Cara
Closing up Pine I’d give it that. This was the kind of place you brought someone you were trying to impress, or someone you were trying to establish something with.
The first part of the evening was fine. Eric was easy to talk to in the way of people who’d had a lot of practice at it—he asked questions, he laughed at the right moments, he told a story about a minor disaster at his law firm that was actually funny, and I found myself relaxing in small increments the way you do when you’re waiting for something, and it keeps not arriving.
Then he asked about Pine & Pages.
“How’s your little shop doing?” The question arrived wrapped in a smile, offered like a kindness but delivered like condescension.
I took a sip of wine. “Really well, actually. We just wrapped a reading series that brought in people from both Willowmist Falls and Sweetbriar. Sales have been strong. I’m in the middle of planning an event I’m pretty excited about.
” I heard myself starting to lean forward, then caught myself and made a conscious effort to be more boring. “It’s good. Really good.”
“That’s fantastic.” He nodded expectantly. “Do you ever think about expanding? Doing something more ambitious with it? Because I feel like with the right backing, the right approach, you could turn it into something real. More than just a small town—”
“It’s already something real,” I interrupted, pleasantly, trying not to start something that would be decidedly the opposite of boring.
He laughed, hands up. “Of course it is, I just mean—you’re one of the smartest people I knew in school, Cara. I guess I always figured you’d end up doing something bigger. More ambitious.”
“I don’t really want to be big,” I said. “I want to sell books.”
“Sure, sure.” He picked up his glass and smiled at me over the rim, unbothered. “It suits you, actually. I can picture you in there. Very you.”
I couldn’t tell if that was a compliment or a verdict, so I let it go, which was what I did with most statements I couldn’t figure out.