Chapter 12
?
This trope was absolutely not in the binder…
Alister
Problem. Big, big problem.
And, yet, I’ve put it off nearly the entire week, for reasons utterly unknown to me.
Possibly because I’ve been feverishly catching up on all the work I’ve missed.
Possibly because I’ve been a bit addicted to the teasing August allows me.
Regardless, one way or another, I am now parking in the visitor section of Lynn’s neighborhood and walking to her house for the second time in a month to seek wisdom from what I am now calling The Council.
Upon ringing Lynn’s doorbell and being invited into the parlor, I discover…The Council has grown.
Blinking, I stare at a young woman in an apron and a butterfly-scattered hair scarf.
“Don’t mind her,” Lynn, at my side, assures me as she closes the door. “It’s book club night. That’s Mirabelle.”
Mirabelle’s back straightens at the sound of her name, and she stops arranging an assortment of cookies around the teapots on the coffee table to look at me. Surprise ripples in her eyes. “Boys aren’t allowed at book club,” she says. “That’s a rule. An unspoken rule, but still a rule.”
“Oh, he won’t be here long, Mira,” Leeann says. “We just need to help him with a problem.” She lowers her voice, but not enough. “He’s going to marry August.”
Mirabelle’s lashes flutter, and she doesn’t bother whispering—or attempting to whisper—when she says, “He is?”
Sagely, Leeann nods.
Mirabelle smiles, genuinely elated…genuinely seeming delighted…
and I find my heart squeezing at the idea that someone else I’ve just met could care about my August’s happiness so much.
I love this town. I wish I’d bothered to visit more, for longer, not just for an afternoon here and there in between work trips.
“Come, come.” Lynn ushers me in, and I hug my grandmother before taking the single seat across from the long couch full of women.
Kind, yet mildly apprehensive, Grandma Beth lifts her teacup and says, “Tell us what the problem is, Ali.”
Ali. I haven’t heard that one out of text for a hot second. Blowing out a breath, I say, “I have a date with August this weekend…at the lake.”
Grandma Beth winces, and the other elderly women cringe, eyes settling on my blond wig. Mirabelle, however, lights up. “That’s so cute! August loves the lake. Do you know her favorite snacks? I know them. I saw her shopping list once since we have the same shopping day. You could surprise her.”
I find myself forgetting the point of this meeting as I lean forward. “Really? That would be wonderful. I was planning to home-make a picnic. I’ve been looking for recipes that taste like summer. I was going to take a risk on making a dragon fruit pie.”
“Dragon fruit?” Mirabelle’s lips form a perfect circle. “That sounds positively exotic. If it turns out, will you get me the recipe?”
“Absolutely. I’m hopeful. August seems the type who’d enjoy something out of the ordinary.”
Mirabelle bobbleheads. “Completely.”
Lynn clears her throat, and Mirabelle and I startle, giving her our attention. She murmurs, “I think…perhaps before we start making menus…we should figure out a solution to the big problem?”
Ah.
Right.
Lifting my hand, I graze my fake hair.
Grandma Beth’s brows lower, and she turns to rest her palm on Mirabelle’s knee. “Now, dearie…you must make a promise to me right now. What we’re about to discuss is secret.”
Mirabelle’s head tilts. “Is this love yet unrequited? I won’t tell.”
“Something like that,” Leeann murmurs, lifting her eyes toward the ceiling. “Promise us what we talk about here today will not reach August.”
Tentatively, Mirabelle says, “Okay…I promise.”
“Excellent!” Leeann claps, turning back to me. “So. What have you figured out so far?”
What indeed… “It is not advised to swim in a wig.”
Mirabelle’s eyes lock on my head, and she says, “You’re bald? And August doesn’t know?”
Withering, Grandma Beth continues patting Mirabelle’s knee. “Not…quite.”
“Worse,” Leeann says, deflating.
Mirabelle utterly pales. “Oh my word. You have cancer.”
“No.” I throw my hands up. “No, no. I don’t. It’s nothing that terrible. I’m just…not blond.”
Mirabelle, who has for reasons unknown memorized August’s shopping list, appears none the wiser to her masculine preferences. “I…don’t think I understand.”
Leeann clarifies, “My frightfully confused granddaughter likes blonds.”
Mirabelle’s mouth opens, but lag settles into the space between it moving and words escaping. “I…still don’t understand.”
“I’m wearing a wig, because I have naturally dark hair, and she wants a blond.”
“You’re lying to her?” Mirabelle’s voice pitches.
Well. I mean.
Mirabelle’s distaste floods the room, hitting me square between the brows. “You’re lying to her.” Her head whips toward the other women. “And you’re all encouraging it? Leeann! That’s your granddaughter’s feelings you’re letting him play with!”
Leeann’s lips purse. “I prefer to think of it as…helping her.”
Mirabelle scoffs.
Lynn plants her hands at her hips. “She asked for secret identity. We’re doing what we can to give her exactly the story she’s asked for.”
“Speaking of,” I raise my hand, “I believe we’ve managed to obtain something akin to an enemies plotline. I’m not certain it could be used as a trope in marketing if our story were written down, but…” I shrug. “I mean, maybe it could be? I suppose it would depend on the desperation of the author.”
Leeann snaps her fingers. “Lynn, bring out the thing.”
Oh dear. We’ve a thing now?
Lynn, reverently, nods and rises, exiting the room to return with the binder. She then places it in Mirabelle’s lap. “August gave this to Leeann when she asked her to search for a husband. It’s by August’s own request that we are following her exact guidelines.”
It takes Mirabelle two minutes of searching through the book to declare, “August wanted you to stop giving random tourists her phone number, Leeann.”
Leeann slaps her hand to her heart. “How dare you.”
Dry, Mirabelle points at the list of microtropes. “You can tell she didn’t take this seriously, because she didn’t even make this whole thing herself.”
All our brows rise, and I say, “What do you mean?”
“The handwriting here is different. It’s a little hard to tell because all of the fonts are forced, awkward, and unnatural, but I’m completely confident half of these tropes were added by December, because, first of all, she’s the one who does crafts like this, and, second of all, August wouldn’t include half a dozen kiss scenes in her real life love story. She barely includes them in her books.”
Well.
I did think it was a little bit of a contrast with slow burn hanging around. I’m glad I decided against kissing her Sunday night. It took every ounce of self control in me to stop myself while firefly light glittered in her eyes, but now I’m unbelievably grateful.
I swallow as a thought occurs to me and my heart rate jumps. “Is there a chance that the blond thing was also December?”
Mirabelle returns to the collage of anime princes and hums. “No. Nope. The picture style is December, but the characters are all her. Completely. Every time she’s joined us for book club, she’s always bringing up the animes she likes.
I’ve talked about them with my friend Fawn, and her nose wrinkles at them.
Specifically because many of the leads are… this.”
Oh. But… “Right now she’s watching an anime without a blond lead. Maybe that means there’s hope?”
“What anime?” Mirabelle asks.
I pull up my email history on my phone and recite the title. Mirabelle pulls the anime up on her phone and squints at the pictures before sending a withering look my way. “Ali. This main character…is a child.”
My mouth opens, but. Yeah, no. She’s right. She’s not only right, but also it occurs to me that in all the conversations about this anime I’ve had with August, she has obviously not seen the main character as a male lead. It’s not even a romance. I’m grasping at straws.
Amid my silent breakdown, Leeann murmurs, “I had no idea you were this close to my granddaughter, Mira.”
“What do you mean?” A genuine trickle of hurt settles in the small woman’s eyes. “She comes to book club sometimes.”
“Right…once every six months or more…but I wasn’t aware you two talked outside that.”
“We don’t really. I just…pay attention when she’s here…
or when I’m at Bear’s and she glares at her phone because she’s gotten another unsolicited text.
August is very easy to read. She doesn’t bother hiding anything.
I’ve always admired that about her…and of course I support her work, too.
There’s a lot about her in her books, in different ways.
Knowing her in real life let’s me see some of the truth that she mixes with the fiction. That’s not…unusual, is it?”
Grandma Beth’s smile warms. “No, sweet girl, that’s not unusual at all.”
Cautious, Mirabelle continues, “We’re friends, aren’t we? We don’t talk a lot, but she came to my wedding. I saw her there. She was busy taking notes, but she congratulated me.”
Leeann’s smile also warms, and she wraps Mirabelle up in a hug. “Of course you’re friends, Mira. I’m sorry. We’re being silly.”
Mirabelle settles. “Clearly.” Her gaze hits me. “He’s in a blond wig in order to emulate anime himbos. Silly doesn’t exactly encompass it.”
Ah. Well, when she puts it that way…
I say, “You don’t mince your words, do you?”
“I’ve been trying not to. It’s taking practice, but it’s easier in some places. Like here. Why? Did I say something rude?”
“I don’t mind blunt.”
“I prefer to call it honest. What you’re not being, by the way.”
I like Mirabelle. She’s good people. I just wish she were less…correct. “I’ve talked to August about expectations and told her I’m keeping secrets. She’s informed me that she’d rather decode them than be told them.”
Mirabelle lets her attention skim toward the window. “I suppose that’s in character… I’m glad you’ve at least sort of told her.”
“I’m trying my best to be what she wants in a male lead. Would you be able to tell which parts of the information in that binder are genuine and which parts aren’t? It’s vital to my research and the continuation of my efforts to embody her wishes.”
Skeptical, Mirabelle furrows her brows. “Can’t we just ask her directly?” Her finger lifts, pointing out the window. “She just pulled up.”
My heart hits my uvula as I whip my attention toward the window and find August’s vehicle on the curb.
With a crass swear, Leeann snatches the binder off Mirabelle’s lap, jolts to her feet, and grabs my arm, jerking me upright with unexpected strength. “You parked in the visitor section?” she blurts.
“I— Uh.” My heart hammers as Leeann’s nails dig into me. “Yes?”
“Great.” She shoves the binder in my arms, then pushes me into a coat closet on the other side of the room.