adversaries in my books, I guess.
I can’t give my heroes wounds that mean anything.
None of it feels authentic. I sit down to write, and the cursor blinks at me like it’s taunting me. My mind is blank.”
“Is it totally blank? Or are you overwhelmed? It’s understandable to weigh your fictional stories against the trauma in your real life. Writing should benefit you, not be a hardship.”
“Probably overwhelmed. The ideas are all there, but I have no drive to write them.”
“You’re not feeling the stakes.”
“Exactly.”
“So…this might be a terrible idea…” I wait, eyeing him with reserve.
It’s not my place to offer advice; I’m not the household name here.
But I’ve written a lot of books too, even if he has no idea, and I’ve seen the way my productivity has ebbed and flowed depending on the personal circumstances in my life.
Like when I was opening the store—I don’t think I wrote a single word that year.
But I missed it so much. By the time I returned to my keyboard, I was itching for it.
“Go on,” he presses.
“Well, do you need to take a long break? Contracts aside, would a break be good?”
“I’ve already taken time off. It hasn’t helped, and I don’t particularly want more time away from writing.”
I nod. “Okay, then why don’t you give yourself permission to write the things that are weighing on you?
You don’t have to publish the book if it ends up being too personal, but it might be cathartic to write out.
It’s always been a sort of therapy for me, writing situations that weigh on my mind or my heart.
Even if I scrap them or stick them in a file no one will ever see, it helps me process things. ”
Dorian stares at me. He leaves his hand encased in both of mine, then brings up his other one and brushes the hair from my face, dragging his fingertips along my temple and cheekbone. Chills run over my skin while molten lava pours through me.
“You might be on to something.”
“Worth trying?”
“It sounds like it was for you,” he says, dropping his hand. “What do you write?”
Well, I’ve given myself away. So there’s no going back now. But he doesn’t have to know I’m published. Or his competitor. Or that he’s currently reading one of my novels.
It doesn’t sit well with me to keep that from him. But he’s rejected me so many times, over and over and over again. This new attitude feels like a thin sheet of ice over Old Hickory Lake, and I have to walk gingerly to keep from breaking through.
“A variety, but mostly thrillers.”
His eyes light up. “Piper, that’s incredible. My favorite genre.”
“Mine probably have more romance than yours do, but not by much.”
He laughs, the low rumble warm and alluring. “I like romance.”
“I know. Paul and Kiley, anyone?”
“Hey, Paul deserves love after all he’s been through. He needs a good woman at his side.” His gaze sharpens. “Were you writing them during college too?”
“A little, here and there. I didn’t finish my first one until a few years later, though.”
“I want to read one.”
I laugh, trying to pull my hands away, but he tightens his hold, keeping one of them wrapped in his. He’s reading one now. Not telling him feels like a lie…but it’s not, right? I’m not actively lying about anything.
“You know, I’m surprised you’ve stuck around the last few weeks,” I say instead. “The Dorian I knew ran every time I came close.”
His gaze intensifies, everything else in the room fading away while he looks at me like this. “Back then, I was just a shy kid who didn’t know how to talk to a beautiful girl.”
The door to the office flies open, and Luke stalks out. The tension snaps like a handful of screws tossed into a blender. The charged air is totally gone, replaced by friendly camaraderie.
Luke grins when he sees us. He’s got the build of a giant, but still looks very McConkie—like a younger, broader version of Dorian. Their genes run deep. “Sweet. You guys staying for round two?”
“I should get home,” I say, and Dorian releases my hand.
“We’re still on for tennis Wednesday?” Luke asks.
Dorian nods. “Of course.”
Well, that explains the forearms. Thank you, tennis.
We talk with Luke for a few more minutes before climbing into Dorian’s car so he can drive me home.
A beautiful girl.
I spend the entire time trying to find a way to get us back to the conversation. I’m hungry for more information, for a better explanation of his college behavior. But the moment has passed, and I don’t know how to get back to it.
By the time he pulls up in front of my store, I’ve given up. We talked about food we love—me, Mexican, and him, anything breakfast—and argued about whether the books or movies are better when it comes to The Lord of the Rings.
“See you Tuesday,” he says, putting the car in park.
I take my time picking up my bag and sliding my phone into it, then unbuckling, just in case he wants to say anything else.
But he remains quiet.
A beautiful girl.
At what point do I take a leap? My heart hammers in my chest. I don’t have the guts.
I climb out and lean down to look at him. “Thanks for the ride.”
His brown eyes trace my face in a way that makes me feel truly seen. “Good night, Piper.”
My phone buzzes twenty minutes later.
Dorian
I saw the book club flyer on your Instagram page.
He follows the store? He’s looking at it now? Does that mean he’s thinking about me? I’m suddenly self-conscious, but I don’t have to be, because Natalie covers social media and she does an excellent job of it.
Piper
7 p.m. if you want to join. But be warned. You think I’m defensive? Some of those ladies take their books very seriously.
Dorian
I’ve survived worse.
Piper
I’ll prepare an escape route just in case.
Dorian
I’m not afraid.
I’ll be there.
Book club at the shop is one of my favorite nights. Each month rotates to a new genre to add a little variety, and I do my best to keep away from the books chosen in the national book clubs, because those are already on everyone’s to-be-read lists.
But I just can’t help myself sometimes, and tonight we’re sitting in a circle of folding chairs, discussing the most iconic romance of all time: Pride and Prejudice.
Yes, I love Austen. Who doesn’t?
It makes for a good book club discussion and brings in men and women of all ages. I even got my mom to join us for this one.
But for some reason, we’re forty-five minutes in, and Dorian isn’t here.
Mom crosses her legs, flipping through the hardcover copy on her lap. She’s in her element tonight and might have led the discussion more than I have, but I give it to her. She hasn’t taught a class in years. “Should we discuss the terror that is Mr. Darcy in the first half of the book?”
A man across the circle makes an irritated sound. “He didn’t know any better. He’d been raised to believe himself better than everyone else.”
“He ends the book the same way,” another woman says.
What variation did she read? “I don’t know,” I hedge. “After Elizabeth’s rejection, I think Mr. Darcy sees his faults and consciously changes for the better.”
“As does Elizabeth,” someone adds.
My mom steps in again. “What makes this such a timeless story of hope and romance is the way both characters were willing to grow. Elizabeth didn’t tell Darcy that she’d marry him if he improved—she wasn’t trying to change him.
She just turned him down. On his own, Darcy recognized his personal failings and improved himself, as we should all strive to do. ”
“Speak for yourself,” a guy calls out.
“I do,” Mom says firmly. “His character growth is unparalleled, which makes him one of the best heroes in literature. There’s a reason this book is such a phenomenon.”
“Should we compare him to Heathcliff?” Shauna, Mom’s friend, says from the seat on her other side.
“That is not a romance,” Mom says icily. “Which you well know.”
“Moving on!” I say quickly. I don’t need the Wuthering Heights gothic die-hards sharpening their pitchforks. “Any other thoughts on Mr. Darcy’s character development? Or on any of the other characters?”
The man who seems to have made it his mission to argue with my mom tonight goes off about Mr. Wickham being misunderstood and Mr. Collins being a better option of marriage for a Bennet daughter, but I only half listen because Dorian opens the front door in the middle of his monologue.
Even Shauna won’t let this slide. She comes to Austen’s defense, explaining the character motivations in a way that ninety percent of readers see them, while Dorian catches my eye. He nods his chin toward a vacant seat.
So I nod back, like, yes, please sit down and put this man in his place.
“We’re going to ignore the elephant in the room?” the man presses. “When Elizabeth sees Pemberley for the first time and makes her snide remark. Let’s face it, she was an arrogant gold digger.”
Mom groans quietly, rolling her eyes.
Dorian’s brow lifts in surprise, and his dark brown eyes cut to me.
Yep, this is what I’ve been dealing with tonight.
“If I may?” he says, lifting his hand. “I know I’m late, but I can’t help feeling that you’ve misunderstood the point of the book entirely.
Austen was witty and sharp, which is why that line is a bit sarcastic.
If Elizabeth were a gold digger, she would have accepted Mr. Darcy the first time he proposed.
Everyone knew he made ten thousand a year, which was an absolute fortune back then, but she waited until he recognized his faults and became a better man. She fell in love with him first.”
“Bravo,” Mom says, clapping.
“You must know each other,” the man grumbles.
Mom looks smug when she replies, “Never met him before.”
She’s wrong, but she must not remember graduation.
The conversation is fairly mellow after that and only lasts another twenty minutes before the group collects their coupons for fifteen percent off in the store and leaves to shop.
I hand Dorian his last.
“I don’t need this, but thanks,” he says. “I wasn’t here the whole time.”
“You earned it for giving that self-righteous man a set down,” Mom says. She’s shorter than I am, with a cute little bob and a lot of spunk.
“This is my mom,” I tell him. “And her friend, Shauna Yancey.”
“I see where Piper gets it now,” he says.
Mom’s gaze sharpens at that. “How do you two know each other?”
“College. This is Dorian McConkie.”
“So we have met, then.” Mom laughs. “I thought you looked familiar. Gave my baby girl quite a hard time back then, didn’t you? I hope you’ve grown out of that.”
“Mom!”
“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I guess I have some apologies to make.”
“You don’t,” I assure him, then turn to my mom with fire-shooting eyes and my face aflame. “He doesn’t.”
“I remember things vividly,” Mom says, “but if you’re willing to move on, so am I.”
“I need to look for a new romcom,” Shauna says.
Mom nods. “I’ll come with you. Better use my coupon. You know, Piper, honey, if you charged for book club, you’d be able to keep out men like that weasel, and it could possibly help you keep the store from—”
“Thanks for the idea! I’ll think about it.”
I was not going to think about it. Who would come to a book club they had to pay for? I liked the discussions, and it got people in my doors, which meant they’d go buy books afterward. I already made money from it.
Mom and Shauna bustle away. I start folding chairs to carry back to the storeroom. Dorian, to no one’s surprise, helps out. But when we get to the back and he follows me into the cold room, he sets the chairs down and frowns. “She’s right, you know.”
“What?”
“I owe you an apology.” He steps forward, essentially blocking me between the wall and the stack of folding chairs. “And, I think, also an explanation.”