CHAPTER THREE
I see a man urinating on the side of a large garbage bin.
It’s Monday morning, and I’m pulling into one of the empty parking spots facing the back entrance of Plants, Pottery & Books. The staff has to park in the back alleyway. It’s kind of sketchy back here, especially at night.
Last summer, Ben and I twirled a bunch of fairy lights around the railings and columns of the back deck, sprucing it up a bit. It actually looks kind of magical at night until you catch some strange man peeing on the side of a random dumpster.
Monday mornings are usually busy in the plant shop. Ben likes to hold mini-events, and on Mondays this month, they’re focusing on growing your own vegetables.
I take my keys out of the ignition and open the car door. I pretend I don’t see the man and walk up the steps. As I make my way into the back of the building, I hear a group of women laughing. They spend most of the time flirting with Ben, who seems oblivious to the mischievous grins and winks they throw his way. He has his regulars who attend every week. The retired crew, they like to call themselves.
I walk into the bookstore. It’s the smallest room in the building, but I’d say the coziest. I make my way behind the counter and pull out my laptop from the soft bag I got for Christmas that reads “Bookworm.” This was a gift from Lucy. I mean, she’s not wrong. I spend most of my free time caught up in a novel. It is one of the best parts about working here. I get the freedom to write, read, and chat with customers or friends who enjoy the same pastime as I do: reading about love. I mean, who doesn’t love to be swept away into a world full of love and grand gestures?
I shove my purse and bag under the counter and set myself up on the high stool. Another roar of laughter echoes through the small building. I don’t even think Ben is all that funny, well, not in a comedic way. I mean, he is kind of cute-funny. He doesn’t try to win people over. He’s not fake, or arrogant. He’s just himself.
The calendar pops up on my screen. We have a book signing later this week with a local author. I log on to our social media page and create a sponsored ad with the author’s name, book title, and the details for Thursday’s event.
The next hour is spent checking emails and responding to comments and posts. Two customers come in and make purchases, and now I’m just about to refresh the main display table. I load my arms with more books than I can carry, the hardcover edges digging into my arms. Before I can turn to set them down, I’m stopped by something blocking my way. I can’t see over the tower of books in my arms.
“Oh, my God!” I blurt out as the books begin to fall out of my arms, and my face comes into contact with something hard.
I step back, look up, and realize that I just collided with Ben’s chest. Damn, he must be ripped under that soft blue sweater. I shake my head and look down at the books all sprawled on the floor.
I look back up at Ben. “I am so sorry. I didn’t hear you come in behind me.” I fumble, still a little shaken by the surprise contact between my face and his chest.
“No worries,” Ben says. “Let me help you.”
He starts to bend down just as I lean forward to pick up last week’s collection from the display table. Pain shoots through the front of my forehead. My hand flings in response to where the pain is radiating, just above my eyebrows.
“Oh, shit,” Ben interjects as I realize we just collided once again, this time with our foreheads.
I straighten and start to laugh, rubbing the sore spot. Ben is doing the same, a smirk appearing across his face.
I stop laughing just long enough to say I’m sorry. Ben is laughing now, his voice deep.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“You’ve got a hard head,” he says, snickering.
“Lots of info up in here,” I say as I tap the side of my temple with my index finger. “Stay right where you are. I’m going in,” I remark before once again bending down to pick up the mess I’ve made.
As someone who is mostly impatient, I should have known better. I have a bad habit of trying to do everything all at once. I can’t count how many times I’ve dropped my groceries or hurt myself trying to hike up the two flights of stairs to my apartment after hanging every single bag on both arms. I refuse to do two trips.
I place the books onto the counter, and Ben bends down when I’m safely out of reach and gets the rest.
I smile at him. “Thanks,” I say.
“No problem.” He hands me the rest of the books. “How was the hockey game the other night?” he asks.
Oh, crap. I forgot I told him Jake and I were going to one.
“Well, the game was good, but we left early. We sort of broke up,” I say, looking down, avoiding his eyes, feeling awkward.
It feels like forever ago already. I texted Jake once to see if he was okay, and I never got a reply. I’ll give him some space before asking for my stuff back.
“You broke up?” Ben asks, looking confused. The lines on his forehead crinkle as he raises his eyebrows quizzically.
“Jake proposed to me at the game,” I say, licking my lips, my mouth feeling suddenly dry. I grab my water bottle from under the cash drawer, taking a long sip.
“Wait, what? He proposed to you?” Ben asks, his back straightening. I put the cap back on the water bottle. “You said no?” he asks before I’ve had time to answer his first two questions.
“I said no. I don’t know. He was acting so strange, and I legit thought he was going to break up with me. Next thing you know, he’s on his knee with a ring in his hand,” I say, replaying the scene in my head.
“Wow, that’s quite the turnaround. You were with him awhile.” Ben blinks a few times and starts playing with the leaf of one of the plants sitting on the counter between us. “He was kind of a moutard, though, to be honest,” Ben says, smiling at me.
I laugh at our inside joke.
About a month ago, we were making sandwiches in the staff room, and we couldn’t find any mayo, so we used an old bottle of mustard that we found in the fridge. I don’t know if it was just the long week, but Ben started talking in a French accent while building his ham and cheese, and he kept going on about the moutard. The next day, I had a pretty rude customer, and as he walked by Ben to leave the shop, he muttered, ‘What a moutard’ (said like moo-tard). It kind of just stuck and has been our inside insult since.
“He was not a moutard ,” I say, smiling back at Ben. I hop up onto my stool, digging my thick heels into the footrest to adjust my position.
I prop my elbows on top of the counter and rest my chin in my hands. Ben leans onto the counter, towering over me slightly. I may have short-girl problems, but Ben has his fair share of tall-boy troubles. He refuses to let me drive him home in my small hatchback. His legs bend right up into his chest. The one time I picked him up when his car wouldn’t start, I laughed for hours after remembering the sight of him squeezed into the seat.
Ben winks at me. “He was definitely a moutard. ”
What was that? Did Ben just wink at me? Never in this lifetime has Ben winked at me. My stomach flinches.
I hop off the stool and come around the counter. “Okay, Ben, I’ve got work to do.” I walk towards the display table, picking up the last few books that are still standing.
“Sure, I’ll talk to you after, Sof.” Ben pulls awkwardly at the bottom of his slightly frayed Thor t-shirt as he turns and walks back towards the plant shop.
* * *
I pull out my lunchbox, and I’m just biting into a bold BBQ Dorito when Ben walks in.
“Can you chew any louder?” he teases, sitting down across from me.
“Hey!” is all I can say since my mouth is still full.
Ben looks over my shoulder. “Your display turned out great.”
“Thanks,” I say as I bite into another chip. I take out my cut-up apples and almond butter. I have to counteract the Doritos for lunch. I lean back in my chair and let myself relax against the soft white backrest. When I first started working here, the bookstore looked kind of tired and dusty. The major business, where most of the income comes from, was the plant shop. When Jeffrey offered me the job, I suggested that the place needed a makeover.
He gave me a budget, and I had so much fun revamping the place. I went with a Boho vibe to fit in with the plant shop. We have plants everywhere. Some are hanging from the ceiling in earth-tone macrame plant holders, while the others have been placed strategically throughout the small store.
I only have two small windows in here with limited natural light, so Ben keeps an eye out on the plants for me. I definitely don’t have a green thumb. The bookcases that line the four walls were all made of oak, so it was easy to bring them to life by decorating the rest of the space. I found these cute little unique tables where the legs are a pedestal-like, star-shaped base with a distressed white top with matching chairs. I look around the room. This place feels like a little haven.
“Was it busy this morning?” I ask.
“Yeah, actually,” Ben says. “A guy came in from a new shop opening up this week. It’s down the street from here. His wife sells clothes and stuff, I guess.”
He puts the lid back on his container and grabs two granola bars from his bag. I notice they’re covered in chocolate and suddenly wish I could steal a bite when he’s not looking.
“Nice, I’ll have to go check it out,” I say, making a mental note to take a walk down the street sometime.
With parking in the back alleyway, I haven’t really paid any attention to the shops that have come and gone in the last two years. I am so used to the same drive every day that I kind of zone out and then wonder how the hell I made it here alive.
We hear someone come into the store, and I notice Ben’s shoulders stiffen. I turn around to see Jake standing there, holding a box with one of my sweaters draped over the side.
“Jake,” I say his name, looking at him.
“Hey.” He nods towards Ben. “I just thought I would come and bring you the stuff you left at my place,” he says, looking back and forth between Ben and me.
I stand and take the box from his hands. “Thanks. I’ll bring your stuff by later this week.”
I frown, noticing his unshaven face, his weekend joggers, and the sad look in his brown eyes. I suddenly feel awful that I haven’t even really thought much about him.
“No need. I used my key and stopped there this morning. I grabbed my stuff already,” he says, pulling out the key to my apartment and handing it to me. “I went back home and got this stuff for you and thought I’d just drop it off. It’s closer than going back to your place.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure what to reply. I walk towards the counter and set the box down, grabbing my purse and taking out the key to his apartment. “I guess I should give this back to you, then.”
He takes the key, quickly looking away when our fingers touch. The spark that was once there is now just a memory.
“Alright, well, I’m off.” He’s already turning to leave.
“Wait!” I inhale abruptly. “I’m sorry for how things turned out, Jake.”
I lean on the counter, not sure what to do with my hands. How is it you can spend two years with someone and then, just like that, in a matter of seconds, you suddenly don’t know how to behave around them?
“Me too,” he says, nodding at Ben again before disappearing through the door.
Ben stands, grabbing his lunch box and crumpling the granola bar wrappers in his right hand before reaching around the counter and dropping them in the garbage beside me.
“Well, that was awkward,” I blurt, and I avoid his gaze not wanting to notice any looks of pity.
He places a hand on mine. “You’ll be fine, Sofia. Maybe now you will have time to start your novel,” Ben offers, a gleam of excitement can be seen behind those green eyes of his.
I look down at his hand on mine.
“Yeah, maybe,” I reply.
* * *
The afternoon flies by, and I finish cleaning up after the weekend. Customers tend to pick up books, read the back cover, and then put them back down in random places. It was a lot of work placing them in alphabetical order by author name and genre, and I try to keep it that way.
I also managed to finish my latest blog for “Lawn Maintenance Weekly.” I’ve been writing for them for two months. I had no idea there was so much information one needed to consider before buying a weed wacker or a lawn mower. I receive a small stipend for each blog I write. They tell me which product they want me to write about, and I do the research. Easy money, however, it’s not at all satisfying.
I close my laptop. Emily will be here shortly to take over for the evening.
I look down at the box my feet are resting on. It really is baffling to think that just last Monday, I had a boyfriend, this job, and great friends. I was just living day to day in my routine, content with just being content.
I rest my chin on my hands and close my eyes. Is that what I want? Do I want to just be content with my life? Jake and I had a pretty passionless relationship. The butterflies had long since flown away.
I think I need to find my purpose again. I need to break my regular habits and start trying new things. Emily walks into the store carrying an iced coffee and a book. I hop off the stool, grab my purse and box of stuff, and move out of the way so she can squeeze behind the counter. I smile at her.
“Have a great night, Emily!” I say.
“Thanks!” she says, already making herself comfy on the stool and setting down the novel she had been holding under her arm.
I smile and wave to Ben before I head out. “See you tomorrow!” I call, not waiting for his reply.
Yes, maybe it’s a good time to re-invent myself. I press my back into the door to open it since my hands are full. I hear it shut behind me with a loud bang.
I look up at the clouds in the sky. They’re covering the sun. Maybe I will start this whole re-inventing myself tomorrow.