The reply came back swiftly. No, and I was about to ask if you wanted me to close up. Everything ok up there?
lock door, make sure nobody in shop, then come up please
After sending the text, he put the phone facedown on the floor and resumed his fetal position, where he remained, deliberately not allowing his brain to function for more than the bare minimum of survival, until Gus crouched in front of him.
“Oh my God, hon! Are you okay?” Gus put a hand on Jacob’s shoulder. “What happened—”
With the touch, Jacob’s dam broke.
“Rasul Youssef, Gus. Rasul. Youssef. Was here. In my apartment. Tea! He had tea! His cup is still there! I can’t ever wash it!” He tipped his head against the door and stared at the ceiling, too lost to function. “He signed my books. My books. Called me his hero. But first I helped him pick out almost one hundred and fifty dollars’ worth of books and gave them away.”
“Why in the world did you give them—”
“Because he’s my favorite author ever and he stood there in my shop and I was trying to be all smooth and casual but eventually I couldn’t take it anymore. It’s honestly a miracle I didn’t hand over the deed to the building.”
Gus stroked Jacob’s arm now, a quiet smile on his face. “It’s rare for you to break your composure like this.”
Jacob pressed his hands to his eyes. “I’m trying to pull myself back together.”
Gus sat back and folded his legs in front of him. “Why was your favorite author here, anyway?”
Jacob gave him a long-suffering look. “It’s only been in every edition of the local paper for the last month. Rasul Youssef, international award-winning author, is one of the visiting professors at Bayview University this year.”
“I know, hon. I’m saying why was he here?”
“I suspect because he wanted a book.” Jacob sighed. “I hate that the girls made a scene, but sadly that’s more what he’s known for lately, his notoriety instead of his incredible fiction. His latest release has been bumped indefinitely, and he’s been in the news partying with a string of partners all year. The latest is a model known only for escorting celebrities to ruin, who he’s been consistently on and off with. Half her brand right now is making people wonder when she’ll destroy him as she did so many others.”
Gus raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“The tabloids are calling it the Clash of the Sirens, because he is also known for leading people astray.”
“It’s difficult to grasp how someone like this can be your favorite author. Also, how in the world did Bayview get him?”
“I detest the playboy narrative hung around Youssef’s neck, but I’ll admit his behavior hasn’t helped his case. I’ve been privately hoping his arrival in Copper Point would be good for him, since we’re so far removed from the gossip mines, but the herd of teenagers in my bookshop makes that seem impossible.” He pushed off the door and rested his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know how Bayview convinced him to come. I’ve honestly thought it was a hoax, like the time the drama department said Russell Crowe was coming to teach a seminar and it turned out to be someone’s uncle from Michigan. But no, today Youssef waltzed into my bookstore and asked for recommendations.”
Gus grinned at him. “So. Is he as handsome in person as he is in his pictures?”
Despite his best efforts, Jacob blushed. “Of course he is. But he was also so calm and centered while he shopped, just a regular guy, and endearingly polite. Except where I had to chase off his stalkers, it was my dream encounter with him. I honestly hope he never comes back so I can keep it crystal clear in my mind.”
“You don’t want to meet him again?”
Jacob drew his knees to his chest and hugged them. “Youssef’s debut novel helped me through my parents’ death, and his second led me out of depression and inspired me to open this bookstore. The last thing in the world I want is for that sacrosanct individual to fall in any way. The tabloid reports are bad enough. I can’t afford to let anything else intrude.”
“Huh. Well, now I want to read his books.”
“You should. They’re incredible.”
“So it seems.”
Jacob straightened a bit. “Thank you again for coming over on such short notice. I’m sure it put you out.”
Gus waved this away. “You did me a favor. Ben Vargas was doing his regular afternoon decoration of my coffee counter.”
Jacob raised his eyebrows. “He’s still here? I thought he graduated.”
“He shifted to part time since his mom’s diagnosis. His parents moved to town for their retirement and the new oncologist, and he’s at home with them helping out. So he’s going to be a fixture around here for some time, it seems.” After pushing himself to his feet, Gus held out a hand to Jacob. “You still need to deal with the cash register, but I did everything else associated with closing. But hey, we never did settle things at the last Mini Main Street. Are you going to the university gala?”
Jacob shook his head. “I had planned to, but I don’t think I have it in me.”
“Damn. Okay, Matt and I will rock, paper, scissors it to see who goes. Though I think Matt’s dad was on him to attend. We can let him take the hit this time.”
Now Jacob felt bad. “Maybe I can go. Especially since I was the one who pointed out we couldn’t let Clark get a talking point that ‘the youth’ on the Copper Point Chamber of Commerce don’t know how to represent at community functions.”
Gus shrugged. “It’s fine. We’ll deal. I’d prefer you go, as you’re our best bet at getting into leadership, but it sounds like you have had a day.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Are you sure I can’t convince you to come to dinner with the guys, though? I mean, a significant chunk of them will be at the gala, but I know the quieter atmosphere is a plus for you.”
“I need to be alone, without any people. But maybe I’ll stop by if you end up at your shop like usual after.”
“I’ll hold you to that. Matt or I, whoever loses the draw, will give everyone at GAG your love.”
Jacob’s lips thinned into a line. “I seriously wish they’d change the name of that group.”
Gus grinned. “No chance. I know Owen started it as a joke, but you’re the only one who hates it.”
“It isn’t even properly descriptive. Gay Area Guys? Seriously?”
“Well, you can’t say Gay Copper Point Guys. One, because a lot of the members come from out of town, and two, GCPG sounds like some kind of Soviet acronym.”
Jacob tipped his head back again.
Gus regarded Jacob carefully. “Will you be all right on your own? I’ve never seen you this rattled.”
“Yes, yes. I’ll be fine.” Running his hands over the front of his cardigan, Jacob took several fortifying breaths. “Thank you for allowing me a moment to melt down. I needed that more than I knew.”
“Let me know if you need another round.” Smiling, Gus rubbed his shoulder affectionately. “I’ll give your regards to GAG.”
Jacob waved Gus down the stairs, then locked the door. After a few deep breaths, he sat in the rocking chair near his shelf of literary treasures, withdrew the books Youssef had signed, and ran his hand over the inscription to The Sword Dancer’s Daughter.
To Jacob, who has the loveliest bookstore I’ve ever seen. Rasul Youssef.
This was his original copy of the book, the first-edition hardcover he’d picked up in the hospital bookshop. It had a coffee stain on page 34 from when the nurse had startled him as she dragged him to the ICU so he could be with his father in his last moments. Jacob hadn’t picked up the book again for a week, not until his mother had followed his father, not until the funerals were well over. He’d tripped over the book in a deep depressive funk as he wandered alone and despondent through his parents’ house, then stayed up all night reading, stopping to cry every few chapters even when there was nothing remotely sad in the text, finally able to do the mou
rning he’d been too stunned to do. He’d purchased the audiobook and listened to it on constant repeat as he went through his parents’ belongings and did enough repairs to sell the house.
Now here was the author of that book’s signature, scrawled across the title page, along with a compliment for the bookstore that had given Jacob back his life.
Jacob’s heart beat a desperate flutter against his throat as he opened the cover of Carnivale, this inscription calling him a hero, the word love etched above Youssef’s scrawl. This was a bit dangerous. While reading The Sword Dancer’s Daughter, Jacob had worshipped Youssef in his mind’s eye. During that breathless, initial read of Carnivale, he’d fallen a bit in love. He was hardly unique in this aspect. Carnivale was insightful and critical, but also sensual and immersive in a way that tended to make the reader feel they’d stumbled into a forbidden garden. He’d read reports of people going to Youssef’s promotional junket for Carnivale in full cosplay, and the movie adaptation was reportedly still in the works, which would only revive everything again.
For Jacob, reading Carnivale had felt like meeting a kindred spirit. He picked up on references so buried you had to have a book lover’s encyclopedic database to catch and felt as if they were sharing a secret handshake. He loved the way Rasul embraced his half-Brazilian, half-Syrian heritage while harkening both to Middle Eastern and fully modern Western story and character conventions. Carnivale was the book Jacob chose to read when he wanted to feel wicked.
Now his copy had Love, Rasul on the title page.
It was as close Jacob would come to a confession from his secret, silly crush, and he honestly couldn’t decide which was better, the memory of having him in his two most sacred places, his store and his apartment, or possessing these inscriptions. He couldn’t possibly go to GAG after this. Today called for a glass of wine, pizza delivery, and a bubble bath as he let everything marinate.
He didn’t even have the cork out of the bottle, however, before his phone rang. It was a local area code and prefix, but Jacob didn’t know the number, so he assumed it was spam. At the last second, though, instead of letting it go to voicemail, he answered anyway.
It wasn’t spam.
“—lo! This—President Larson—view. How—you?”
The president of Bayview University’s age-roughened voice was difficult on a good day, but with this bad connection, it was nearly intolerable. But why was Larson was calling him? “I’m fine, Mr. Larson, but I’m afraid we have a bad connection. I can barely hear you.”
“Evan—you to come—gala tonight—escort—” This time the break was of significant length. “—big favor.”
Jacob frowned at the cupboard, wine bottle still in hand while he tried to figure it out. “Dean Clare wants me to escort him to the gala tonight? Why?”
“No, no—” Another long break in the connection. “—visiting professor—handholding. All about appearances because—” The air filled with crackles. “—good opportunity—”
Jacob set the bottle down and sighed. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Larson, but I have absolutely no idea what you’re saying or what you need from me.”
“—coming out of a valley. Can you hear me now?”
Jacob straightened. “Yes, perfectly.”
“Can you come to the gala at eight tonight?”
“I can, but I don’t understand—”
“Going into another valley. Evan will call you later and give more details. Can we count on you?”
Count on him for what? Jacob absolutely didn’t want to go to the university gala. He’d been issued an invite both as a member of the chamber of commerce and someone on the hospital board, but he wasn’t part of the university, he hated parties, and he truly did want to soak away the day in hot soapy bubbles. But he was a sucker for someone in crisis, which Larson probably well knew. “I suppose I can come, but I really want to know more about—”
“—about to—reception—counting on you—appreciate it—”
The call went silent, then disconnected. When Jacob tried to call Larson back, he got an automated message that the caller was unavailable.
Jacob set his phone on the table with his lips tightly sealed. The gala was a welcome party for new professors and staff as well as a chance for people who enjoyed doing so to rub elbows with what passed for celebrity in northern Wisconsin. Rebecca Lambert-Diaz, the hospital board president, had suggested it would be advantageous for as many members of Mini Main Street to attend as possible and network with the community, and of course it would be good for him to make more networking connections in case he decided to run for chamber of commerce president. But he so wanted to stay home. It seemed like all he did was go to parties like this lately. And now the Gay Area Guys met every Friday night. Every Friday!
Why did everyone in this town live for an excuse to get together? Why were they determined to fill every hour of his life with activity?
Jacob ran a lint roller over his good suit, the one Matt had selected for him before all the doctors at the hospital had started getting married. Well, correction. Matt had selected several different ones first, all of them too flashy and showy, and Jacob had made him go back and find him something conservative and nondescript. He regretted this now. It wasn’t that he wanted to impress anyone! But if his favorite author gave him an approving glance, that would be a nice flutter to keep him warm in the winter.
He thought of the YouTube interview Youssef had given after Carnivale when he’d been asked if he liked parties. “I hate them,” he’d replied immediately, which had made the interviewer laugh and assume he was being facetious, because even then he was known as a party animal. “No, I’m completely serious,” he went on. “Parties are like cotton candy. Dazzling and sweet but ephemeral, evaporating in your mouth so all you want is more and more and more. And once you’ve gorged yourself, you’re sick, but you’re still dreaming about that sugary floss.”
Jacob didn’t like cotton candy or anything excessively sweet, but he’d still loved the metaphor, as well as the knowledge his favorite author felt the same way about them as he did. Did that mean, though, he should give Youssef a wide berth? He at least had to exchange pleasantries, but beyond that felt like a mystery.
Who was he kidding, he’d never have the courage to say anything meaningful.
What was he doing at this party, though? He remembered Larson said Evan Clare would call and give him further details, but Clare hadn’t reached out by 7:40, at which point Jacob couldn’t put off leaving any longer without showing up late.
With a frustrated sigh, he put out food for the cats, gathered his wallet and keys, and set off for the community center.
Since it was on the same block as the bookstore, he walked, waving to people he knew along the way. It was a busy section of town at this time of day, with parents picking up and dropping off kids from library events, church youth group, and tae kwon do practice. With the parking lot of the community center cordoned off for the gala, cars vied for precious real estate in the street, honking and edging toward parking spots about to open up. Meanwhile, Jacob enjoyed the cool breeze from the bay and wished he could spend the evening at the park, or in his apartment reading. He was going to resent not getting that bubble bath all night long.
There was a line at the entrance, which Jacob kicked himself for not anticipating. It wasn’t until he was through the door that he was able to search for the dean, and an immediate scan of the room didn’t help. All he saw were men in variations of gray and black suits and tuxedoes, and women in gowns in a dazzling array of colors and styles.
“Jacob.”
He turned at the sound of his name, but it wasn’t Evan calling to him. It was Matthew Engleton, the manager and heir to the Copper Point institution known as Engleton’s Fine Clothing. He was also one of Jacob’s closest friends. Smiling, Jacob waved to him, relaxing a little. “Hey.”
Cradling his glass to his chest, Matt lifted an eyebrow at Jacob. “I thought you weren’t coming.”
Jacob couldn’t help noticing how Matt’s lips flattened slightly at the sight of his boring suit.
“I wanted to skip it, believe me, but I got a mysterious call from Larson a little while ago asking me to come. The call had terrible reception, so I don’t really understand what’s going on. I was hoping to get more answers when I arrived. Evan Clare was supposed to call me, but he never did. Have you seen him?”
“Hmm. I think I did a few minutes ago, but he was on the move. Come on, let’s go hunt him down.”
Jacob was grateful for Matt’s assistance, which Matt probably knew. Though both their jobs required interacting with people, Matt was significantly better at it. Jacob was perfectly at home with anyone who wanted help locating a book or doing essentially anything in his store, and though it was exhausting, he did enjoy his work on the hospital board. He didn’t even mind being pointed and argumentative in a meeting. However, any situation where he was expected to mingle was pure torture. If he wasn’t careful, everyone he met asked him what was wrong. He couldn’t very well answer that all he could think about was going home.
God, but he wanted to go home.
They couldn’t find the dean, but they did run into several people from the chamber of commerce, including, of course, Les Clark.
Clark was the eighty-year-old, semiretired president of Copper Point Bank and Trust, an institution that had dodged corporate takeover only by Clark’s iron will and determination that nothing ever would change. He was the current president of the Copper Point Chamber of Commerce, and he’d held that title off and on regularly over the years. He was either the rock of city business or the boulder holding back progressive innovation, depending on who you talked to.
Clark didn’t like Jacob, Gus, or Matt. He thought they had too many wild ideas, and of course the fact that they were all three gay and out was also a scandal. He never missed a chance to needle any of them.
That included right now.
“Moore.” Clark grimaced at him. “I’m surprised you made it. I thought you’d still be busy with the chaos at your store.”
The Bookseller's Boyfriend Page 3
