Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Grayson
With a long sigh, I knock on the door to…I read the newly painted sign.
Happily Ever Afters Romance Bookstore
The paper-covered door opens. My eyes widen as I take in…shit, it’s starting to look like a real bookstore.
“Hey,” I say as I rub my forehead.
Roxy crosses her arms and juts out a hip, flicking a hand in an “out with it” motion.
Taking another long deep breath, I study her. She’s got that thick blonde hair up in some messy bun on her head. She’s wearing an oversized T-shirt with leggings and she’s…barefoot. That’s interesting. Her toenails are painted bright red with white polka dots.
“Any chance you can stop hammering for like an hour?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah.” She turns her head. “Jocelyn, can you stop hanging the art? My neighbor is apparently trying to do something and we’re annoying his life.”
I glare at her. “Seriously?”
She raises an eyebrow as if to challenge me.
I glare harder. Two can play at this game.
“Thank you,” I manage through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw.
“You’re welcome,” she says giving me a giant fake smile and then closing the door in my face.
I shake my head and run a hand over my face as I turn to go back inside.
“Rough day?” Hutch's voice calls out. I stop moving and turn to see my friend walking my way with a cup of coffee in his hand.
“Something like that. The producer asked for some different takes to the demo I sent over, but someone ”—I nod at the bookstore—“decided to hammer artwork this morning.”
He laughs as he unlocks the door and motions for me to go ahead of him. “Dude, she does have to open her shop. I’m sure she’s hella stressed. I think her soft opening is in another week or two. Or at least that’s what Carly and Cam were just talking about.” He raises his cup of coffee as if in explanation of where he’s been.
“Well, I get it, but I have work to do too,” I huff as I turn and head up the stairs with Hutch in tow.
“I know. I’m just saying, you may need to compromise a little,” he urges. I hate that he’s right. Like a petulant child, I don’t want compromise, I want what I want. I groan because even I think I sound like a dick now.
“I hate that you’re right,” I grumble as I unlock my door.
He chuckles and unlocks his. “Don’t kill the messenger. I want both of you to succeed.”
And with that, he shuts his door, and I go to walk inside only to hear Al call out my name. He’s walking down the stairs slowly. I turn and wait for him to finish the last flight.
“Good morning, Gray,” he says.
“Morning, Al,” I reply as I lean on my doorjamb and cross my arms. “How are you?”
“Not bad for an old man,” he jokes as he gives himself a moment to catch his breath at the landing.
“You still want me to find you a date?” he asks.
I laugh. “Al, it’s cool. You don’t have to. I’ll just ask Hutch or someone to see if they have a friend I can…uh, borrow.”
He chuckles. “Borrow?”
I feel my face redden. I hate that I feel silly. I hate that he’s seeing the not-so-perfect part of me. I look up to Al. He offered up this place to me when I had nowhere else to go. He may be an old family friend, but he’s become more like family than any of my blood relatives. He cares and he’s always showing it. He’s also the closest thing I have to my grandfather who passed away about six years ago. He and Al used to play poker every week, along with several other older gentlemen. Al stopped going to the poker games when my grandfather died. He said it wasn’t the same without him.
I shrug. “Something like that.”
“What do you want in a woman?” he asks like he’s some sort of professional matchmaker.
I raise my eyebrows. “I don’t need a real girlfriend. I’m too busy for that right now.” And I don’t trust women, not after my ex dumped me for not being rich enough. It’s been months, but it still stings. I thought she was the one. I loved her.
“I’m not asking if you need one. I’m asking what the perfect one would be like,” he says. I look around us and quickly usher him inside. My recording can wait five minutes. Hell, for Al, it could wait all day.
I hold up a pitcher of water and he nods. I pour us both some and we sit at my dining room table.
“Trustworthy,” I state.
“OK. What else? I mean, if you had to draw her up from scratch. If the universe said here, create exactly what you want…” He trails off as he watches me.
I clear my throat. I guess we’re doing this.
“Trustworthy, kind, smart, funny, but in a sarcastic way, loves music, attractive.” I pause as he raises a hand.
“What do you consider attractive?”
I draw a ring around a watermark on my cherrywood tabletop. Stupid Hutch left his glass here all night a few months ago and I haven’t been able to get the mark to go away.
“I mean, I don’t care if she has blonde hair or brown hair. I…” Shit, what do I want? I haven’t thought about this in ages. “I want someone who can get dressed up and look classy, and elegant, but also doesn’t care. I don’t want a woman who wears eight pounds of makeup just to go grab a coffee. I like a woman with what’s that little part here?” I point to the top of my lips where it makes sort of a “v” under my nose.
“You like a cupid’s bow–shaped upper lip?” he asks. I want to ask why he knows this, but I decide some things are better left unsaid.
“Uh, yeah,” I reply as I rub the back of my head.
“Anything else?”
I have no idea what to say to Al. It’s not like there’s a factory making girlfriends, at least not that I know of. I can’t request my perfect girlfriend because perfect humans don’t exist. Shit, look at me. I’m anything but perfect.
“No. I can’t think of anything.” I pause because there is one thing. Seeing Roxy with her high ponytails or buns has made me realize that I find that really attractive. It’s weird. My ex never wore her hair like that.
“Out with it, kid,” Al urges as he studies me.
“I like women who wear their hair up in a ponytail or bun. I mean, not like all the time, but sometimes,” I mumble as I try to rationalize why I am vocalizing these words. I sound like an idiot.
“Got it. OK, I think that’s enough to work with. I’ll find you a date. When was this party, again?”
I don’t even need to pull out my phone to check the party details. I’ve been worrying about it for days now. Pierce Pointer had emailed me with the details for the film’s post-filming party. It was in two more days at a bar not far from here. I should have called Pierce then. I should have told him the truth or at least lied and said my ex and I broke up, which isn’t a total lie, we did break up, months ago.
I hold out my phone and show him the calendar.
“I’ll find you a date before then,” he assures me.
“Al, I can seriously just ask a friend or something,” I say as I think of Cam or Carly. As if reading my mind, he laughs.
“Ava has ballet practice that night, so Carly won’t be available. And Cam is meeting with the owner of her bakery to talk about buying out the business,” he says.
And there goes my two most likely dates. I fucking hate this. Why did I have to lie? What the hell is wrong with me?
Al pats my shoulder as he walks to the door. “Gray, it’ll be fine. We all fuck up once in a while. You just need to see this through. You can always fake a breakup later. It’s Hollywood. Those things happen all the time. And plus, you need to start dating again. And this is the perfect excuse.”
I give him a deadpan stare. “Al, this wouldn’t be a real date. Remember, fake date.”
He waves a hand at me. “Sure thing. Fake date. It’ll be like practice for a very overdue real one.”
I roll my eyes. “Right.”
He opens the door and turns back to me. “You know, I met Edith on a blind date.”
I look over at him. He has a ghost of a smile on his lips. “She walked into the restaurant in a red dress, and I knew then that I could never let a woman that gorgeous get away or I’d regret it for the rest of my life. Then, we spent the whole night talking, and by the end of the date, I knew she was the one.”
“You’re a lucky man, Al.” I pause and then add, “To have known a love like that…it’s special. Not everyone gets to experience that.”
He nods. “I know. I miss her every day.”
I give him a sad smile. “We all do,” I state because it’s true. Edith was a great lady and everyone in this building misses her warm smiles, bear hugs, and apple strudel on Sundays.
“See you, Al,” I add as he opens the door and leaves me alone with my thoughts, which are a melting pot of high ponytails, fake romances, and blind dates. Even my music doesn’t push them away. Instead, I lean into them and use my instruments to pour my feelings out into the universe, as if I’m some sort of Pied Piper that can call the perfect woman with my musical notes.