Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
MELLIE
With the tourist season in full swing, and the first big spring festival happening this week, the bookstore is overwhelmed with a constant flow of customers.
The downfall to busier business is that I haven’t had as much time to work on my story as I would have liked.
As I hurry back up to the front register with a book requested by my current customer, I decide to set aside time to write tonight.
The deadline for submissions is looming.
It’s time to get serious if I want to be done in time.
I finish ringing up the last customer in line, and a deep sigh escapes me as I lean back against the desk, blowing hair out of my face.
“I’m still not used to all of these extra people after how easy it’s been since I started here,” I tell Sydney.
She’s sitting on the stool behind the desk, fanning herself with her hand.
Today, her curly, light brown hair is plaited into two braids, one hanging down each shoulder.
She has tiny little bows tied around each end.
On anyone else, it would seem childish, but Sydney makes it work, like she does with anything she wears.
Her outfit of the day is an off the shoulder, slouchy sweater complimented by a thin, black choker.
Meanwhile, there’s me, her total opposite in my denim overalls and little white tee, a long sleeved flannel tied around my waist.
“Oh hun, this is nothing. Just wait until summer hits. It’s a whole different vibe,” Sydney responds. “Although, I didn’t realize the Tulip Festival was going to bring in so many tourists. We haven't hosted it since I moved here.”
The entire town square has been taken over by the flowers, with elaborate displays in many store fronts and across the grassy lawn by the gazebo.
People have been milling around all week, taking photos in front of some of the more picturesque displays and buying bouquets of the colorful, fresh flowers.
Imogen and Erica have the most extravagant display of all. They must be in heaven.
“At least it smells amazing out there,” I point out.
“Forget tulips. I want to hear more about this camping weekend you all had without me,” Sydney says, shooting me a glare that fizzles immediately as her expression turns to one full of glee, her green eyes dancing. “Tell me again how many mind-blowing orgasms Ronin gave you?”
I slap Sydney’s arm, hushing her. “Excuse you, keep it down. What if someone’s in here? There could be a kid back there, hiding in the play area.”
“Well, if we have a random kid stowed away, that’s a whole separate issue. Hello? Anyone there?” Sydney calls out to the back of the store. “Yoo hoo! Hello?” She turns back to me. “See? Just us. Spill.”
I catch her up on everything that went down over the weekend. When I finish, Sydney pretends to swoon against the desk.
“First kiss in front of a waterfall? It’s like a fucking fairy tale.”
I smile, memories of being held by Ronin—being kissed, being touched—flooding my mind. “Yeah. It was.” I clear my throat, my cheeks warming as I divert my gaze. “It actually wasn’t the first time we kissed though?”
Sydney is silent for a beat. Then, “Excuse me?”
I pretend to straighten one of the framed art prints hanging on the wall behind the desk. Her death stare is like a laser beam into my skull. “Yeah, so we slept together when we were eighteen, nothing else to tell—let’s move on, shall we?” I spit out in one breath.
The door chimes as someone enters the shop, and I suppress a groan. This reprieve lasted all of two minutes between customers, and my feet hurt. All I want is to sit down.
“We are going to table this and come back to it, Mellie Baker,” Sydney stage-whispers as footsteps approach.
I turn around to welcome our guest, and I’m greeted instead by Ronin standing at the desk holding two coffee cups.
“I thought you could use a pick-me-up. It looked pretty slammed over here,” he says.
“You are a saint, truly,” Sydney replies, grabbing one of the to-go cups and inhaling. I catch her casual perusal of Ronin, her eyes wandering up his body appreciatively. I kick her shin behind the desk, earning a smirk from her as she sips her coffee.
“Thanks, Ro,” I say, reaching for the one he holds out to me. “You have impeccable timing.”
I’m rewarded with a smile I return, taking a grateful sip of my drink.
Ronin leans his elbows on the desk. “So, what time are you done here today?” he asks.
“Well, it was supposed to be in a few hours, but it looks like Syd’s going to need help closing,” I answer.
Sydney quietly excuses herself and leaves the front desk, heading into the shelves and straightening a few books out of place as she passes.
“Well, I was wondering,” Ronin begins, meeting my gaze. “Would you like to have a late dinner with me?”
“Tonight?” There go my writing plans. A sacrifice I am willing to make if it means more alone time with Ronin.
“Yes, tonight. At my place,” Ronin smiles, his twin dimples flashing. “I thought maybe I could take you up on that meal I owe you. I’ll cook.” He cocks his head to the side as he stares, waiting for my answer.
My heart rate speeds up. I lower the coffee back to the desk.
“Dinner at your place. Is this you showing me your romantic side already, Ronin?” I lean in, placing my elbows on the desk across from his. Our faces are only a foot apart. The lingering scent of diner food clings to his clothing.
“Well, I did say when I asked you on a date, you’d know,” Ronin says. He leans in a little further. “Assuming you’re still interested, that is.”
“Oh, I’m very interested,” I reply coyly.
“I was hoping you would say that.” He reaches into his back pocket and presents a single pink tulip for me to take. When I reach for it, he holds on for a second, not letting go. I meet his stare with my own.
“Oh, and Mel?” he says quietly, leaning down to my ear, “This is me romancing you.” He lets go of the tulip.
I twirl the flower between my fingers with a small smile. “Not bad, Mr. Kane. Not bad at all.”
Ronin closes the distance between us, kissing me, a quick, sweet tease of what may come later.
“Tonight,” he says, voice strained. “I’ll pick you up at seven, is that alright?”
“Yep, sounds great.”
“Alright. See you then.”
His lips find mine once more before he turns to leave. As soon as the bell chimes his exit, Sydney comes running back from behind the shelves, screaming quietly.
“Mellie!” Sydney hugs me. “Text me tonight after. Or tomorrow morning—I don’t know your life. I will need every. Single. Detail.” She punctuates each word with a thrust of her hips, making me laugh.
“Duh,” I reply. I fan my face, walking around the desk to plop into one of the over-sized chairs. “Even after this past weekend, this still feels surreal.”
Sydney grins at me from behind the desk. “I haven’t shipped anyone this hard since Bella and Edward. This is fucking fantastic.”
“Syd, that was like, almost twenty years ago.” I pause, my eyes widening. “Wow, I really regret saying that out loud.”
“Yeah, well, they’re still my favorite couple. I don’t care how old I get.”
“You have an unhealthy obsession with Twilight. I’m just being real with you.”
“You say obsession, I say appreciation,” Sydney replies. “Tomatoes, toe-ma-toes.”
“I feel ancient. I have to look at when that book actually came out now.” I pull out my phone and search for the release date. “Oh my God, it was 2006. It was almost twenty years ago. Excuse me while I go hide in a dark corner and wither away.”
“Well, put your existential crisis on hold until tomorrow, old lady, because I need to live vicariously through your date tonight. We don’t have time for any breakdowns today, Grandma.”
“I wish I had something to throw at you right now.”
“Please, you’d be so bored without me.” Sydney sips her coffee, unbothered.
The bell chimes over the entrance as a family comes sweeping into the store, the two young kids running through the shelves toward our children’s area in the back. The parents smile at us as they pass, following their children.
“You’re lucky they showed up when they did or I may have resorted to throwing a shoe,” I say to Sydney after they walk by. I push out of the comfortable chair, and ready myself for the next rush of customers.
To Sydney’s disappointment, my date with Ronin has been postponed.
He received a call from his grandparents earlier, requesting his assistance immediately at their home.
Julian took a hard fall and bruised his hip pretty badly.
Ronin called me just before I left the bookstore, his voice full of sorrow as he explained Nora needed his help at the house. He promised to make it up to me soon.
I find myself at home before I know it, settling in for a night of writing. But before I dive into full writer-mode, I make a quick list for the market, planning to bring over some food tomorrow evening so Nora doesn’t have to worry about cooking.
Sitting on my bed, my hair pulled up into a messy bun and wearing my favorite comfortable sweatpants and hoodie, I’m ready to go full-blown writer gremlin. Settling into the pillows behind me, my laptop propped on my lap, I stare at the blinking cursor on the blank page.
It’s mocking me, that incessant blinking. Who did I think I was, trying to write a story? I’m not an author.
I sigh, leaning my head back against my pillow.
“Okay, Mellie, let’s think,” I say out loud. “Who are your characters? Why are they both at this inn, alone?”
I decide to make an outline instead of diving right into the story.
I type up a brief summary of events and make a short list of characters, keeping the plot simple for the purposes of the short story.
There is a bad snowstorm and both main characters happen to be driving home.
They each decide to pull over for the night.
When they both arrive at the only inn in town, they realize they recognize each other, both secretly pining for the other for quite some time.
When the innkeeper informs them there is only one room available, they decide to share. To the reader’s delight, when the pair get to their room, they find there is only one bed. I plan to keep the romance level pretty tame. This story is more about the emotional connection the two share.
Now that I’ve got a solid outline, I open a new document page. Instead of letting the blinking cursor intimidate me again, I jump right in, reminding myself I can always go back and change things if it’s awful.
It’s too quiet, so I pop in my earbuds and choose one of my lofi playlists. The words flow out of me as I lose myself in the music and the story, weaving the tale of these characters’ meet-cute.
I snap out of my writing haze a while later, checking the time and shocked to see a couple of hours have gone by. It’s late, and I have work in the morning, so I close my laptop and lay back against my pillows.
I pull the covers over me and snuggle in, falling asleep before I can form another thought.
The afternoon sun is warm on my back as I sit behind the desk in The Reading Nook, scrolling through the bit of writing I got done last night. I switch off chewing on the tip of my pen for a bite of my sandwich.
All in all, it’s not terrible. But it feels like it’s missing that special something that hooks a reader, especially in such a short format. Who cares about a silly one-bed story? What does this story have that will make it stand out above the others?
I think back to my younger years when I first started reading romance.
That feeling of giddiness that comes with watching two characters fall in love, the familiar tropes found in each love story coming to life on the page.
A distant memory of a conversation with Ronin when we were teenagers pops into my head, one I had forgotten about until now.
A book about fated mates I had been reading had led to a discussion about fate and how it had brought me across the country to him.
I never would have become the person I am today if I hadn’t come here.
So much of who I am entwined with who Ronin is.
Maybe the same could be said about my characters now. Maybe this is a story about fate that mirrors my own.
I’d said as much to Ronin weeks ago, sitting at Double Shot while I brainstormed. Somewhere along the way, getting caught up in my own head, I had forgotten what was at the heart of my story. Fate playing her hand and setting two people on a course for true love.
Filled with a renewed sense of purpose, I jot down some notes for myself to go over later, satisfied with the progress I’ve made.
As I finish my lunch, my thoughts remain on me and Ronin’s relationship and what it took to get us here.
Moving away and returning home… It has the sense of something preordained, like it was always meant to happen this way.
These new feelings with him feel natural.
The timing never felt right before, not for me, but now—we fit.
Now he feels like the true reason I returned to Blue Fields.