Chapter 7
Ali
“Ali! Look! They’re hiring.” Misha pointed toward a Help Wanted sign in the front window of the Corner Market. It looked bleached from the sun and raw along the edges.
“That sign looks like it’s old and forgotten,” I said.
“It doesn’t hurt to ask. You’d make the cutest shopkeeper. I love this journey for you. And it is now part of my fantasy of this place. You as a shopkeeper,” he said, bringing his fingertips to his lips in a chef’s kiss motion. The bell jingled above our heads as he opened the door.
“Let’s just start with getting some essentials for the cabin. How many bottles of wine do you think will get us through the weekend?” I said as I hurried us over to the portion of the store with a very small wine selection.
“I feel like I just stepped through a time warp,” Misha shout-whispered, arms outstretched like he was stabilizing himself on a wobbly step. “It’s like 1950 in here.”
“Can I help you find something?” a voice said from behind the counter. It was Eric, and was it possible he looked more attractive than the last time I saw him?
“Hi, Eric!” I said cheerfully with a little wave from the wine section, which was more like the Corner Market’s wine “moment.” It offered a painfully small selection of wine varietals, but there looked to be some nice options with varying price points.
“Do you know anything about these wines?” I asked him.
“Sure,” he said as he stepped out from behind the counter. “There’s a few decent options. I’ll show you.” He made his way toward us and stopped short when Misha came into view. “Oh, hi.”
Misha gave a tight-lipped smile in greeting, hardly noticing Eric, or maybe in spite of noticing Eric. Eric, on the other hand, was stunned still for a beat longer than was natural. The tension was riveting. A true love-at-first-sight meet-cute.
“Here, this one isn’t half bad. It’s the one I bring to my parents’ house for dinner,” he said after snapping himself back to the sales floor.
“But will it allow us to get stupid drunk and then wake up the next day feeling refreshed as if none of it happened?” Ooh, Misha Fierce playing hard to get.
Eric laughed a little. “It’ll deliver half of that.”
“Which half?” Misha asked.
“You’re funny,” Eric said.
“Am I?” Misha said, winding up like a batter ready to take a big swing.
“We’re actually in the middle of a crisis here.
This gorgeous human mermaid to my right—she’s my ride-or-die, and while she normally can talk herself out of a parking ticket and into a VIP party in the same breath, she’s currently weathering a shit storm of a world collapse that requires the kind of support that only several bottles of cheap wine and a gay bestie who is fresh outta fucks can provide.
So I assure you, I am not being funny when I ask, which half? ”
Eric looked delighted by Misha’s wit. And ready to spar.
“It’ll get you stupid drunk. The next morning, however . . . That might require a leap off your dock into the freezing lake to recover.”
I stood between the two men, tossing my eyes from one to the other. They just stood there looking at each other, Misha with his arms crossed and one hip popped, Eric with his hands in his pockets and his surprisingly toned arms flexed under his T-shirt.
I waited for more, but the silence continued. I cleared my throat to break the awkwardness. “Thank you, Eric. We’ll just need a minute to pick up a few things.”
Once he walked away, I whisper-shouted to Misha, “What are you doing? He is so sweet and he was trying to flirt with you. Did you see him stutter-step when his eyes landed on you?”
“I know,” Misha said.
“You know? Then why did you practically bite his head off?” I asked.
“This is not about me. I know how fragile you are. I am not going to abandon you as soon as a sexy, handsome, small-town clerk starts to give me attention.”
“You don’t have to be rude to him. Eric was very helpful to me when I first got here. And you’re making me sound crazy in my ‘shit storm of a world collapse.’ Stop that!”
Misha rolled his eyes. “Fine.” Then he strolled over to the counter, a couple of bottles of wine in his hands. I busied myself grabbing a few other snacks, keeping one ear on the men.
“Thank you for your recommendation,” Misha said.
“Not a problem,” Eric replied. “I hope the wine meets your needs.” Okay, flirty Eric! “Are you from Chicago too?” he asked.
Misha didn’t answer the question, instead he said, “Ali here is in need of a job. I noticed the Help Wanted sign in the window. I think you should hire her.”
I slammed the cooler door shut and bolted toward them. I thought he was going to resume with the flirting, not pimp me out for a job.
“Misha. That’s okay, Eric. You don’t have to answer that. I can find something.” I was fumbling my words.
“Did I hear someone needs a job?” It was Betsy, emerging from the back. Was she just always in the back?
I turned toward where her voice was coming from. “Hi, Betsy. It’s me, Ali. From the other day. You introduced me to Jake and got him to give me a lift to my cabin,” I said.
“Ah, yes. Ali Bennet. Did Jake take good care of ya?” she asked, and suddenly a flash of meeting Caribbean-water eyes after sliding down his body from being hoisted over his shoulder assaulted my senses and a small jolt zapped my lady bits.
“Yes. Yes. He did,” I said and cleared my throat. Do not think of his large hands on the backs of your legs and his taut back. “And then my dear friend Misha came into town.”
“Hi, Misha. Name’s Betsy. I run this joint. So you’re looking for a job?” Betsy asked with what sounded like hope in her voice.
“Oh no. Not me, doll,” Misha said with a practiced laugh. “Her. Ali. She is currently—”
“On hiatus from my job in Chicago and could use something to occupy my time,” I quickly added, just in case Misha was going to reveal too much about my “shit storm of a world collapse.”
Betsy’s expression changed to one I had a hard time reading.
“Oh. Well. I don’t know if what we have available is what you’re looking for. It’s working the floor. Helping customers. Checking people out. Bagging. You don’t seem like the type to bag.”
Now I understood the expression. Miss Betsy seemed to think she had me all sized up. She took one look at me and decided things about me. I could feel it. I’d be difficult. That I didn’t know how to work hard. Perhaps that I was a flake. Before I could respond, though, Misha jumped in.
“Oh contraire, my friend. Ali shopped regularly at Loaves and Fishes, you know, the specialty food source and bakery in the Hamptons. She knows how to work a place like that,” Misha said.
“Thanks, Meesh, but I got this,” I said before turning to look at Betsy head-on.
“In all honesty, you’re right, Betsy. Bagger and clerk do not appear on my CV, but I am a fast learner and I’ll be in town for a while.
” There. That should ease her concerns. I added so as not to seem too desperate, “And I could use the distraction.”
I wasn’t even sure I wanted this job, but being underestimated—that was a signal I’d learned not to ignore. It often served as a beacon for something good. Something worthwhile. Something interesting. I was warming up more and more to this idea. I nodded at Misha to assure him of my confidence.
“Hmm . . . No. I don’t think it’s a good fit. Thank you for inquiring, though.” She turned her attention to Eric. “Go ahead and ring them up?”
I heard Misha wince by my side.
“That was . . . Sorry, babe. I did not expect that kind of flex out of such a little person.”
Neither did I. Miss Betsy was a tough one. A new challenge. I liked a challenge, especially when it involved winning someone over.
The bell above the door jingled again. We all reflexively glanced at the disturbance.
And suddenly I was transported to a soundproof room, set at the perfect temperature, with the coziest blanket draped over my legs and a warm cup of steaming tea in my hands.
My muscles at ease. My mind clear. My vision focused as Jake stepped into the Corner Market.
He looked absolutely alluring in his dark blue scrubs.
His face lit up when he saw me. It was a moment of dreamy euphoria.
I wasn’t so delusional that I didn’t notice how Jake greeted everyone with genuine delight.
Not just me. But that worked in his favor too.
I’d be lying if I said the way he made eye contact with everyone when he spoke to them wasn’t an aphrodisiac.
He respected them. He was genuinely interested in them.
Being considerate of others was so natural to him.
And so fucking hot. I think I felt my panties actually start to melt.
“Oh my,” Misha said in a hush.
“Hello, neighbor,” I said to Jake.
“Hey, Ali. I heard you stopped into the clinic earlier. Sorry I missed you. Everything okay?”
“Yep. All good,” I said dreamily. “I just . . .” Time to shake yourself out of this trance, Ali. “I wanted to introduce you to my dear friend who came to town for a visit.” I turned slightly to include Misha, but it wasn’t necessary. He slipped in like a bird landing on a wire—smooth and sure.
“I’m Mikhail, Ali’s dark-and-stormy best friend.” He presented his hand, palm face down, the back of it toward Jake as if he expected him to kiss it and bow.
It was amusing, and I was curious to see how Jake would respond.
“Misha, this is Dr. Jake Elliot. My neighbor who helped me at the cabin and the local vet.”
“Jake. Please just call me Jake. Nice to meet you, Mikhail.” He gently grasped Misha’s fingers, closing his grip with easy confidence that redirected the gesture into something friendly and firm—respectful, unmistakable, and not flirtatious.
“And you may call me Misha. It is very nice to meet you, Jake.” Misha lifted his hand free and blocked the side of his face visible to Jake with a gesture of tucking his hair behind his ear. He whispered through his teeth at me, “Yep, straight.”
“How long will you be visiting?” Jake asked Misha.
As they made small talk, I noticed how my body chemistry had changed since he entered the market.
My inhales felt easy. My chest light. Exhales were slow and steady.
My body tingled but not in a state of panic or overstimulation.
More like a shot of pure, clean air. A placid lake.
A whisper. Like cocooning under fresh bedding.
“Ali. Ali? Earth to Ali . . .” Misha snapped me back to reality.
“Huh? Oh, sorry. Must still be jet lag. Wh-what were you saying?” I stammered.
“The village meeting? We’re going, right?” Misha asked.
“Village meeting?”
“It’s tonight. Jake was just telling us about it,” Misha said with a nudge to my arm and nodded at me expectantly.
“Oh, yeah. Of course. Yes. Wouldn’t miss it,” I recovered.
“It was great to meet you, Misha. I guess I’ll see you both later then,” Jake said as he made his way toward the exit.
“Great. See you then,” I said.
Misha and I stood side by side watching him walk out the door. He mumbled so only I could hear, “Jet lag? Babe, you traveled five hours by bus from Chicago over a week ago—not overseas from Paris.”
I sighed. “I know but . . .” I let the thought fade as we continued to watch Jake leave.
He sighed in response. “Yeah, girl. I know . . .”