32. Colt
COLT
I’m on edge. Alice is too. Today should be the culmination of our hard work. A moment for popping champagne, pulling Alice to my side, and whispering against her neck, “We did it, Ali.”
Instead, June is setting out pumpkin-shaped cookies and apple cider doughnuts on a folding table instead of a finished checkout counter. And Maggie is centering a vase of orange and black flowers, covered in fake cobwebs, on a coffee table that still needs refinishing.
“Monster Mash” plays over the loudspeakers, complimenting the rubber bats hanging from the ceiling and the Halloween decorations illuminating every corner, all borrowed from June’s vast collection. It looks like a haunted house in here, which is closer to the truth.
Dalton offers me a beer, his gaze sweeping over the space through the eyeholes of a Batman mask. “My place looked way worse than this two weeks before opening.”
I refuse the drink because I need a clear head tonight. But I still slap Dalton on the back, thanking him for the encouragement, and head outside to find Alice. Her parents will be here any minute, and she hasn’t changed into her costume yet.
I step out onto the porch, eyeing the flower arch Maggie and Dalton erected last night. It’s extraordinary, it really is. Right now, it’s also covered in cobwebs, but come daylight, it’ll be a marvel. Exactly as Alice envisioned.
“Hey there,” Alice says from a stool. “Had a last-minute idea.”
She’s got a paintbrush in her hand and is leaning toward the window which, despite resorting to prayer and cursing in equal measure, remains in transit.
I step back to get a better look and see that she’s painted a faux window over the plywood.
She’s even painted window boxes at the bottom, overflowing with orange and yellow flowers.
I smile. “It looks good.”
Alice stands up, coming over to wrap her arms around me.
She peeks through the screen door to ensure no one is watching, and then kisses me.
Her mouth is warm against mine, parting when my tongue brushes her lips.
My body reacts to her instantly, and I briefly consider whether—if I took her to the side of the house—I could make her come before her parents showed.
“Mmm,” she purrs against my mouth. “I’m going to need you to wear that costume tonight.”
I harden at the sound of her sultry tone. “You got a thing for lumberjacks?”
She twists the ends of my fake mustache. “I’ve got a thing for synthetic facial hair.”
I laugh, kissing her forehead.
Maggie sticks her head out, and we shoot away from each other. She grins, glancing back and forth between us. “Uh-huh,” she mutters beneath her breath, before adding, “You better get that booty into a costume. Otherwise, my Little Red Riding ass is gonna hop on June’s broomstick and fly home.”
Alice checks her watch. “Oh, my god!”
Maggie rolls her hand toward the open door, hurrying Alice along. When Alice dives inside, Maggie slaps her rear without taking her eyes off me.
“So,” Maggie says as Alice thunders up the stairs. “Heard the firefighter was in town. He coming tonight? Not that I care.”
I laugh, preparing to tell her I have no idea where my brother is. And also, that she’d be best served keeping a wide berth. But the sound of an approaching vehicle reaches us, and we turn toward the street.
Alice’s parents pull up to the curb, her dad behind the wheel.
My heart pounds in my chest, because I miss them. It’s been eight years since I left this house. Eight years since I’ve seen them. But they still feel like the closest thing to proper guardians I’ve ever had.
Mrs. Sinclair pushes open the passenger door of the SUV and rushes across the front yard. I jog down the stairs and meet her halfway, lifting her off her feet when she hugs me. “Let me look at you. You’ve gotten so big! Are you good?” she asks. “Let me see your shoulder.”
“Janet, leave the poor boy alone,” Mr. Sinclair booms. The man takes me by the shoulders and jerks me into a hug, nearly crushing my ribs.
He slaps me on the back twice, knocking the air out of my lungs.
“Did you save your money like I said, or spend it at pubs across the globe? I hope it was a bit of both.”
“Honey, can we not pry into his finances ten seconds after getting out of the car?” Mrs. Sinclair sighs.
Grant steps past his parents wearing a Hulk Hogan costume, and offers his hand. I clap my palm into his and we bump chests, patting each other on the back. “Why don't I lay him down before y’all both hump him to death.”
“Grant!” Mrs. Sinclair cries.
“Entirely uncalled for,” Mr. Sinclair adds.
“Alice!” Mrs. Sinclair hurries toward the porch, and I turn to see Alice dressed in a silky black gown, black feathered wings attached to her back. I’m not proud of the thoughts that race through my head with her dad standing a foot away. But here we are.
Alice hugs her mom and dad in turn, and then grabs her mom’s hands. “Come on! I want to show you around.”
As she heads up the stairs, Maggie withdraws her phone and leans toward Alice, her voice low. “Want me to film…everything?”
She’s asking if she should show the unfinished parts of the bookshop too, or strategically edit to make the work look further along.
Alice pauses, mulling it over. “Film it all.”
Maggie gives Alice an approving smile and then shakes Alice’s parents’ hands as they pass her to go inside. When she gets to Grant, she jerks her hand back and flips him the bird. Grant sinks his mouth over her finger.
“Jesus, Grant!” Maggie wipes her finger off on her costume. “You’re disgusting.”
As Alice walks her parents through the space, I hold my breath.
I can see the adolescence in her as she over-explains why they can see wires through holes in the walls.
I can hear how badly she just needs to hear We’re proud of you, baby as she explains why she hasn’t hung any artwork, but will soon.
“Where are all the books?” Alice’s mom scans the room.
My eyes shoot to Alice’s face, searching for any sign that the question bothers her. But she just smiles and explains that they’re en route. That she didn’t want to stock them before the front window was replaced because moisture causes books to swell.
Good girl. I know Alice is nervous, but her response is a far cry from the shaky responses she gave her parents as a kid.
Mr. Sinclair lifts the blanket, peering beneath at the damaged wall. “What happened here?”
“Those shelves will be the centerpiece of the entire room,” Alice shorthands. “And Mom! Guess what? Colt made a library ladder for them.”
Mrs. Sinclair forces a smile onto her face, but I know the woman well enough to recognize that she isn’t pleased.
Her eyes roam over the space, looking past the lit jack-o’-lanterns and dry ice billowing across the refreshments table.
She turns and glances at the stairs, railing wrapped in twinkling orange lights, and frowns as if imagining what’s lacking on the second story.
“Y’all want champagne?” I ask in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I think Alice wanted to announce the bookshop’s name with everyone here.”
“Oh, right!” Alice rushes toward the kitchen, her wings catching on the doorframe. “I’ll get it!”
I glance at Alice’s parents, whose faces have fallen now that she’s out of sight.
Frustration burns in my chest, because all they’re seeing is what’s unfinished, not the insurmountable challenges she’s overcome to get it this far.
Dalton meanders over, asking Alice’s folks how the drive down was, and how they’re liking the new Shreveport office.
With them distracted, I take the opportunity to excuse myself and follow after Alice. I find her near the wine fridge, pulling out a sleek gold and black bottle. She digs through the drawers, movements frantic.
I touch her back lightly. “Hey.”
Her head snaps up, worry evident on her face. “Do you think they’re happy? You think they like it?”
“They should,” I say quickly. “You busted your ass, Ali. This place looks like a bookshop now, because it is. It may not be finished, but it sure as hell isn’t just a house anymore. You made that happen.”
Alice nods as she labors to uncork the champagne.
When I note that her hands are shaking, I take the corkscrew from her.
For the first time, I wonder if I’ve underestimated how hard it might’ve been growing up in this house, where she was expected to excel at all things.
To pick a path by age ten and pursue it ruthlessly.
To focus only on that which reaps athletic accolades and financial rewards.
To constantly compare herself to two people who attended a Top 20 university as scouted, scholarship athletes before bootstrapping a business to success.
I pop the champagne and fill eight glasses as Alice places them on a tray.
“I think it’s time,” she says, eyes wide, anxiety rolling off her. She moves out of the kitchen, carrying the tray. When June sees her, she insists on taking it, asking with a witch’s cackle if it’s poisoned.
“Everyone, if you’d like to accompany me into the main room…” Alice says, her voice raised above the music.
Maggie zooms her phone’s camera in on Alice, letting out a little whoop, and June follows close behind as Dalton passes out the champagne.
Alice takes her spot near the front of the room, standing beside a makeshift sign that’s been covered in a sheet since this morning.
A sheet I was instructed not to touch under any circumstance.
Alice waves me to the front, and I come to stand beside her, feeling an unexpected wave of anxiety myself. But when she glances up at me, her smile stretching wide, the unease vanishes.