Four-Thirty Girl

Chapter 1 Basically

N o note, phone call, nor text, but the writing had been on the wall...

Promises had always seemed so simple to keep. To anyone else or myself, a person’s word was all that mattered. However, as I had learned years before, promises often came with their own stipulations that could not be controlled. And now, I faced another promise, this time one that I alone would be at fault for breaking.

I had shut myself off from dating for years. After a breakup that had left anything but closure, I had vowed I would never put myself in that position again. So, I decided to buy into a bookstore, focus on growing the business, and find my own happiness. Thus far, my plans had gone accordingly, but then there was this girl. Of course, there was always a girl—one that would make me forget everything I promised myself.

Four-Thirty Girl—at least that’s what I called her, because every day at precisely four-thirty, the front door rang to the opening of Beehives Bookstore, and in she walked. The first time I spotted her, I recognized the type. In fact, she was the sort of girl I liked to avoid, the one with the look—oversized sunglasses, an accompanying suitcase of a purse, painted-on shorts, and a shirt that always magically displayed her midriff—a look that simply screamed, “I’m looking for a man,” while leaving only enough to the imagination to make a guy want more. Yeah, that girl, about as basic as they get, especially in the South.

Now I know it’s wrong to stereotype, but let’s be honest: we all do it. But, more importantly, in the realm of women and dating, it tends to be spot on. I’ve always been able to tell which women were the ones I could see myself making a life with and which were suited for a one-night stand, that is, if I cared for such a disconnection. However, as much as I tried to avoid Four-Thirty Girl, she eventually had a name, and whether I wanted to or not, I either directly or indirectly learned it.

Lauren, as it was, had never made it a point to approach me, nor had I sought her out. Instead, she always walked through the front door, glowing with the need for attention, and found her way to the section of the store where the romance books were housed. After approximately twenty or twenty-five minutes of pondering the aisle, Lauren would emerge with a book in hand, ready for checkout.

Before I get ahead of myself, let me explain who I am. Joshua Gladstin is the name, and bookstore co-owner is my game, obviously not comedy. I was currently in the process of buying out the other half from Ms. Debbie, who was up in age, alone, and merely a helper at the store. I agreed to let her work as much as she wanted, and to my liking, she had run the cash register every day since we began the transition a few months ago. For this, I was thankful, because Lauren was not the only girl who found her way into Beehives. However, she was the only one who stuck out.

Over the past month, she had arrived not only at a certain time and departed in such a predictable manner, but also only ventured into the store on Wednesdays. Indeed, her noticeable appearance had caught my attention, and if I was not careful, I could easily find myself staring, but it is hard to say if it was her appealing looks or mysterious demeanor that captivated my attention. Regardless, I knew it was best to stay away until the day came when I no longer could.

The first day that Ms. Debbie stayed home sick was a Tuesday. However, the flu that she was fighting pressed her to stay in bed the following day as well. More concerned for her recovery, I had been able to dodge the mere thought of Lauren filling my mind until she placed her book on the counter and I walked around the corner to see her waiting.

As much as I would like to say this never happened, I know for a fact that it did. By the time my brain caught up to what my eyes were looking at, I was caught noticing her silky long legs and backside. Of course, I tried to play it off as being unaware that anyone was waiting at the desk, but I’m sure she knew better. Yet, as I approached the counter, I at least tried.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting. Ms. Debbie is sick again today, and I usually leave her to work the front.”

“That’s alright. I don’t mind,” she said in a soft voice with a half-smile.

“ The First Date , huh?” I said, flipping it over to scan the bar code.

“Yeah. I read it a long time ago, but sometimes I like to reread books.”

The next words out of my mouth seemed to tumble from my lips before I could refrain myself. “Why would you buy a book you’ve already read when you could just borrow it from the library?” I knew she could detect an awkwardness that accompanied the question, but typically, I spoke whatever I had on my mind, except when it came to women I decided to avoid, in which case I would not speak. However, there was something about her that persuaded me otherwise.

At first, she shrugged her shoulders, then caught herself mid-laugh. “I just love books, I suppose.”

“That’s fair. I tell you what: I know for a fact that this book has been on the shelf for a few years, and since it’s going to a good home, this one’s on the house.”

Clearly, I found myself doing the one thing I wanted to avoid in the first place. When I chose to not start conversations with women, it was for a good reason, not because I thought I was better than them or solely because of their basic appearance. No, I had been down a broken road before, and while protecting myself, I discovered that I could determine the ultimate outcome within a few moments of seeing them, and flirting or whatever I was doing was always a mistake.

All these thoughts whirled through my head as I waited for what seemed to be a minute for her to respond. Along with those thoughts, I again considered why I was letting my guard down with this girl. Perhaps my first impression was wrong, and like reading a captivating book, I could not help myself.

Finally, she reached for her purse. “That’s okay. You have a store to run, and I would hate for it to close.”

Well, there it was, part of my answer anyway. She was not some ditsy bookworm with a high stake in fashion. No, instead, the same gut feeling that told me to leave her alone was indeed telling me to close the conversation, yet it also left me wanting to know more. Unfortunately, I listened to the latter notion of my gut.

“I’m Joshua, part owner of the store,” I said as humbly as possible. Again, she offered a smile, so I quickly continued. “On behalf of Ms. Debbie and myself, we appreciate your business and desire to help us keep the store open.”

The last line was delivered like a prompted script, but it got her talking. “Nice to meet you, Joshua. I’m Lauren, booklover and...” she paused, as if catching herself, realizing she might be conveying more than she should. Judging from her face, I sensed that Lauren almost seemed scared to say anything more about herself. Checking the watch on her wrist, she slid the book from the counter, handed me the money, and patiently waited for change.

My mind began to wonder what was indeed going on, but as I focused on counting out the coins, she began to apologize. “Sorry, I need to get going.”

Quickly, I thumbed three ones from the cash drawer and handed her the change. As my fingers brushed hers, a gentle pulse of energy jolted between us. I daresay Lauren experienced the same rush because her eyes widened and she stood motionless.

“I’ll see you next Wednesday?” I proposed, hoping to dissolve any discomfort I might have caused, only to realize my confession.

“Umm, yes, I mean no, maybe,” she stumbled while backing away from the counter.

I watched as she walked toward the door, her gait having changed from the prompt showy glam she had previously portrayed to a now meek retreat. Unsure of what triggered Lauren to shy away when talking about herself, I once again went against my instincts.

“Lauren,” I called.

Instantly, she turned around with a bitter sorrow cast across her face. I issued a reassuring smile and wave, to which she tucked a strain of hair behind her ear and positioned her lips into a smile. And with the last of our exchanges, she left.

I let out a breath, glad I confirmed that whatever had just happened was not something that would scare her away from the bookstore. Yet again, I could not shake my curious feelings.

Peering about the store, I was thankful no one else had come in. Checking my watch, I considered the fact that it was 5:03 p.m. Typically, most people left work at five, which meant our busy time of day would begin in about thirty minutes and run until 6:30 p.m. For some reason, I found myself considering why Lauren arrived and left at such a specific time. Perhaps she was on her way home from work. However, in all my time working here, I had never met anyone who was more anxious to leave the store that provided an escape from reality than Lauren. It was with that thought that I realized that perhaps her escape from reality was not an escape at all.