Andrew
Today, he’s out and about because JT asked him to come with him to get coffee and do a couple of things in town so that they can be ready for the cabin renters this weekend. They need some new throw rugs, and a couple of the porches need to be re-stained .
In the week he’s been gone, he’s had a call with his therapist, a call from his mom, and he’s spent more hours than he would care to tally in the basement playing ball and teaching Roscoe manners.
He hasn’t even looked at his phone since he’d hung up with his mom, deciding instead to give it to Ainsley to keep in her office at the Lumberyard until he felt like he was ready to face the world again.
Which might never happen, but at least he’s making steps to try to regain some kind of control over his life and mental health. He’d been an anxious person before he’d gone to college and gotten drafted, but playing professional hockey certainly hadn’t helped.
Even if the ice is the only thing that makes sense to him. The only place where he feels truly centered and in control.
It had always been like that, ever since he was little. He knew that he could count on the sound of his skates cutting through ice to put him at ease, to regulate his breathing. No matter what his day had been like, he could make sense of it in the cold of the rink .
“Is there even a coffee shop here?” Andrew asks as he climbs into JT’s truck. It’s nice today, so he’s in black athletic shorts and a white t-shirt, beat up and fraying baseball hat pulled low over his eyes to try to tame the unruly mess his hair has become.
“There’s several,” JT replies, rolling his eyes, “but we’re going to the one in the bookstore. Ainsley has an order to pick up, and their coffee is pretty good.”
“I don’t care, as long as it’s caffeine.”
Now that he’s out, in the passenger seat with the window down, he can see why people want to be here.
Why it was so hard for JT to leave once he had made his way back, family issues not included.
The mountains are in view pretty much everywhere you go, and it’s the kind of small town that would seep into your bones if you stay long enough to let it.
“Is it normally busy in the summer?” Andrew asks, turning to face the front as they drive down Main Street and into town.
“Tourism is always up with kids being out of school and families on vacation,” Jamie says with a shrug. “But it’s an all seasons kind of place. There’s something worth seeing no matter what time of year it is. ”
“Unlike Raleigh,” Andrew grins, “sometimes it feels like a stopping point in a longer trip.”
“Raleigh isn’t that bad,” JT says, laughing, “I think you just have to go outside of the city for a lot of the things people are looking to do. Here, you can do all of it without driving more than fifteen minutes.”
“You’re sure no one is going to harass me?” Andrew asks, bouncing his knee up and down. “The last time I went out in public…”
“I know, and that’s not going to happen here,” JT says, “not with these people, and not when you’re with me.”
“What, are you my bodyguard now?”
“In your dreams,” JT says, parking his truck in front of a row of shops. “People just know me here, and they know not to mess with friends I bring around.”
“Maybe you should get into politics,” Andrew says, adjusting his hat so it’s a little lower over his eyes and casts a shadow on his face. “NHL Defender turned small town mayor. I can already see the headlines.”
“I’m not stupid enough to be a politician.”
“You’re pretty damn close. ”
“Shut up,” JT says, but he’s grinning as he jumps down from his truck. “Don’t forget, I’m letting you live with me.”
“I’ll kiss your feet later, King Jamie.”
JT shoves his shoulder, and he misses a step but catches his balance quick enough to shove back as they reach the door to the bookshop.
It’s like they’re nineteen again, shoving each other around Albany, waiting to be called up from the farm team. Though, they had gotten into a lot worse of situations than walking into a bookstore while they were in the minors.
He likes to think they’ve matured since then, but he’s not sure. JT had still been arguing with him about toilets, and it had been a week.
Andrew gets to the door first and bows with a dramatic flourish.
“After you, Your Majesty.”
JT laughs, stepping inside, and Andrew follows him.
He doesn’t miss the giant “HELP WANTED” sign in the window.
It’s fading, yellowing with age, handwritten with corners curling away from the tape.
He’d seen plenty of them in movies, but didn’t know that it’s an actual way to get people to work for you .
He’d thought there was more to being hired for a real job than seeing a sign in the window.
Andrew has never been much of a reader, but he doesn’t think he has to be to know that this place is a vibe. He’s always loved the idea of books, and owning them is cool, but he’s just been too busy to read. Maybe now that he’s essentially off the grid for two months, he can make time.
When he was in college in Boston, and then when he had eventually moved to Raleigh, after two years of bouncing around the AHL, his friend Catalina had dragged him into every Indie Bookstore she could find. It had always been an inside joke with them.
She always swore that she followed him around the country to make him buy books, and he always swore it was because she was in love with him.
In reality, she was just testing the food scenes in new cities before finally heading off to the Culinary Institute of America and then to New York City before heading back to North Carolina.
Plus, as soon as he’d been called up, she caught feelings for Mikhail Petrov and had never even looked at someone else .
It was a little bit sad, considering Petrov had a long-term girlfriend, but Andrew hated her, and had always quietly hoped that he would see sense and get with Catalina instead.
“Each store has their own flare,” she had told him once, “their own feeling.”
“That can’t be accurate,” he had replied as he followed her into another store.
He had continuously been proven wrong by his own stubborn opinion, finding that every bookstore did, indeed, have its own unique flavor to it.
Whether it was design or layout, whether it was the building or the owners or the books they kept stocked on the shelves.
Each one was different, and held its own kind of magic.
He’d never say that out loud, though.
The building Spine Crackers is in is clearly historic, the storefront completely windows and full of themed displays that fit the summer season. The polished-walnut floorboards squeak as they walk in, followed by the sound of a bell above the door.
Small round tables and chairs are in one of them, and two older men are playing chess at one while sipping at cups of coffee .
Neatly organized floor-to-ceiling shelves line the walls on both sides of the store as far back as he can see, with ladders attached to reach the higher books.
Down the whole middle of the store are shelves that are a few inches shorter than him, stuffed fit to burst with paperback and hard cover books.
A step ladder shelf has a sign that reads ‘blind date with a book’ hanging from it, surrounded by books wrapped in craft paper. The walls are painted in deep, emerald green, and it feels cozy. A place you want to spend time in.
A soft jazz playlist is flooding through the speakers, and a few people are browsing the shelves but not many. Andrew can understand why. When the weather is this nice, the last place he would want to be is inside.
Different strokes for different folks.
“Hey, Jet!” a peppy voice says, turning Andrew’s attention to the counter as JT leaves him. A five-foot something redhead stands behind it, smiling at them both .
“Hey Cara,” JT says, leaning on his elbows on the counter. “I think Ainsley had an order come in she wants me to pick up for her, and my friend Andy and I were hoping to get some coffee.”
“Sure,” the girl, Cara, replies. She has a Raleigh accent and he’s wondering what she’s doing all the way up here. He also has a feeling that he’s seen her before, but can’t connect the dots. “I’ll go grab her order from the back, and you guys can decide what you want for drinks.”
“Thanks,” JT says, turning to Andrew. “What do you want for coffee?”
“The usual,” Andrew says, distracted.
The most beautiful woman he has ever seen in his entire thirty-two years of life is not even a foot away.
She’s standing with a pile of books in her arms, scanning the shelves for something. She smiles when she finds it, and pops a book from her stack between two others.
“Who is that?” He asks JT, pointing. JT knocks his hand down .
“It’s rude to point, didn’t your mom teach you any manners?” he asks, rolling his eyes. “That’s Danielle Spencer. Her parents own this store, but she handles the day-to-day operations. What’s your usual?”
“Vanilla latte, iced,” he says, “with oat milk.”
“Ridiculous,” JT says, “you’re the problem with society.”
“That’s the avocado toast people, not me,” he replies. “I’m man enough to admit that I like a little flavor in my coffee. Oat milk is good for digestion.”
“So is kombucha.”
“Kombucha tastes like vinegar,” he says, already walking away, following Danielle as she shelves another book.
Her just-below-shoulder-length cinnamon brow hair catches in the light as she continues down the shelves, walking toward him a step with legs that go on for miles, before stopping and scanning again.
She’s got curves for days, and her eyes sparkle in satisfaction when she finds what she’s looking for.
Seriously, she’s a total knock-out.
Andrew clears his throat, wanting, no needing her attention, if only to hear what her voice sounds like .
He’s been near this woman for three seconds and he’s already borderline obsessed with her.
This can’t be good.
She turns, her hazel eyes meeting his smoky blue ones and he’s not sure who’s supposed to talk first.
“I—”
“Can I help you find something?” she asks, raising a perfect eyebrow at him.
She’s staring at him like he’s about to waste her time and that’s not normally the effect he has on women.
“Your number?” he blurts. He’s off his game. “I lost it.”
“You can get lost right along with it,” the girl, Danielle, says, turning and walking in the opposite direction.
He pulls his hat off and runs a hand through his hair. He’s always kept his dark hair long enough, but he’s regretting it now. His fingers tangle in the ends, caught in a knot that’s taking him longer than it should to pull apart.
He groans, frustrated, before he darts to catch up with her, shoving his hat back on and flipping it backwards before moving in front of her .
He blocks her path like a creep, even though he’s definitely not that, and stops when he’s in front of her. A stack of books on the floor separates them and keeps him from doing something stupid, like invading her personal space to find out what she smells like.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
“Seriously, what?” she asks.
He’s next to one of the ladders so he leans against it, going for a Fabio ‘guy-of-your-dreams’ kind of look. Girls love when guys lean against things in a sexy way, right?
“I—” he starts again, but before he can get his sentence out, the ladder moves, rolling along its track above the shelf.
Andrew loses his balance and falls forward, trying to catch himself on the stack of books at her feet. He not only knocks them over, he also ends up flat on his face on the hardwood and he thinks he could die right here and it would be fine.
JT is howling with laughter at the counter, and getting egged outside of PNC Arena was nowhere near as bad as this .
“Bro, what ?” JT asks, doubling over and wiping a tear from his eye. Andrew says nothing, he just stands, mumbles an apology, and leaves the store as fast as he can.
He doesn’t even stop to grab his coffee that was sitting on the counter, too busy feeling the racing of his heart and shame that he hadn’t needed building in his chest.