Adding a bit more spring to her step, she filled her lungs with air. She’d taken nearly a month off from her—yes, she’d admit it—obsessive exercise schedule and yet felt fantastic. She should sit around moping more often.
She hadn’t just been moping, though, Lila thought, sticking up for herself to herself. She’d been working at her new job. Each day had ebbs and flows and Lila enjoyed adjusting to the current that never sped too fast. Marion assured her things would pick up once spring had sprung, but Lila enjoyed puttering around the gardening section as she shelved a how-to guide and peeked at the chapter on homegrown heirloom tomatoes, or paging through a book of black-and-white local nature photography while ostensibly manning the cash register.
Lila’s favorite section was the children’s place. Comprised of a train table and a big arm chair surrounded by several bean bags, it wasn’t anything fancy but it struck Lila as the heart of the store. Redwood Cove was the kind of town where 10-year-olds could bike downtown and sit and read books without parents being worried that they’d joined a gang. That week, she’d had a few good Harry Potter talks with some super geeky preteen boys interested in wizardry. She’d also had the privilege of introducing an eight-year-old girl to her first Nancy Drew. She’d talked with Marion about starting a storytime for little kids and Marion had instantly loved the idea. They’d put up a few fliers and placed an announcement in the local paper for next week, Lila’s big debut.
Plus, there was her steady diet of ‘fun’ reading to maintain. Marion had given her strict guidelines. “We’re not esoteric. We’re not full of ourselves. People come up to Redwood Cove to relax and have fun. Read books that people will enjoy.” Happy to oblige, Lila had been making her way through British country house mysteries; funny, self-deprecating memoirs; trashy multi-generational romantic dramas, plus all manner of nonfiction pertaining to the locale ranging from winemaking to wildflowers to The Gold Rush. Basically anything that could suitably answer the visiting tourist question, “Anything good you’d recommend?”
Adjusting her ponytail without missing a step, Lila reflected that working in the bookstore was definitely contributing to this feeling of having been set free from a habitrail. No cubicles, no staring at a computer screen for hours bathing in the pasty glow, no constant flood of !high priority! emails demanding her immediate jump to reply. And when she did use a computer to do inventory it was a clunky, decidedly unsexy black PC. She took pleasure in its heftiness, aware it would send shudders of revulsion down the spines of everyone back at AdSales with their ever-slimmer white and silver Macbooks.
Lately she’d gotten in the habit of leaving her iPhone at home while she was at work. It felt positively naughty. She’d even gone as long as three days between checking email. No Facebook updates. God knew, no YouTube uploads. As crushing as it had been to be fired and dumped in one week, it did have the perk of leaving her unfettered. She guessed that was the up side of no one wanting your time.
Which wasn’t even true, she admonished herself to herself again. Annie and Charlotte wanted her time. It wasn’t exactly a raucous social life, but these days it was just about her speed. Annie had suggested setting her up with one of Pete’s friends, but Lila had put her off with a ‘maybe in a few months.’ Annie had less than zero patience for hearing about how much she missed Phillip, and even Lila wished she could just be done with it. So far, though, she had yet to find the internal switch she could flip to turn off her emotions. If she ever did find that switch she swore she’d patent it and make a mint.
Heated up enough to take off her windbreaker and tie it around her waist, Lila decided to keep going a while longer. She really was feeling good these days, she thought, giving her stomach a rub and realizing that it hadn’t been hurting for a couple of weeks now. She’d almost gotten used to walking around with a constant ache. Who knew why it was gone—could it be the hours and hours of sleep she was getting in her quiet, dark bedroom? The bouquet of cashmere socks she’d splurged on and insisted on wearing 24-7 unless barefoot in her fuzzy boots? Maybe it was just the absence of constantly hoping for a text from Phillip.
A loud, bellowing noise to her right nearly made her lose her balance as she sprang away, startled. In the mist, she saw the outline of a fat, slug-like monster down on the rocks. Heart pounding, she wondered for a moment why no one had told her Redwood Cove had been invaded by aliens until the mists shifted and revealed, clearly, a gigantic elephant seal. Curling its head back and raising its massive whiskered jowls to the sky it bellowed again, an amazingly loud sound even given his hulking body. Lila brought her hand to her heart and laughed at the sight, so fearless and proud yet hilariously silly all at once. Three smaller seals clustered among rocks by his side and another was making his way across a sandy patch with the most awkward lumbering lurches. Lila had to wonder if they were caught in the midst of some evolutionary gap between sea monster and Bernese Mountain dog; they didn’t seem to have the whole getting-around-on-land thing down yet.
A trail led off to the left and she gave it a good look, wondering if she could take it. Narrow and serving as a sluice for mud, she realized she needed to wait until the rains really subsided. Then there’d be no stopping her.
Turning around, Lila doubled back on the paved path, looking forward to telling Gram about her encounter. It was Sunday, their day to talk, and she had a feeling Gram would get a kick out of hearing about a family of elephant seals. Plus, she wanted to tell her about her and Annie’s new plan to take over the world of coffeeshops—or coffee/wine/chocolate/pastry/bagel/soup shops.
“Soup!” Lila exclaimed, stopping for a moment. They had to have soup in the café, too. She could be the Soupmaster! Could she get business cards made up with that title? Realizing she was standing gesturing and talking to herself, she picked up running once again, thankful the February seven AM Redwood Cove crowd consisted of just a few dog walkers. Picking up the pace, she eagerly headed back to town so she could share her new inspiration with Gram and Annie.
* * *
For a tiny town, Redwood Cove was blessed with a small but impressively well-stocked gourmet market catering to all of the San Francisco tourists. Lila had instantly become a devotee, stopping by almost every day to shop for her nightly meal. It made her feel Parisian, popping by the grocer’s to visit with the produce and select one, perfect pomegranate or apple or whatever caught her fancy. Maybe when the rains slowed she’d get a big, old bicycle with a basket on the front. She could ride around with a baguette sticking out of it.
Paper hearts dangled over the produce section, courtesy of the local elementary school’s third graders. It was Valentine’s Day. A big night for soup! Lila thought, mentally rubbing her hands together in excitement. She could go with a red theme and make it tomato-based, maybe a simple creamy tomato with a little basil? Or maybe she could head South of the border and give it some corn and cilantro?
Selecting the ripest avocado—and deciding on Mexican—she thought of her roommates back in SF and how they might be spending their lunch hour this Valentine’s Day. Valeria was probably getting a bikini wax, full Brazilian. Venice always complained about how red she got after a wax, so she’d probably taken care of hers a couple of days ago and today was doing a last-minute run to the lingerie boutique to pick up a tiny, expensive scrap of something that a drunken hook-up could tear off later. Lila bet they’d found a replacement roommate by now and probably couldn’t remember her name if dared to do it. Then again, they did love dares and if competing against each other they might come up with it. “Was she the pale one?” Valeria might ask, scrunching up her nose and searching her memory.
Back in SF, Valentine’s Day had been a source of torture and pain. For weeks leading up to the day she’d hope and read into Phillip’s casual conversation. One year, when he’d made a point of telling her the details of his month’s travel schedule she was sure he was trying to make sure she knew he’d be in town for the big day. When he hadn’t even come into the off
ice that day, never mind take her out, she’d realized he was just making sure she knew his work schedule. The next week when he’d realized that she was upset he’d apologized, inviting her over to his apartment for take-out from their favorite Chinese restaurant. It had almost made her feel less pathetic.
The following year, determined to avoid a similar mistake and demonstrate her total and complete independence, she’d agreed to head out with Venice and Valeria. She’d cancelled at five o’clock the night of when Phillip had shown up at her cubicle looking uncharacteristically rumpled and asking if she could stay late to help with a pitch. Come to think of it, they’d ended up having Chinese take-out back at his apartment that night as well.
Lila rubbed her forehead to dispel the bad memories as she walked out of the market. From now on, she vowed to be more like Zsa Zsa Gabor. Or was it someone else? She couldn’t remember who’d said the quote, but she’d read it recently in a book on New Year’s Resolutions. Apparently the secret to happiness was good health, good friends and a bad memory.
Realizing she still had 25 minutes of her lunch hour, Lila headed to Annie’s shop before going back to the bookstore. Most everything was walking distance in Redwood Cove including her apartment and she loved tooling around in her big boots and Gram mittens. Still off-season, most of the people around town were locals. She was starting to recognize some of them and get the insider’s nod or even smile. On ‘clear’ days during winter the sun appeared from noonish to sundown and today the fog was finally starting to lift. Lila hummed a song stuck in her head, something about wriggling like an octopus. She and Charlotte had had a dance party a few days ago, tutus required.
The jingling bell at the chocolate shop’s door barely got Annie’s attention as she bent down over a large basket. Zoe was there as well and they were scrutinizing chocolate flowers amidst a bouquet.
“Are there too many on this side?” Annie asked, seeming to know it was Lila without looking up.
“Um,” Lila cocked her head to the side and tried to get a look from all angles. Bursts of color from real flowers intermingled with white, milk and dark chocolate flowers on sticks like lollypops. “It’s perfect.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Zoe exclaimed, giving Lila a big hug.
“I hate Valentine’s Day,” Annie grumbled.
“Apparently you’re in good company.” Lila told them the good news that Marion had shared with her and Godfrey this morning: Cover-to-Cover’s Internet sales had spiked over the last two weeks. An examination of the titles purchased revealed a preponderance of tragic love stories. It turned out that Godfrey had declared February “National Love-is-Bad-for-your-Health Month” and launched a successful viral marketing campaign leading fellow Valentine’s Day haters to the bookstore’s website. There, he recommended tales to comfort the lovelorn. Purchases ranged from classics such as Romeo and Juliet and Orpheus and Eurydice (alternate title: Don’t Look Back or You’ll be Sorry) to just released yet destined to become a classic “Nie Sprechen,” translation: “Never Speak,” a heartwarming German tale about a deaf/mute boy in love with a blind girl who both die alone.
“It’s the worst day of the year,” Annie agreed. “Do know how swamped I am right now? I don’t even have the time to tell you how swamped I am. That’s how swamped!” Valentine’s Day at a chocolate shop was no joke. The last-minute orders were still coming in as Annie and her boss back in the kitchen were struggling to complete those already properly in the queue.
“Have you ever had someone eat one of the flowers?” Zoe asked, toying with an arrangement. “Do you think they could sue you?” Annie had no words but communicated in a simple glance just how unhelpful that question was right now.
“Let me help,” Lila offered, joining Annie behind the counter and taking a handful of chocolate flowers on sturdy cardboard stems.
“Who’s your Valentine, Lila?” Zoe asked, resolutely maintaining both her Zenlike calm and playful enjoyment of the day.
“My Gram,” Lila answered with a smile. She’d gotten a flowery card from her this morning. When Lila got older she hoped she’d not only become as thoughtful but also as clairvoyant about mail delivery as her Gram. How did she know exactly how to time these things? Her mom had sent her an e-card and she’d sent one back in reply.
“OK, only five more of these.” Annie sighed, moving an arrangement to a table along the wall and pulling another vase of flowers up from a rack by her feet. “Private party at Endicott Vineyards tonight,” she explained to Lila.
“Take cover, Ladies.” The door opened with a jingle and Zoe ducked down to get very busy with the rest of the vases. In swept a tall, angular woman about their age with iron-straight, bottle-blonde hair and brows tweezed into thin, angry arches. Giving a huff of impatience, she pushed her Dior sunglasses up on her head. She approached the counter with a perfume strong enough to overpower the aroma of chocolate. For that insult alone, Lila took an instant dislike.
“Update me.” She spoke with the command of an army sergeant.
“Nearly there!” Annie replied cheerfully, only to be met with a manicured hand up to silence her as the woman continued speaking—into her Bluetooth. “I hate those things,” Annie mumbled as she turned back to the bouquet.
“Vanessa,” Zoe hissed in Lila’s ear. “Bad karma.” She grabbed her coat and slipped out the back.
“It’s her order,” Annie whispered to Lila, gesturing toward the chocolate flower bouquets. Recognizing the plea for help, Lila grabbed another vase and began populating it with chocolate.
“OK,” Vanessa exhaled, turning her attention back toward the counter. “Where are we?”
“Just finishing up,” answered Annie with a smile that seemed remarkably genuine. “How are you today?”
“I need it in five, Ans,” Vanessa responded, holding up her hand again, this time with the fingers spread apart. With a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, she added, “You’ll come through for me. You always do.” She swept out once again, no doubt to go terrorize another local vendor.
“Ans?” Lila asked, turning toward her friend whose nicknames had certainly never headed in that direction. For a brief phase in college Annie had been known as “Scoop”, both for her ability to always know the good gossip and her inclination toward having another scoop of ice cream. Amidst a sea of type-A anorexics, Annie had unapologetically remained a curvy size twelve, make that fourteen post-pregnancy. In college, Lila had been about the same size due to her ‘baby fat’, as her Gram had lovingly referred to it, though she’d been the tortured one hiding out in overalls.
“Yeah, that’s Vanessa,” Annie said, adding some white chocolate flower pops. “She likes to prowl around like a tiger out of its cage. But she gives us a steady supply of pricey orders.”
“What, does she do party planning?” Lila asked, recognizing instinctively in Vanessa all of the skills she’d lacked to make her company holiday party come off without a hitch.
“Oh no,” Annie corrected. “She orchestrates events.” She nudged over a business card stapled to Vanessa’s order slip—sure enough: Vanessa Hughes, event orchestrator.
“Oh my.”
“Last month she had us do 15 chocolate champagne bottles with real champagne inside of them. Nearly made us go insane but we got $4,000 for it.”
“$4,000?” Lila asked, incredulous. “For edible champagne bottles?”
“Weddings,” Annie explained. “Everything gets jacked up three times the usual amount.” Annie set up the remaining three vases in a row and she and Lila set about completing them, assembly-line style, Annie in charge of milk and dark and Lila in charge of white chocolate.
“She doesn’t seem like she’s from around here,” Lila observed. The people of Redwood Cove tended more toward the wooly hats and performance fleece.
“She lives in the city,” Annie confirmed. “But she does a lot of events at the wineries. And she’s dating Jake Endicott.” Lila nodded. That seemed about right. Maybe together
as a couple their iciness could stop global warming.
“Do you and Pete hang out with them a lot?” Lila asked, deadpan.
“Oh sure. We all like to kick it together.” After a pause she added, “Actually, Pete and Jake used to be buddies when they were little, 3 and 4 grade or something. They’d ride their bikes all around and had some sort of elaborate spy game with a few other kids.”
“Really?” Lila had trouble imagining happy ten-year-old Pete biking around with little Lord Fauntleroy.
“Yeah. Then I guess Jake disappeared or something. He wasn’t around for high school or years afterwards. Then he just showed up again in town, like, a year ago. And now he’s being groomed to take over from Daddy.”
The door jingled once again and Lila shuddered in the cool blast, both literally and figuratively. Vanessa was back, once again talking on her Bluetooth as she stood at the shop window.
“Time to head back,” Lila said to Annie, shrugging back into her sweater wrap.
“Here, take one,” Annie offered her the basket of chocolate rejects.
“Before I forget.” Vanessa’s steely gaze bore through Annie, leaving no doubt that this time she was addressing the person in front of her. “Ashley needs Pete to call her ASAP. She has a new concept for the bocce court.” Noting a slight raise of Annie’s eyebrow, Lila recalled how she’d been complaining about Pete’s nightmare clients: Jake’s brother, Oliver Endicott, and his wife, Ashley. Their devotion to plans only lasted as long as the next party they attended. Then they would inevitably see the new, improved, upgraded version of whatever they realized they really wanted. Particularly if it was over in Napa.
Lila gave Vanessa a brief smile as she passed her by the door; Vanessa turned her attention to the contents of her tote. Glancing at Vanessa’s stiletto heeled boots, she remembered she’d had a pair like them when she’d worked in the city. She’d bought them after one of the first times Phillip had talked to her, almost four years ago. It had been a rainy winter day and she’d still been fresh enough off the boat from New England that, out of instinct, she’d worn her bulky, sensible, thick rubber LL Bean boots to work. Squidging and squeaking her way through the office, Phillip hadn’t been the only one who couldn’t resist teasing her. She’d thrown them out that night.
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