Chapter Seventeen
Eliza
“One man in his time plays many parts.”
—William Shakespeare, As You Like It
The hardware store was unusually quiet for a Thursday morning.
Thursdays were normally the days contractors came for supplies before taking on big weekend jobs.
But judging by the sales reports Dad left open on the desktop computer in the back office (so careless…
I can’t even), Thursdays had been slow like this for a while now.
Maybe Dad wanting to leave Fairfield wasn’t only about new stadium opportunities?
At the back of the store, Lauryn sang into the top of her broom handle like it was a microphone. She whirled around and belted the next few lines of “Waving Through a Window” from Dear Evan Hansen to the back wall of paintbrushes and tape.
I laughed and turned up the song from her playlist before I grabbed the box of gloves and headed toward Aisle Four, straightening the hammers and band saws as I passed through Aisle Three. I sang too, but much softer than Lauryn. Her voice belonged on the stage. Mine stayed in the shower.
After adding the new gloves to the display and straightening up the cleaning products in the plumbing aisle, I headed back to the front counter.
Lauryn now sat on it, legs swinging and head down, while her hand flew over a page in her sketchpad.
She held it up while I grabbed another box behind the register.
“So what do you think? I’ve been sketching like a madwoman since we got back from the Gem and Mineral Show. ”
I gawked at her newest design: earrings in the shape of a treble clef with stones framing the bottom. “Oh my God, they’re gorgeous. How will you get the stones in place like that?”
“With a good set of needle-nosed pliers and a hell of a lot of patience.” She laughed and closed the sketchpad. “So you wanna come over later? I’m in the mood to bake cookies.”
I nearly dropped the box cutter on the floor. “Your mom is letting you bake again?”
She huffed. “Come on, E. That was a long time ago.”
It wasn’t, but I didn’t correct her.
“Besides, Mom said I can bake again so long as I’m not home alone, so if you’re there, I’m good!” She smiled.
Lauryn’s mom put a heck of a lot more trust and faith in her than my parents did. The last time Lauryn tried baking, she almost burned down their apartment because of wax paper in a hot oven. It was…messy.
“I need to swing by the theater after work and set more cues. I’d really like to finish act one today. But I should be able to come over after dinner,” I said. With an extinguisher, just in case.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket, and something fluttered in my stomach when I read the text.
Reed: You busy right now? Wanna meet me at the Fairfield town sign in maybe a half hour?
I did a little jig behind the counter and showed Lauryn the text.
Her eyes widened. “What are you waiting for?”
“I can’t.” I frowned and gestured to the empty store. “I’ve still got a few hours left for my shift. And I really need to set those cues—”
“You’re ahead of schedule, right?”
Ahead? With a board I was still learning how to use? “I mean…not really, but…”
“I’ll handle closing.”
“You’ve never closed before, Lauryn.”
“It’s not like it’s busy.” She hopped off the counter and gestured to our one customer in the back, who was bobbing his head along to “What Baking Can Do” from Waitress. “I’ll lock up at five and then count the money in the register and lock the drawer before I leave. Easy.”
“Easy”? “I guess I could get up early and set cues in the morning since we don’t have practice till later? Or wait, did we have something in the morning?”
“Eliza.” She put her hands on my shoulders. “Go have fun for once.”
Reed waited for me on the outskirts of town.
Leaning against his truck, he smiled as I drove up and parked under a chestnut tree.
He wore a white and dark-blue baseball tee over a pair of Nike shorts, and his Fulton Hawks hat sat backward on his head.
Everything about him exuded confidence and comfort.
As for me, I never felt more nervous and excited in my entire life.
My chest tightened. My hands shook the way they did when a curtain speech finished and I had to press my first cue.
The difference was this: In the booth, I was in control.
I set every mark, memorized each cue, and knew how each would affect the following moment.
I knew the highs and lows of the story from the safety of the light board.
But here? Walking toward him? I was a principal on center stage delivering a monologue that I hadn’t rehearsed on opening night.
“Hi,” he said, his voice husky.
Maybe he was just as nervous as I was but better at faking it?
“Hi,” I barked.
Smooth, Eliza. Smooth.
He swallowed hard and scratched the back of his neck. “So I believe I owe you a slice of pie.”
“Yes, you do.” I smiled.
“Great.” He walked around to the passenger side of his truck and opened the door for me. His hand touched mine ever so lightly as I climbed inside. Warmth circled and coiled its way around my hand and wrist until he let go.
“How’s practice going?” I pushed my sweaty hands against my shorts.
“Pretty good.” He smiled at me, making my cheeks burn. “I’m getting more comfortable with my curveball. Gotta get used to throwing to Troy though—”
“Isn’t Ben catching for you?” I tucked one of my legs under the other.
“He is, but…” He drummed on the steering wheel. “He hasn’t really been himself lately. Coach wants to make sure Troy is ready.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about.” He reached across the center console and squeezed my hand, sending little goose bumps up my arm. “This is between me and Ben. We’ll be okay.”
I opened my mouth and then closed it. Reed’s face looked sad. Pained. Whatever was going on between the two of them didn’t sound okay or anywhere close to it. But I had never lost a best friend before. Who was I to give him advice about it?
A few minutes later, he pulled into Jenny’s Diner, a place Robbie and I went to all the time when we were kids and old enough to ride bikes alone outside of town limits.
Reed and I walked up together, and he looped his pointer finger through mine.
It wasn’t a big gesture, not full-on holding hands or leading me by the small of my back, but it was something. He was something.
And it felt right.
We found a booth near the far side and sat opposite each other. A waitress handed us laminated menus and said she’d be back in a moment to take our orders.
My leg bounced wildly under the table. I couldn’t remember the last time I went on a date, but I don’t remember ever feeling this excited about it.
Reed cleared his throat and flipped over his menu. “Apple or cherry, Crowley?”
“Yes,” I said.
He laughed and lowered his menu. “Both it is, then.” When he smiled, the dimple that I once wanted to punch but now desperately wanted to kiss appeared and made me flush all over.
But just as I reached across the table to lay my hand on his, the door to the diner opened, and the universe threw us the worst possible curveball ever.