Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
MELLIE
PRESENT DAY
What sort of bribe would you accept to maybe, possibly, bring me over an iced brown sugar latte to the Nook?
Brave of you to ask such an open-ended question of me, Mel.
I will literally do anything for some caffeine right now
Do your worst, Kane
So many options to go with here, how does one choose?
There’s the obvious option A- eternal servitude.
But that seems a bit extreme, even for me.
What are these terms of servitude going to entail? I said I’d do anything. Grandma Nora has me desperate over here
Oooh yeah, stock day, isnt it?
Indeed. My body hasn’t handled this level of manual labor since the carnival of 2011
Well now you’ve got my pity. Forget servitude- how about you just come by the diner after work and have a drink with me? I know the bartender, might be able to hook us up with some freebies on the house
You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Kane
And don’t forget the whipped cream, please
January 25th
You will never guess what DVD I just found at the flea market.
We have a flea market? Since when??
Is it one of the Scary Movie movies? I’m missing one of them, but I can’t remember which
I still haven’t figured out what you see in those films.
And yeah, the flea market opened up a couple of years ago. It’s actually just Levi, Sal, and Jay running a few booths down by the highschool football field on the weekends.
They’re classic 2000s cinema, Ronin. What do you mean??
…and omg why doesn’t this surprise me at all
…
Do you want to know why I texted you or not?
Only if the answer has changed to “Mel, can I take you to the flea market tomorrow?” I need to see this immediately
Also, yes, please tell me
Of course I’ll take you to the flea market. Just don’t expect much besides some used DVDs and old “vintage” clothes.
I mean, sounds like heaven, what are you talking about
So what was the movie?? Don’t leave me hanging
Remember that time we went to that weird film festival in Callahan?
I don’t think I could forget that experience even if I tried. Not all of those movies were bad, though! We watched a few gems
Exactly… and now, I hold in my hands a copy of that one about the two parrots who fell in love in Florida
YOU ARE SHITTING ME
HOW
I have no fucking idea but I’m on my way to your house right now so we can relive this in all it’s parrot-glory.
This made my day… Never knew a parrot romance was what I needed in my life but here we are
I aim to please I’ll bring the snacks
January slowly bleeds into February.
As the wet, cold weather ensconces Blue Fields, our small town enters the sleepy season nestled between holiday tourists and the blooming of spring.
Inside The Reading Nook, the low humming of Nora drifts across the store. I emerge from the back of the shop where I’ve been organizing the latest shipment we received, and the door swings wide as I take a seat next to Nora.
Sydney’s closing with me today, and she greets us with “Hey, ladies!” as she arrives inside, dripping water all over our entry rug.
She folds up her umbrella and places it in the bucket next to the door, her head of light brown curly hair pulled back into a damp, high ponytail.
The deep red sweater she’s wearing contrasts with her pale, rosy skin, her eyes swept with gold, shimmery shadow, and her cheeks shine with a barely-there pink.
I’ve always admired the way she can wield makeup and fashion so flawlessly.
Even rain-trodden and windswept look good on her.
“Hey, Syd.” I adore her already. Nora was right about that.
As she gets settled in for her shift, Nora says her goodbyes, the door chiming as she exits.
Sydney turns to me, her clear green eyes sparkling. “Guess what I found on my way into work today!”
“Um, a radioactive spider, ready to bite me and grant me superpowers?” I flip idly through a magazine left behind on the front desk.
“No, you weirdo. Remind me why we’re even friends?”
I give her an eye roll as she pulls a flyer out from her bag, flourishing it in front of me with flair. “Ta-da! It’s a writing contest!”
I pause in my page flipping, peering at the flyer she’s holding in my face.
My stomach does a funny flip as I read the details.
Libraries across the county are hosting a short story contest. The winner will receive a small cash prize as well as publication in a well-known, state-wide online lifestyle magazine, The Emerald Times.
“Damn. I was kind of looking forward to having magical webs shoot from my fingers so I’d never have to call an Uber again. But this could be cool, too.” I reach out for the flyer and Sydney passes it over.
“This is perfect for you! You have a degree in English, you’ve written for tons of blogs and shit, and now you can enter this contest—which I know you’ll win—and get published! Your first step toward your new career as an author!” She has it all planned out, apparently.
“An author?” I challenge. “Since when has that been the plan?”
“Since I see you lovingly handpick the local and indie author displays every single week, making sure they’re all prominent right out front. I can see it in your eyes, Mellie. You want this.” She wiggles her brows at me and I laugh.
“I mean…sure? Maybe. I don’t know. I haven’t written any fiction in a long time.
Not exactly the types of jobs I landed while in LA.
I didn’t get to stretch my creative writing muscles because nobody would hire me.
” It had been an endless cycle of being told I didn’t have the experience while not getting the jobs that could give me experience.
“Well, that changes now! This is your chance to stretch those muscles, baby. Get them all nice and limber and ready to flex!” She flexes her arm muscles at me with a serious expression on her face.
“And you think I’m the dork in this friendship?” I gesture between us before I tuck the flyer into my back jeans pocket. “You are a huge goober, you know that, right?”
“I can’t help it that we spend every day together.
Your nerdiness was bound to start rubbing off on me at some point.
But that’s why we compliment each other so well,” Sydney replies sweetly, holding her hands around her face like a heart before pointing a manicured finger at me and mouthing, “You complete me.”
I laugh as I turn back to my magazine.
“What about you? Why don’t you submit a story, too?” I inquire.
Sydney snorts. “Yeah, writing is not in this skillset, sweetie,” she responds, gesturing to herself. “I’m a dancer, remember?”
She certainly has the dancer’s build, with her tall, slim frame. She has a few inches on me, so I peg her for at least five-foot-nine.
“So dancers can’t write, is that what you’re telling me?” I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand. “You can read, right? Or have you been faking it this entire time?”
“I hate you right now, just a little bit,” she states. “You know, I’ll have my business degree next year, and when I open my own dance studio and become the most successful storefront on Main, you will be eating your words. That’s a promise.”
She picks up a stack of books from the counter and heads into the rows of shelves. “Eating your words, Mellie Baker!” she calls over her shoulder.
Once Sydney returns to the front of the shop, I excuse myself to take my break before the last half of the day.
My mind is spinning with the news of the writing contest, and I find myself drifting toward a specific row of shelves.
I run my fingers lightly across the spines until I find the book I’m seeking, pulling it free and lightly brushing over the cover art.
This is a newer edition than the worn, faded copy on my own shelves at home, a beautiful red image with the silhouette of Count Dracula surrounded by flying bats.
I can’t explain it, but something about a rainy day always has me grabbing this novel, wanting nothing more than to escape into the dark, gloomy castle alongside Jonathan Harker.
Today is no exception, and something about the short story contest has me reaching for a comfort read.
Outside, the rain patters lightly against the large front windows, a soothing soundtrack that is at once familiar and nostalgic. My mind is cast outward as a sudden memory invades, the present day bookstore melting away to the Nook of my teenage years.
“What are you reading?”
The voice slices through the silence, startling me.
“Oh, hey Ro.” My own voice is hushed, matching the quiet ambience around us.
The only noise I’ve heard for the last hour was the rain drumming across the storefront, the occasional crack of thunder interrupting the calm every now and then.
Ronin’s loud question echoes in my ears for another few seconds.
“Picked up Dracula again today. Guess the weather put me in the mood for something broody and gothic.” I clear my throat, trying to chase away the scratchiness from nonuse. I lost track of how long I’ve been here reading, tucked away in my own private corner of the store.
“Ah, cool.” Ronin shuffles in place, shoving his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. He scuffs a shoe on the hardwood floor, floppy brown hair hiding his gaze from me.
“What’s up?” I ask, breaking the moment of silence that settles between us. “Were you looking for me?”
The tinkling bell affixed to the Nook’s entrance stirs me out of my own head as a couple enters, low conversation with Sydney following the quiet ringing as the door lightly swings closed behind them. I shake myself back into the present, the memory receding as quickly as it had arrived.
Ronin. He’s always there, lurking in my mind, especially in the small, intimate moments.