In Search of a Love Story (Love Story Book One )

by Rachel Schurig

  “Hi, Dad!” I said.

  “Hi, sweetie.” His voice, warm and familiar, sent a little pain into my chest. It had been too long since I had been home.

  “How are you?” I asked. “How’s work?”

  “Business has been good.” I heard him cough, a raspy sound.

  “Have you been sick?” I asked, immediately on my guard.

  “No,” he assured me. “I had a cold last month, and the cough doesn’t seem to want to hit the road.”

  “You need to rest more,” I said, a flash of fear running through me. I couldn’t deal with it if my dad got sick.

  “I’m fine. Promise. How are you? How’s work been?”

  “Work is going good. It’s been busy too.”

  “Good, good.”

  There was a moment of silence. My dad and I had never been all that chatty with each other. Don’t get me wrong, I love him more than just about anyone on the earth. But sometimes it was hard for me to think of things to say to him. He just wasn’t much of a talker. After my mom was gone, the house got a whole lot quieter.

  “Did you catch that Wings game last night?” I asked, reverting to our old standby conversation—sports.

  “Yeah,” he said eagerly. “Great game. Lidstrom is just unstoppable, isn’t he?”

  We talked about hockey for a few minutes, fully exhausting the topic before lapsing into silence once more.

  “The kids are good?” my dad asked finally. “Ashley and Chris doing okay?”

  “Everyone’s good,” I told him. “I’m actually out shopping with Chris for Ashley’s birthday present.”

  “Oh, I won’t keep you then,” he said, sounding almost relieved. I felt another little pang. I wouldn’t change a thing about my dad, I really wouldn’t. But it would be nice if he was just a little more communicative.

  “Alright, Dad,” I said. “Look, I’m gonna get up there for a visit again real soon, okay? I promise.”

  “I hope so.” The gruffness of his voice seemed to slip for a minute. “I miss you, Em.”

  “I miss you too, Dad,” I said softly. All of a sudden I could feel a lump in my throat. “I promise I’ll be home soon.”

  “Take care of yourself, sweetheart.”

  “You too,” I said. “Rest, Dad. Okay?”

  “I will,” he said, laughing a little. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

  After we hung up, I stared down at the table for a minute, thinking about my dad. Sometimes the thought of going home made me feel anxious, almost panicked. There were just so many memories there, so many things to remind me of the past. Other times I missed my dad so much I felt like I might go nuts. I hated the idea of him there alone.

  The lump in my throat grew a bit. I felt frustrated and confused, and I couldn’t even say why. I sighed.

  “Everything okay at home?” Chris asked. I looked up to see him standing in front of me, two fresh Cokes in his hands. He handed me one.

  “Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile onto my face. “Ready to get going?”

  Chris reached out a hand, pulling me to my feet. For one second he held onto my hand tightly, looking me straight in the eye before letting go. I knew that he understood, at least a little bit, what I was feeling right then.

  It wasn’t much, but it helped.

  Chapter Seven

  “Okay, I think you’ve done super tonight,” Ashley said in her best teacher-explains-things-to-little-kids voice. “What do you think we’ve learned so far?”

  I glared at her. “I’m not seven, Ash.”

  “Sorry,” she said, looking sheepish. “Force of habit. Anyhow, what do you think you learned?”

  I looked at Ryan helplessly, and he smiled. “What did you think of Hugh Grant in this one?”

  “Well, he seemed like the obvious choice,” I said, scrunching up my nose as I considered it. “But it was pretty clear early on he was all talk. That Mark guy was much better.”

  “Good!” Ashley said. “Did either of them remind you of anything?”

  “Well…Mark’s last name was Darcy, right? So, like, was that on purpose? Was he supposed to be like Darcy in Pride and Prejudice? And Hugh Grant was like that Wickham guy?”

  “Yes!” Ashley said, clearly thrilled that I had caught on. “Bridget Jones is a modern day retelling of Pride and Prejudice!”

  “Yeah, I can see that,” I said, nodding. “You know, that’s actually kind of cool.”

  Ashley beamed at me.

  “So I guess what I learned…” I thought for a moment. “Is that you can’t always judge a book by its cover? Sometimes the quiet guy has a lot more going on underneath the surface than the obvious choice?”

  “Look, Ash,” Ryan said, putting his arm around her. “Our little girl is finally catching on.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Okay, so can we add that to the list?” I asked, pointing at the notebook on Ryan’s lap.

  “Guy…with…hidden…depths…” Ryan muttered as he added the description to the notebook. “Okay, let’s see what we have so far…”

  Ryan and Ashley had been leading me through a litany of movies and books over the last two and a half weeks. I had watched classic black and white films, Disney cartoons, and modern-day romantic comedies. I had found many of them silly, and a few downright offensive in their portrayal of woman. But I could grudgingly admit that I had liked a few. And I was definitely starting to pick up on some patterns.

  “Okay, first we have When Harry Met Sally and 30 Going on 30,” Ryan said. “Which showed us…” They both looked at me expectantly.

  “That old friendship can turn into true love,” I said dutifully.

  “Good,” Ryan said, giving me an approving smile before turning back to his list. He quizzed me for another five minutes, and I was able to satisfactorily remember what they had told me about the boy next door, the bad boy, the one that got away, and the boy that you love to hate.

  “You know,” Ryan said, leaning back in his chair. “I think you’ve got it.”

  “You don’t have to look so surprised,” I muttered. “I do have a master’s degree, you know.”

  “Has a master’s degree, yet she doesn’t know the first thing about guys,” he shot back. I glared at him.

  “We’re proud of you,” Ashley said, giving Ryan a warning look. “And I think you’re ready for the next step.”

  “Next step?” I said, immediately alarmed. “What next step?”

  “Your makeover!” they cried in unison.

  “Oh, no,” I said, feeling panicked. “No, no, no. I never agreed to any makeover!”

  “You said you wanted our help,” Ryan reminded me. “You agreed to listen to us.”

  “I agreed to learn about the classic romances! I never said you could give me a makeover.”

  “Em, it’s not a big deal,” Ashley said. “We’re not talking anything drastic here. We just think you should pick up some more feminine clothes.”

  “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

  Ryan burst out laughing. “Oh, sweetie. Please. You live in track pants and T-shirts.”

  “I’m a physical therapist,” I said testily. “What exactly am I supposed to wear to work, heels?”

  “No,” he said calmly. “But you also don’t need to wear your work clothes all the time. Like on weekends. And when we go out.”

  “I don’t wear track pants when we go out.”

  “Yeah, ’cause your ratty jeans are so much better.”

  I started to argue with him, but Ashley held up a hand. “Look, all we’re saying is that it would be nice for you to get a few new things.”

  “And maybe a haircut,” Ryan added. “And some makeup.”

  “No,” I said flatly. “I put my foot down at the makeover.”

  Ryan sighed dramatically but Ashley only smiled. “We’ll revisit this later.”

  “Revisit what?” Chris asked, entering the room. He had been hiding in Ashley’s bedroom ever since we turned on Bridget Jones. I had asked if
I could please join him, but Ryan and Ashley were firm that I watch the entire movie.

  “Emily’s impending makeover,” Ryan said.

  “Why does she need a makeover?” Chris asked, squinting at me. “She looks like Emily.” I beamed at him.

  “She could stand to look like a better version of Emily,” Ryan explained.

  “We just want to soften her up a little bit,” Ashley said.

  Chris took a look at my face and burst out laughing. “Good luck with that,” he said.

  “Can we drop this, please?” I asked. “I know I agreed to this and everything, but I think I’m going to scream if we have to talk about makeovers or gooey love stuff for another second.”

  Chris looked at his watch. “It’s still pretty early. We could go out for a while.”

  “Dancing?” Ryan asked, his face lighting up.

  “I was thinking more like finding some good beer somewhere,” Chris said.

  “Oh God,” Ashley moaned. “You’re gonna make me spend the rest of the night in some pretentious micro-brewery where everyone goes on and on about the inferiority of anything that costs less than twelve bucks for a six pack, aren’t you?”

  Chris looked hurt. “I thought you liked it when I explained good beer to you,” he said.

  “Sweetie, that was before we were dating,” she said patiently. “Back when I was trying to get you to like me.”

  Chris sputtered incoherently for a moment. I decided to put him out of his misery and change the subject. “How about we go to the WAB?” I suggested. The Woodward Avenue Brewery was one of the few bars we could all agree was awesome.

  “Good call,” Ashley said. “I’ll go get ready.” She stood up and started toward her bedroom, before turning to look at me expectantly.

  “What?” I asked.

  She glanced pointedly at my (admittedly) ratty jeans, and I sighed. “Fine. I’ll go get ready too.”

  * * *

  Predictably, the WAB was crowded on a Saturday night. I had always liked coming here; it was a large, multi-storied bar, with a decent food menu, and a very laid back, comfortable vibe. It was a good compromise for our group. When we let Ryan pick the place, we typically ended up in a super swanky, posh nightclub—the kind of place that would make me feel underdressed no matter what I was wearing. When Chris was in charge of planning the outing, we’d inevitably spend hours in a microbrewery where the staff looked at you like you had three heads if you dared ask for a Miller Lite. At the WAB, we could all just be ourselves.

  Chris went up to the bar to get our beers while the three of us hunted for a suitable table. Eventually we found a high top near the back wall. It was a little cramped, but it would do. I surveyed the room—it was a typical mix of couples and groups like ours. Not seeing anyone I recognized, I returned my attention to my friends.

  “He doesn’t look too bad,” Ashley was saying to Ryan, squinting over his shoulder. Ryan turned in the direction she was looking and made a face.

  “No way,” he said, his voice dismissive. “He’s way too short for her.”

  “What are you guys doing?” I asked, suspicion immediately kicking in.

  “Just checking out your prospects,” Ryan said, not looking at me as his eyes scanned the bar.

  “Oh, come on,” I said. “Can’t you give it a rest?”

  “You need to get back on that horse sometime, metaphorically speaking,” Ryan said. “We’re just helping you out.”

  Chris returned from the bar with our beers, and I was happy for the distraction. But he, too, seemed bent on bringing the focus of the evening back to my love life.

  “Emily,” he said, setting my beer in front of me. “You are never gonna believe who’s over at the bar.”

  “Who?” I asked, grabbing the beer and immediately taking a sip. It was cold and good and helped calm my irritation.

  “Jacob Bower.”

  Ashley gasped, clearly remembering who that was. I felt my heart rate pick up, a pit of nervousness lodging itself in my stomach.

  “Jacob?” Ryan asked, scrunching up his face like he was trying to remember something.

  “Jacob. Remember? He and Emily went out in high school… The one that got away,” Chris explained as I sipped my beer, trying to calm the racing of my heart.

  “I knew that name sounded familiar,” Ryan said, smacking his hand on the table. “So what was the whole deal with that? I want backstory.”

  “On and off for a year,” Chris continued. “Everyone thought they were so perfect for each other.”

  “They were both soccer captains for their teams,” Ashley said. “They had everything in common.”

  “You didn’t even know him,” I muttered, but Ashley was undeterred.

  “Then Em broke up with him before they started college,” she continued. “She didn’t want to try the long distance thing.”

  “And she’s regretted it ever since,” Chris said dramatically. I gave him a shove, nearly knocking him off his bar stool.

  “I have not,” I said. “It was totally the right decision at the time.”

  “But he was the last guy you were ever really serious with,” Ashley pointed out.

  “Wow. If that’s not a recipe for a great love story, I don’t know what is,” Ryan said.

  “You guys,” I moaned. “I thought we were dropping it.”

  “Oh, come on, Em,” Ashley said, excited. “That’s been the whole point of this, right? To help you make better decisions about your love life. And this is a classic romantic set-up. The high school sweetheart? The one that got away? Reunited after all these years. It couldn’t be more perfect!”

  “So what am I supposed to do?” I asked. “Just walk over there and ask him if he wants to star in a real-life romantic comedy with me?”

  “No,” Ryan said, sighing. “You walk over there and say you can’t believe it’s him, after all this time, and then start up a conversation like a normal person.”

  Hmm, when he put it that way, it did sound like a no-brainer. I sipped my beer, thinking about Jacob. Regardless of Ashley’s over-dramatization, I had always liked him. There had been many nights, alone in my dorm freshman year, when I’d wished I had made a different choice. Was this my chance to try again?

  “I’m gonna go say hi,” I said, making my mind up suddenly and standing.

  “You are?” Ryan said, sounding shocked.

  “Yup,” I said. I downed the rest of my beer for courage, then headed across the room to the bar.

  I recognized Jacob right away. He was sitting with a small group of guys, his bleached blond hair a dead give away in the dim light of the bar. The last few years hadn’t changed him much. To me, he still looked pretty much like my first love—tall, wiry, with a shock of messy hair.

  “Jacob?” I said, standing beside him. He turned in my direction, and his entire face lit up as he recognized me.

  “Emily!” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I live down here now,” I told him. “I have since I graduated, actually. What about you?”

  “Visiting some buddies,” he said, gesturing at the boys next to them. They all had a similar look—jeans and tight T-shirts, most wearing baseball caps. It was a little frat-boyish for me, but who cared? This was Jacob!

  “Have a seat,” Jacob said, gesturing to the stool next to him. I hopped up, and Jacob raised his hand to the bartender. “What are you drinking?” he asked.

  “Miller Lite,” I told him. When the bartender approached, Jacob got a refill for himself and ordered my beer.

  “It’s on me,” he said, smiling. “Man, I can’t believe you’re here!”

  “So what have you been up to?” I asked, taking a sip of my new beer.

  “I live up in Oxford,” he said, naming a pretty rural town an hour or so north of the city. “With my brothers,” he continued. I remembered Jacob’s family: a sweet, quiet mom and four rowdy, athletic boys, plus their father, who could have easily passed for one of his sons.
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br />   “In fact, Mikey is over there somewhere.” He gestured over his shoulder at the guys behind him, who appeared to be having a paper football competition. I caught the eye of one of them—a stockier guy with that trademark Bower white-blond hair. He smiled at me, and I waved. Seeing me, Jacob turned around and grinned. “Hey, Mikey,” he called to the guy. “Look who’s here!”

  Mike got up and came to stand behind us. “Is this little Emily Donovan who broke my brother’s heart?”

  “Hey, Mike,” I said, smiling at him politely before I saw his eyes dart obviously down to my chest. Real classy.

  “So what do you guys do in Oxford?” I asked, turning back to Jacob so I couldn’t see Mike’s gaze.

  “We fix up dirt bikes,” Jacob said. “And snowmobiles and four wheelers. Pretty much anything people like to ride for fun.”

  I grinned. Jacob had always been into thrill riding back home. “I can picture you in Oxford,” I told him. “You were always such a country boy.”

  “Yeah, it’s a good fit for me,” he laughed. “But I come down here pretty often. All the good bars are in Royal Oak and Ferndale.”

  “That’s true,” I said.

  “So is Brooke here with you?” Mike asked.

  I shook my head. “She still lives in Alpena,” I said.

  “Shame,” Mike replied, shaking his head sadly. “She was always one hot little piece of ass.”

  I felt a shiver of revulsion down my spine. I wished Jacob had never waved Mike over, he was totally creeping me out, and he’d barely been there for five minutes.

  “Alright, you old pervert,” Jacob said, slapping his brother’s arm. He didn’t look too put out though, his expression was more amused than anything. “You’re grossing Emily out. Go sit back down.”

  Mike laughed, and, before I could stop him, reached out and grabbed my hand. “It was really, really nice to see you again, Emily,” he said quietly, once again looking down at my chest. I wanted to punch him.

  “Sorry about him,” Jacob said, a smirk on his face as he watched Mike walk away. “He thinks he’s a real ladies’ man.” He took a sip of beer as a bit of awkwardness enveloped us. Mike had put a damper on seeing Jacob again. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something different about him. But I supposed that was only natural after seven years, and decided to give him the benefit of the doubt as he started describing his work in the bike shop.