Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Ella
“The Woman in Me by Britney Spears is touching, daring, and bold. No one quite captures the feeling of freedom in a cage like Ms. Spears. Forever Free Britney.”
—Ren’s Staff Pick
It had been a bit bleak at The Last Page since the news, the booksellers walking around in a bit of a haze.
Henry and I had been trying to finalize all the details for the book fair to make sure it was possible before getting anyone’s hopes up, but because of that, the booksellers were worried despite my constant reassurances.
Henry was locked in Leo’s office, reading through the binders.
He was weeding out what was possible (exclusive tote bags) and what was not (a Ferris wheel outside like they do for the San Gennaro Festival in Little Italy).
Once he came up with a budget, then we’d share with the booksellers our big plan.
I was itching to just burst into the office and ask a million questions, but I knew that’d only slow him down.
I made my way over to main info to kill time, and Jack was the only bookseller there, flipping through the different books that needed to be sorted.
“Mind any company?” I asked as I approached the desk.
He spared me a glance, then jutted his chin toward the other computers at the register. “Your funeral.”
“I happen to like working main info, thank you very much,” I said.
“Yeah, who doesn’t love dealing with New York’s dumbest residents.”
“Not everyone who asks for a book up here is dumb,” I argued.
“Sure. But the ones who ask if we have any books written by Joe Rogan are.”
“Okay, fair.” I paused. “How’re you holding up?”
Jack had been here probably the longest. Everyone was too scared of him to really befriend him, so no one but Leo knew exactly what he was like back then.
But I’d heard he was a student at Columbia, but left because it was “too institutional,” then came to work here part-time.
Jack became full-time after he couldn’t get a job at a publishing house.
Jack shrugged and said, “Better than everyone else.”
I snorted. “Well, that’s not saying much.”
“I’ve got trust in you, Ella. If you say you’ve got a plan, then I have no worries about The Last Page.”
Ever since that first time I cried in Leo’s office, I felt like I had been constantly shedding tears. My eyes brimmed with them now and I turned away. Of course I was grateful for this trust, but the expectations to fix it all for everyone weighed down so heavily some days that I worried I’d snap.
“Thank you, Jack,” I said softly.
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t get all sappy. Or I’ll hide in the history section until you’re done.”
Before I could respond, Henry jogged down the stairs. He was wearing light blue jeans and a white shirt. His hair was tousled the way it usually was whenever he was looking at the numbers and running anxious hands through it.
His blue eyes lit up when he saw me, though, warmth spreading all over me. I had always secretly wanted that. Someone whose face and life lit up by the idea of me. Even if we couldn’t, it didn’t stop me from wanting to.
“So?” I asked as he approached main info.
“No carnival rides,” he warned. “And no ponies.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He studied me for a second, then nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
I hugged him over the main info desk, our bodies pressed together awkwardly. “We’ll be super careful, I promise. Keep every receipt and count every dollar.”
“That’s a given,” he said. He squeezed my arm as he slowly pulled away. The feel of his hand on me made my skin buzz—I wanted to jerk away from his touch but also put his hand right back on my arm. “What’re you doing tonight?”
“I was going to wallow in self-pity if you didn’t like my ideas, but now I think I’ll keep brainstorming.”
“Want some company for that?”
I stepped back, and when I did I bumped into Jack, who was carrying a stack of books. The stack toppled from his hands onto the ground.
“Is it your first time in the store, Ella?” Jack snapped.
“Sorry, sorry,” I said, my face flaming. Henry and I bent down to help Jack collect the books. Once they were all on the desk, Jack began restacking them and I turned back toward Henry.
“We don’t have to. I just thought you might want some help,” Henry said, stuffing his hands in his pockets sheepishly.
Before I could respond, a customer walked up to the desk and Henry turned to help her out.
“You should go out with him,” Jack said casually, gathering the stack of books in his hands.
I snapped my head toward him. “What’re you talking about?”
He shrugged. “He asked you to hang out, right? That’s what made your body malfunction?”
I widened my eyes at him. “I didn’t malfunction,” I hissed.
“Look, all I’m saying is your email is logged onto every computer at this store.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So, you work with the nosiest people in the world. And we’ve all read the emails.”
“Don’t say it like we’re in the 2016 election,” I whispered harshly.
“Everyone’s shipping you two—”
“I cannot believe you just uttered the word shipping to me.”
Jack barreled on. “I get it’s complicated. But you’re young. Now’s the time for complications. Go on the date and see what happens.”
“You obviously weren’t eavesdropping that well. It’s not a date, it would just be a brainstorming session.”
“Is that what they call it these days?” Jack tilted his head.
“Oh my God,” I groaned. “Jack, when did you turn into a romantic?”
“I didn’t. It’s just going to be annoying to watch you two flirt for months and do nothing about it.”’
With that, Jack stalked off with his stack of books.
Despite falling into the lake with Henry (which, even that was a little fun, too), I really enjoyed hanging out with him outside of work.
I wanted to pick at his brain like a bird, dissecting it into consumable details with parts for now and some for later.
Resolved, I turned back toward Henry now that he was finished up with the customer.
“We don’t have to—” he began, already starting to backtrack.
I cut him off. “Have you ever had Peruvian food?”
He bit back a smile.
I hadn’t been on a date in three years.
Not that I hadn’t been asked! I wasn’t a homely incel or anything like that. But dating had never been on the forefront of my mind.
When I was in high school, I was desperate to live out the plot of some YA novel. Reading Dash and Lily’s Book of Dares and working at a bookstore was a little too influential for me.
But nothing ever really lived up to the hype that I’d read about. Writers were architects, in my mind. They built emotions and worlds and relationships in just a few paragraphs and sentences. And nothing that I ever felt compared to the words I read in my bed with a flashlight.
I’d had pathetic dates and kisses. Mediocre sex. After a while, I stopped hoping. Julie, however, always insisted that there was someone out there for me and giving up was lame. Maybe it was, but dating in New York was an Olympic sport and I was close to retiring.
And even though this felt like a date with Henry, I knew I was being delusional. We were colleagues working toward a common goal, that’s all. Henry wasn’t even looking for something like that. He was heading back to Tennessee once this was all fixed.
After closing up for the night, I led Henry to one of my favorite Peruvian spots in the East Village: Don Ceviche.
Henry opened the door for me as I said, “It’s a crime that you’ve never had Peruvian food. That’s child neglect.”
“Surprisingly enough, there aren’t a lot of Peruvian restaurants in Tennessee.”
“Wow, so none of you guys have had good food.”
Don Ceviche was a hole in the wall favorite of mine. It was tiny, the tables cramped together and Latin music flowing throughout the restaurant. The place was so small you could hear the stovetops and chefs teasing each other in the back.
“What’s good here?” Henry asked. His brows were drawn down as he studied the menu intently.
“Everything.” I placed my hand on the menu, pushing it down. “Let me order, I’ll get us a bunch of stuff.”
When our waitress came over, I ordered a couple different plates I loved and thought Henry would, too: ceviche, causa, lomo saltado, and papa rellena.
Henry’s lips lifted at the order. “Think that’s enough?”
“Not even a little bit. I swear, once you have this food, you’re going to want ten more plates.”
“You haven’t steered me wrong before, except, you know, tipping the boat.”
“Don’t forget when we met!”
“How could I?” he asked, his voice flat.
“I’m adding flavor to your life. You’d be bored without me.”
I also ordered us two pisco sours and when they arrived, I raised mine in a salute. “To hopefully saving the store.”
“No, just to saving the store.”
Henry clinked his glass against mine in agreement. When he took a sip, his face puckered, his eyes squeezed shut. “Jesus, that’s strong.”
“Aren’t you supposed to love Tennessee whiskey?”
“I’m more of a fan of Tennessee beer,” Henry said with a cough. “God, it went straight to my chest.”
I took another sip. “Oh, you’ll be fine.”
He was taking teeny, baby sips of his drink, and each time his face would pucker. “The booksellers took it a lot better than I expected.”
“Really?” I asked quietly. “I … I know this is more your area of expertise than mine. Do you really think we have a shot?”
“A small one,” he said. “I don’t think this will save the store, Ella. I think it’s going to take a long time, perhaps even years, to get us back to where we were.”
“I know that much. You know, I double majored in literature and business in college.”
“Really?” Henry asked, surprised. “I would’ve thought literature and, I don’t know, creative writing.”
“No way. Writing is so … intimate. I thought when I was younger maybe I’d be a writer, but I liked living in other people’s worlds too much.”