Dating by the Book

by Mary Ann Marlowe

  “You had to know it, Maddie.” He hadn’t broken eye contact, and I couldn’t look away. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.”

  Impossible. I took my hand back. “No way.”

  Max as a romantic hero? I shook my head to clear it. Max was my friend. Apart from Layla, he was my best friend. Why was he putting that at risk?

  That kiss had been one thing. A loss of control between two people who shared an attraction we’d never truly acted on. But love? Romance?

  I rubbed my eyes. Silver Fox’s phrase came to mind: romance, sex, heartache. If we tried and failed, then I’d lose more than a boyfriend. I’d lose Max. What could be more heartbreaking?

  Max chuckled. “When we were kids, I had an unrealistic fantasy about how one day you might look over and notice me. I blew it by making a joke of kissing you. I was terrified to show you what I really thought, so scared you’d reject me if you knew. I just buried myself in school and tried to survive the humiliation.”

  I sat for a full minute processing all he’d said. Max stared at his hands, waiting. All that competition in high school, had I misread it? Had he been trying to beat me—or win me?

  That was the thing. Max probably only thought he loved me because romance was the one area where he’d never come in first. Surely, this was just one more contest.

  “You’re not in love with me, Max.” I don’t know why I was whispering. “You’re in love with an idea.” I had to swallow the urge to hedge. Maybe, maybe I was wrong. The world was changing faster than I could keep up. My throat constricted.

  He exhaled. “No, Maddie. You are the one in love with an idea. You’re so enamored with this narrative you’ve constructed you can’t even see the story unfolding before you.”

  I steeled my resolve. One of us had to preserve the status quo. “You know I care for you with all of my heart.”

  He guffawed. “Are you quoting Little Women?”

  Busted. “Paraphrasing.”

  “Maddie, I’m not Laurie, and you’re not Jo.” He took a breath and let it out. “But I can channel Laurie and tell you I’m tired of standing by while you try to fall in love with someone else.”

  “While I try to?” My irritation rose to the surface. “What the hell?”

  “Oh, come on. Everyone has a role in your fiction. Once Peter was knighted as your romantic savior, you stopped paying attention to how wrong he was for you.”

  “And you’re so right?”

  I was working up to give him a good piece of my mind, blast him for his presumptuous letter, and put my finger in his face to ask him to stop telling me how to live my life, but then a tear spilled over his eyelash and hung before dropping. My heart rose in my throat.

  “I thought—” He twisted his mouth in a frown. “You made me believe your feelings had changed.” He looked me in the eye, ignoring the tear rolling down his cheek. “Because yes, I think I’m so right. I don’t think there’s ever been anyone more right for you.”

  My hands clenched. He always thought he knew better. But he’d put his heart on the line, so I said, “You’ll be right for someone.”

  God forgive me, my body warred with my mind, urging me to scream Yes!, demanding I lean over and kiss him forever. But I was the only one of us fighting to salvage our friendship.

  His battle raged on. “I’m not proposing to you. I’m just asking you to date me. It’s a simple yes or no. Won’t you at least give it a chance, give me a chance.”

  Date. I pictured us at the movies, laughing at the bad dialog, but this time, his arm around me, his lips brushing my cheek. I imagined him walking me home, waiting as I unlocked my door, then kissing me good night. The kiss would heat up, and I’d invite him up. A whole fantasy could have played out, but then I looked at him and saw the expectation in his eyes.

  And I recognized it. It was the same look he’d given me whenever he caught me watching him.

  This feeling wasn’t new to him. Nothing had changed for him, while everything had changed for me. I needed time to sort it out.

  “Can’t things just go back to the way they were?”

  I reached up to touch his cheek, but he turned his face away.

  “I’m tired of being whatever it is I am to you.”

  “You’re tired of being my friend?”

  “If that’s what this is.” He sat up straight, moving slightly out of reach.

  “Oh, Max. I—”

  He held up a finger, and I gestured that I was zipping my lips.

  “Look. I knew you’d probably reject me. I didn’t want to say I never tried, but this was my last shot.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m moving on.”

  “Moving on? And go where?”

  “Indianapolis.”

  I froze. “Indianapolis? Doing what?” Oh, God. I sucked in a shaky breath. He was hitting the eject button anyway. I was going to lose him no matter what I did.

  He tugged at his shirt and looked away from me. “Layla’s company has an opening in marketing. That’s where I went yesterday, to interview. I’m lucky they’re considering me. It’s been a long time since I worked a legit job, and nobody’s overly impressed with my Frankensteined list of half talents.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  He smiled, weak. A ghost of an emotion. “Yeah, well. Anyway.” He fidgeted. “I told you I can’t stay here, but I found out I don’t have enough experience to leave. It’s time I started planning for my future.” He picked up a leaf and began peeling it in half.

  “Is that what you want to do?” I blinked back tears. He was leaving me.

  He became still and quiet. “No, Maddie, that is not what I want to do.”

  “What do you want?” Say you want to stay.

  “I want you.” He pinched his lips, then relaxed. “I want to stay, but the catering business isn’t working out either. I would have loved to partner with you in the bookstore, and I still think that would have benefited us both, but you won’t even consider it. And honestly, I don’t think I’d consider that anymore. You can’t possibly understand how vexing it is to be me, always with you, but never with you.”

  “Max.” He’d never know how close I was to telling him to fight harder, make me change my mind.

  “It’s like . . . I keep opening a book to the same page, and the spine is about to crack. I need to try something different.”

  Turn the page, flip to the next chapter. He was bailing from our story line. “I get it.”

  I did get it at an intellectual level. After all, I’d been attempting to change the plot of my own book for the past month. But I couldn’t wrap my head around the implications. He loved the town as much as I did, and it gutted me to think of him leaving because of me.

  Maybe it was time to throw in the towel, give up, sell to Gentry, and follow up on the place in the city. I hated to let Gentry win. I hated to crawl to Peter to ask if the offer still stood. But if I let Max take over the bookstore, he could stay, run his business his way. If this town wasn’t big enough for the two of us, I should cede it to Max. It meant more to him.

  He jumped off the ledge and faced me. “Anyway. I’m sorry. I wish I could feel differently, but I can’t.”

  There was only one path to follow back out of the woods, and I saw the metaphor. There was only one way forward because all paths led to the same destination: I was going to lose Max.

  Chapter 23

  I saw it as a good sign Max showed up on Monday morning to deliver my order instead of his mom. I’d slept poorly worrying that there was no way to salvage his friendship. He’d laid it out so black and white: He had to become more. Or less.

  Choose him or lose him.

  And it struck me that he was no better than Peter threatening to leave me because I couldn’t be who he needed. It might not be an explicit ultimatum, but it might as well have been. I was damned if I’d be emotionally blackmailed into a romantic relationship.

  Not even if I wanted to be.
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  But as he moved across the store, I couldn’t help but follow him with my eyes, watching him for any evidence of what he’d confessed, trying to reset my worldview. He looked the same as always. Just Max, carrying a stack of boxes. But when he set them on the counter beside me, he cast a glance my way, radiating so much heat and longing, I nearly swooned. Had he always stood so close to me when I signed for the delivery?

  I fumbled with the pen, and he caught it before it dropped. His fingers touched mine briefly as he handed it back. Had he always crackled with electricity?

  When I said thanks, my voice broke, and I blushed at my sophomoric awkwardness. This was just Max.

  I’d fought back the advances of expert seducer Dylan with ease. Peter had nearly crawled back, yet I declined his proposal with barely an afterthought. I’d been right to reject Max. Why wasn’t I more sure of my decision in the aftermath?

  It didn’t help that he acted like he’d failed to get the memo.

  He carried a cake to the kitchen. The space behind the register was tight, and I heard his breath hitch as his jeans brushed against me. He placed a hand on my waist for the briefest moment, and the potential energy charging around him shot up my spine.

  I turned to face him, and it was like we still stood in the cellar, the tempest raging on, my body trapped in a whirlwind of lust. I was Francesca da Rimini, suspended in the second circle of Dante’s Inferno, helplessly tossed by unquenchable desire.

  What would he do if I pushed him against the refrigerator, if I planted a kiss on those kissable lips? I must have been blushing like a sunrise. Maybe my eyes lingered too long on his mouth, because he licked his lips, and I had to force myself to step out from behind the counter. It was like fighting a riptide that wanted to pull me out to sea. I wanted him to pursue me, catch me, take me, but that had never been his way. I moved out of range of his magnetic field, and soon gravity held no power over me. I floated off into the open space of the bookstore, drowning on what-ifs.

  What was I supposed to do?

  I liked him so, so much, maybe even loved him, but that didn’t mean we’d make a good romantic couple. I wished he could understand his friendship was more important than that. Maybe it was better for him to go before I lost control and acted on this crazy desire. Could he feel it pulsating off me like a power source?

  At last he left, and my body thrummed as I worked in a dreamy haze.

  My phone buzzed. I hesitated when I saw the incoming text was from Peter.

  Give it some thought, Maddie. We can work this out.

  But Max had been right about Peter. He could never be my Prince Charming. I didn’t need to compromise to make him fit my narrative. I needed to burn my last bridge with him.

  Please don’t call or text me. We need to move on.

  And with that, I could no longer pretend my solitude was only temporary. I was on my own.

  I messaged Silver Fox.

  This has been a hell of a strange weekend.

  I wondered if he’d had better luck than me. I could imagine the scene. Maybe he sat in a coffee shop like Charlie, daydreaming about a girl like me. At the idea, I cut a piece of spice cake and carried it over. Charlie pushed the chair out and reached into his bag. As I sat down, he pulled out a red leather-bound book.

  “Check this out.”

  He bit his lip with a coy smile threatening to break out when I gingerly took the book.

  The cover was embossed with a gold title that read NORTH-ANGER ABBEY AND PERSUASION. I ran my fingers across the cover before tentatively opening to reveal the brittle pages, browned and slightly stained, with a typeset no publisher had used in a century. At the bottom of the title page, the year of publication read 1818. My eyes darted back to Charlie. “This is a first edition?”

  He nodded, eyes twinkling. Clearly enjoying my confusion and excitement.

  “But how? Why?”

  He shrugged. “As you know, I’m a ghost, and while I was out haunting, I happened upon—”

  I flung a napkin at him. “Seriously.”

  “Seriously.” He took a deep breath and released it. “My family has a rather extensive collection of this and that.” He pointed toward the book in my hands. “I came across this in my father’s library recently, and I knew he would only see its worth as a function of money. I purloined it to show you. Did you know that, though this book is quite rare, it fetches well below what other Jane Austen books can command.”

  I shook my head, dumbstruck by all he had revealed. Was Charlie hiding an eccentric millionaire father? Was he secretly the heir to a fortune?

  Shit. I was doing it again. Maybe Max was right. Maybe I was trying to fall in love. I set the book down and took a deep breath. “Charlie, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

  “Oh?”

  How did I begin?

  “Back when you told me to choose my own adventure, I considered you might be flirting, and my imagination went a little crazy. I’m a bit worried I’ve been sending you mixed signals, and I wanted to clear the air.”

  “Maddie—” He shifted in his seat and I braced for whatever he’d have to say. “I like you.”

  As far as three little words went, those were probably the best he could have offered.

  “I like you, too, Charlie. But I think I’ve been trying to create a romance hero out of thin air when what I should have been doing is finding out how to be my own hero.”

  His fingers traced the edges of the book. “Look. I’m not romantic. At all. I’m just a guy who comes to a bookstore to sit in the corner to think and work. Despite how much you struggle to keep your business going, you’ve shared your food and your company, and that’s not nothing. You could have stayed aloof and treated me like a paying customer, but what you do here, you do it because you love the books and the people, and that’s why you’ll ultimately succeed, Maddie.” He dipped his head to come into my field of vision since I’d begun to stare at my own hands to fight back the tears. “As far as I’m concerned, you already are the hero in this story.”

  Those were the exact words I needed to hear. Relieved I hadn’t screwed up at least one relationship, I left him to go shelve some inventory.

  There was a simple pleasure in handling books. As I unboxed them, I loved to read the blurb on the back and imagine the world inside the covers. I’d never be truly alone as long as I had a book to read.

  It hit me right then and there that I liked my life. That parallel universe I’d wanted so desperately to return to had collapsed in on itself, and I was okay. Things weren’t perfect by any means, and part of that was my fault. I could make peace with the here-and-now, although I’d mucked it up a bit.

  My phone buzzed, and I reached into my back pocket to read the message from Silver Fox. How so?

  How so what?

  I glanced back at my earlier message where I’d told him about my weird weekend. Oh, right. My thumbs tapped. I’m back to zero heroes, but I think I’m okay with being alone.

  As I closed up for the day, I discovered the sign out front had been vandalized to read:

  Q: WHAT HAPPENED WHEN THE VERB

  ASKED THE NOUN TO CONJUGATE?

  A: THE NOUN DECLINED.

  I frowned at Max’s subtle jab and erased the chalkboard. He’d get over it, and we’d stay friends. That’s what mattered.

  Silver Fox’s next message came as I was climbing the stairs to my apartment.

  I’m out as well. I did as you said and laid it out. She knows how I feel. She shut me down.

  Was it horrible of me that I was a little bit glad? It was strange to feel a twinge of jealousy over someone I didn’t even know, like somehow he owned a piece of my heart and he could hurt me without ever laying eyes on me.

  I plopped on the sofa, hoping he was still online.

  I confessed, I’ve come to the conclusion that there may be romance heroes, but maybe the modern-day princess wants something else. I want too much.

  He didn’t take long to respond. Don�
�t say that. You want what you’re worth. Nothing more.

  Aw. Your Lizzie is a damn fool. You’re a sweetheart.

  I sometimes wish I could write to her, just like this. If I could just talk to her without her automatically filtering what I want to say to her through her idea of me, I might break through.

  I paraphrased a relevant line from the fox in The Little Prince. It’s only with the heart we can see what is invisible to the eye.

  Ha. Yes, exactly.

  Why don’t you write her, then?

  I think that time has passed.... She noped pretty decisively. So what are your plans with your experiment?

  I think I’m done. I dated around, but all these guys want me on their terms. I want a partner, someone who considers my needs. Why is that so hard to find?

  I want the same thing, actually.

  His next message came on the heels of that one.

  It’s too bad we don’t live near each other. . . .

  I’d had the same thought, though Layla had given me many, many lectures on online safety, so I was reluctant to share my location or even my photo in case he was a psycho stalker. What if he showed up in town and I couldn’t shake him?

  Surely there was a way we could meet without risking our lives.

  I threw out a query. Yeah. Where in the Midwest are you, exactly?

  Indianapolis area.

  So close. Dare I tell him we were neighbors? What could it hurt?

  You’re not terribly far away. I go into Indy once in a blue moon. I bit my lip and added, In fact, I’m supposed to go to a concert there Saturday night.

  Yeah? Where at?

  I hesitated. The park was big and crowded, and I’d be safe enough. It’s at the state park.

  I know it well. No pressure, but if you decide you’d like to meet, let me know. I can get there easily.

  I took a deep breath. I did want to. No pressure. I had time to figure it out still.

  Feeling courageous, I asked, Whatever happened to that steamy scene you were supposed to write me?