Chapter 11
Sophie
I had been avoiding the list.
But watching Pace work his way smoothly around town, interacting and helping without a second thought, it occurred to me that he was the person who I needed to help me. He’d already seen the list and actively sought me out, so I didn’t need to worry about judgment or censure. The list was the key.
The list would fix everything.
And Pace was the man to help me.
Last night, I didn’t sleep, per se. I did a lot of horizontal thinking, as opposed to my usual vertical brainstorming. I worked on mental exercises to slow my thoughts down until I finally gave up around four and just made coffee and showered.
Then I sat on the edge of my bed and stared without seeing for a few hours, give or take.
Pace and I weren’t meeting until eleven a.m. (I was meeting up with Pace freaking Leigh!) A disorienting and discombobulating fact that caused me to waffle between full-on heart-racing panic and a serene numbness where I pushed every thought out of my mind and instead debated the weaving technique used in my area rug.
In theory, that was plenty of time to do any number of activities this morning before go time. But no. Once I was showered and ready to go, I sat on my bed. Glancing at the clock once every minute, paralyzed and questioning my every decision that led me to this point.
Not just this morning, but in life.
Was a skirt the right choice with the cool, almost-fall weather and the temperatures dropping? What about layers?
Twenty more minutes until I should leave. That would still get me there ten minutes early. For some reason, I always gave myself a half hour to get places, even though most things in town were a ten-minute walk or less from Hooks and Grannies.
Better to be ridiculously early than even one minute late, that’s what I say.
I ended up choosing to wear a summer dress, but paired it with a vintage jean jacket combo.
Did this make it look like I was trying too hard?
It wasn’t a date. Whatever this mystifying turn of events was, it was anything but a date.
I pulled on comfortable walking sneakers but snagged some sandals to toss in my bag just in case it warmed up.
Should I take a bigger bag? I should.
I launched from my frozen anticipation into a frenzied search in which I grabbed one of Grandma’s oversized shoulder bags and stuffed it full of everything and anything that I might need.
(Thankfully, she had a fair bit of random emergency items in there already, like a brush, hair ties, a ChapStick, an umbrella, etc.)
I was debating the merits of bringing my heavy winter coat in case of a freak snowstorm when I realized it was five minutes until our designated meeting time.
“Ahh!” I sprinted out of the upstairs apartment and down the stairs, arms flailing like a Muppet.
We’d agreed to meet centrally in town. And I was so glad that was the plan because I could not even begin to explain this situation to Grandma, and already pictured her eyebrows moving up her forehead as I tried to tell her about the mess I’d gotten myself in.
As it was, I did my best to avoid her all morning—easy enough—and since she was down in the shop, I was able to slip out the back exit without her noticing.
I was almost to the center of town when my phone buzzed with a text. I assumed it was Pace wondering where I was, but it was Grandma El in a series of texts, one after the other.
You are as subtle as an elephant on those stairs.
Where are you off to?
Did you upload those photos to the site?
Never mind. I will figure it out.
“No!” I said out loud. That last one was enough to get me to respond.
In one long message back to her, I explained that I would be back in a bit and asked her to leave everything alone on the website.
I loved her willingness to try, but having her mucking about in the backend was asking for trouble.
One time, I spent an entire day undoing her help, and I still wasn’t sure how she managed to lose an entire page as though it never existed.
I tucked my phone into the Mary Poppins bag, assuring myself I would handle all that later. I could have a life.
I was two minutes behind—my worst nightmare—as I rounded the corner and the center of town came into view.
Pace.
Cue the trill of happy songbirds and the rays of sunshine highlighting him from above.
He stood right next to the planned meeting bench in a pair of brown boots, well-worn jeans (meaning looking both a little worn and also worn well, if you catch my drift), and a forest-green Henley pushed up to show off his phenomenal forearms and highlight his broad shoulders and cut waist. He was deep in conversation with an older man I didn’t recognize, out walking his dog.
Because of course he was. I couldn’t imagine that Pace ever wanted for company.
People were drawn to him like tourists to changing leaves.
It was nice to have another unobstructed moment to look at him without being observed.
He was so incredibly good-looking. And there was a large part of me that felt guilty for constantly studying him like Renaissance art, when for so much of my life, people’s opinions of my own body kept me hiding.
But it didn’t feel the same. He was art.
I was forever judged. And plus, any and all thoughts were kept to myself.
I had done a lot of staring at him last week at the night of the bonfire too.
I’d watched as he weaved his way through the crowd of people, effortlessly moving from one conversation to the next.
He’d crack a joke and inquire about a loved one, all in a smooth motion without breaking a sweat.
It was impressive. A talent far greater than just being attractive.
He seemed to anticipate needs before people even asked him for something.
He made space for people who needed a seat without them having to ask.
He held a baby so the mom could eat. That man should run for mayor one day.
But it seemed wild that he existed in the same world as me, and he looked like that.
Just all the time. This morning, his hair seemed even more red in the bright sun and several shades darker than the dog at his feet.
As he chatted happily with the man, he half crouched to scratch the labradoodle behind the ear.
It panted happily, eyes squinted and tongue out as Pace found what must have been the perfect spot.
I wondered if the dog sensed one of its own.
Energetically. I wasn’t implying that Pace was a dog.
He just had the highly social, universal appeal of an adorable dog.
My knees started to tingle the closer I got to the two men.
Should I interrupt? Should I stand awkwardly to the side until one of them noticed me?
The slight sweat that formed when I had been last-minute stress packing had only doubled as I made my way closer.
Step by step. I imagined them both turning toward me just as I tripped on my own foot and face-planted.
Could I really do this? Could I really spend time with someone like him as if it’ll change me by some hot-person osmosis?
If every instinct in my body and soul told me that this was a terrible idea, then maybe that was exactly why I needed to keep walking toward Pace. Because let’s be real, my brain had been trying to keep me safe my whole life, and all it had done was keep me from living.
I didn’t want to just endure life; I wanted to experience it.
Despite my constant fears, I’d already told him more than I’d told anybody else. There was no going back.
Shoulders back, chin up.
Come on, come on, be brave.
I could change my life.
Pace’s head lifted in my direction. As I came closer, his grin spread over his features, even as he effortlessly carried on his conversation.
Everything worth having is just outside your comfort zone. I couldn’t remember where that quote came from, but it was pinned up in my office—constantly mocking me.
My knees felt seconds from giving out, and my palms were so sweaty I had to discreetly wipe them on the inside of my jacket cuffs.
But then Pace looked at me. He really looked at me. Even though it was an easily missed flicker up and down my body, he seemed to be checking me out. Could that really be a thing that he did?
I had gotten so many, too many really, comments about my body since I returned from college.
It never failed to astound me. One time, I heard a customer tell Grandma—not knowing I was there—that I had a chance to snag a man since I’d lost that baby fat and grown into that face. Ouch. Whatever that meant.
Grandma mumbled something that didn’t reach me, but the customer left right after that with a huff and a “It was a compliment, El,” before the bell rang with her dramatic exit. I went up to my room, and we never talked about it.
But now, Pace flicked back another look up my body, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. He seemed happy to look at me, and it made my heart flutter in a new but also terrifying way.
He said something to the man, detangled himself from the dog, who was now fully enamored with him—welcome to the club, pooch—and stumbled up to me, wiping his hands on his jeans.
“Hi,” he said. His eyes were squinting in the midday fall light, and he tugged an unseen, different, baseball hat from his back pocket and pulled it on.
“Hi,” I croaked like the majestic bog creature that I was.
I pulled up the great tote, which was so heavy I might lean to the left permanently now.
Pace carried nothing for our day’s adventure aside from his small-town charm.
“I wasn’t sure—”
“What were you thinking—”
We spoke at the same time. Pace laughed. I wanted the earth to swallow me whole.
“Hey, I have good news,” he said. I lifted my brows expectantly. I think my new approach, at least for now, would be to speak as little as possible. “I was thinking about you last night.”
Inside, a tiny version of me ran around with her hands in the air, screaming and flailing wildly.
“Oh?” My voice came out high and tight.