Alice couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She nodded instead.
He turned the book over in his hands, a smile touching his lips. “And the very best authors insert little nods to history, so even in this futuristic war, he’s sprinkled in World War I and World War II references, which a lot of men in his time caught and appreciated. Like my Granddaddy. He loved Heinlein. Maybe not so many readers catch it now, since the study of military history isn’t very popular.”
Alice cleared her throat. She hadn’t felt this out of her depth in a long time. Charlie nagged at her to read fantasy, but Alice had never seen a reason. But the way Paul explained it, the stories were as relevant now as they were sixty years ago. Maybe more.
He seemed to notice that she had nothing to say and frowned, weighing the paperback in his hand. “It sounds kinda strange, doesn’t it?” Then he snapped his fingers and said, “Well, it’s just like Beau Geste, really, with the themes of personal responsibility, never leaving a man behind, and doing the right thing even when it involves tremendous personal sacrifice.”
“Oh!” Alice saw all the details start to fall into place and she nodded. “I think I know what you’re saying. And it’s really odd you should mention that book. I’ve talked to more people about Beau Geste in the last few days than I have in ten years. It must be coming back into popularity.”
He was silent for a moment, carefully placing the Heinlein back on the stack. “I’d better get some breakfast. Sorry again for―”
Bix burst through the door. “I was down at The Red Hen and Eric came in, caterwauling that you dumped him for that ScreenStop owner. But I told everybody it was impossible because you can’t stand the guy.” Bix seemed to see Paul at the same time he uttered the last words, right as he pulled up close to the desk. He turned, his straw hat askew and his green raincoat misbuttoned, and said, “Well, good mornin’, Paul.”
Alice rolled her eyes at the ceiling.
“Mornin’, Mr. Beaulieu. Nice to see you again,” Paul said.
“Call me Bix. So, the rumors are true?” Bix nudged his hat up and gave Paul a calculating look. “Let me tell ya, we keep a close eye on Miss Alice here. She don’t have a lot of family. We’re all she got. You think it’s all sweet sugar now, but there will be rules and expectations. None of that bossin’ her around, tellin’ her which lipstick you like, and not to wear red, and how she needs to exercise.”
Paul’s lips were twitching. “I wouldn’t ask her to change a thing. She’s perfect just the way she is.”
Alice was in the middle of forming a protest but the words died in her throat. He was placating Bix, that was all. But the words seemed to reverberate in her somewhere, like the ringing of a bell, sending out little ripples of surprise and happiness.
Bix continued, “And her store comes first. You get in between her and this shop, and it’ll be the end of you.”
An awkward silence fell and Alice stared at her feet. Everything Bix said was true. Especially the shop part. And that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? Her shop and his store, her town and his business. They were at odds, no matter how many compliments Paul sent her way or how many bookish conversations they had.
“Duly noted, sir.” Paul looked like he got the message. He nodded to Alice. “Thanks for the tip on breakfast. You two have a good day.”
Seconds later he was gone, the tinkling of the bell like a post script to their conversation. Alice stood there, staring at the door. She’d felt more emotion in the past hour than in the past month. And it had been a pretty rough month.
Bix unbuttoned his coat and hung it behind the desk. “Well, I can’t blame ya. I told you to find a man, not a boy. Even before the fisticuffs, I’d say he fit the bill. Not just because he runs that big company, either. You get the feeling he’s worked hard to make it in the world and he doesn’t walk around complaining. He gets the job done.”
“Bix, you’ve got the wrong idea. We’re not dating. He just came in at a bad time. He was looking for directions to a good diner. And I don’t approve that kind of behavior, no matter what people will say.”
“Not dating? You could have fooled me. I seen the way he looks at you. And if you’re not, why’d he take out his aggression on Eric? The guy got it good, one side of his face was already swellin’ up by the time he made it to The Red Hen.”
She wondered why Eric decided to run down to The Red Hen. Any man who’d just been beaten in a fight should have slunk off home so no one saw a thing. Waving a hand, she turned toward her desk. “Doesn’t matter. Something Eric said.”
“And it had nothing to do with you?” Bix was honestly confused. “Paul doesn’t seem like the kinda guy who cares if someone’s tryin’ to jerk a knot in his tail.”
Alice cleared her throat and settled at her desk. She shuffled a few stacks of paper and gave Van Winkle a pat. The kitty raised his head and blinked, then went back to sleep. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. “Well, to be fair, it involved both of us… about Paul renting the apartment above the shop.”
Bix let out a low whistle. “Just like that little snake to cast aspersions on your character because he’s jealous.”
She let a hand drop to the desk and said, “Jealous? It wasn’t working between us and that had nothing to do with Paul.”
“It sure wasn’t,” Bix said. He shot her a glance. “But sha, even though I got bad eyes, what I saw when I walked in here was enough. I wager Paul wouldn’t say no to a chance at getting to know you better.” He gave a wink, then called out, “Miss Elizabeth, where are you? We’ve got work to do.” Miss Elizabeth trotted out and Bix picked her up, carrying her toward the back room where the paperbacks were stacked.
Alice couldn’t find a thing to say to that. Of course Paul was handsome, funny, and seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her head. But the logical part of her could list ten reasons that Paul should be avoided at all costs. She’s perfect just the way she is. Paul’s words echoed back at her. The idea made her chest go tight. She’d never been one to take chances, in business or in love. And a relationship with Paul wasn’t just risky, it was doomed.
She straightened her shoulders and shook off the swirling emotions. Who knew, maybe Paul was putting on the charm to distract her from her protesting his store. He knew she loved books, so he was trying to reach her that way. He was probably used to women falling all over him, begging for his attention.
Well, he was about to discover she was a lot harder to distract than he thought. Nothing came before her town and her people. Not even a man like Paul Olivier.
Chapter Twelve
In software systems, it is often the early bird
that makes the worm. ― Alan Perlis
Paul walked toward the diner, dodging pedestrians and the occasional dog, his thoughts back in the little bookstore he’d just exited. That had been a stupid, sloppy mistake. He’d gotten caught up in convincing her that Heinlein was a genius and had referenced a book they’d already discussed. Unfortunately, he was Browning Wordsworth Keats when they’d discussed it. And now she was wondering why everyone in the world was discussing Beau Geste at the same time. He wanted to tell her, but not like that. Not out of the blue and right after punching her ex-boyfriend.
He trudged down the sidewalk, wondering if he was losing his sanity. His knuckles throbbed, reminding him of the moment he’d opened himself up for the mother of all lawsuits. More than that, an assault charge wasn’t good PR, and PR was something he’d always been good at. When Andy heard the story, Paul was going to get an earful. Or maybe just a look of total disbelief. He couldn’t believe it himself.
He crossed the street, barely hearing the honking of a slow-moving vehicle as it turned the corner. He’d never punched another person in his life. He wasn’t a fighter. He’d had his share of battles against prejudicial people who only saw a quiet nerd from a tiny Southern town, but his battles had never gotten physical. Maybe Andy was right. Maybe this whole idea was doomed from
the beginning. There was too much bad history in Cane River. If he’d wanted to open a store, he should have left the supervising to someone else. Nothing good could come from his returning to Natchitoches.
“Excuse me,” a young man’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Are you Paul Olivier? I heard a rumor you were in town, but I told my buddy he was full of it.”
A gawky teenage boy grabbed his hand and shook it before Paul could even focus on the kid’s wide-eyed expression. His T-shirt read ‘Home is Where the WiFi Connects Automatically’ and his red hair had outgrown a crew cut a few months ago.
“Yes, I’m just here for a little while.”
“Dude,” the kid whispered. “You’re, like, the most epic game creator ever.”
“Thank you.” Paul glanced down the street. “We’re opening a new store here. Be sure to come to the grand opening. We’ll have some really good door prizes and―” His stomach was growling in earnest now. He glanced back and for just a moment, he saw himself. He’d spent years as the awkward teenager nobody really listened to, the kid everyone avoided because all he could talk about was gaming and always at the worst times. Paul looked the kid in the eye and gave him his undivided attention. “And what do you like the most about our games?”
“You did such a great job with War of the Universe. People don’t always get that it’s not just the graphics. It’s the story,” the kid said. “The best part was the way Reena used the evil Commander Lorfan’s secret past to bring him down. The dude woulda been totally invincible if he hadn’t been obsessed with getting revenge.”
Paul started to agree, when something else occurred to him. Flannery O’Conner once said that she wrote to discover what she knew. Paul wrote the script for War of the Universe while thinking about all the greatest morality tales--Greek myths and the tragedy of humanity. He’d never considered that he could turn into one of the bad guys, so focused on revenge and proving he was right that he doomed himself and everything he loved. He looked back at By the Book, and saw his violent actions in a whole new light.
“What’s your name?” Paul asked.
“Tater Leaf, sir.” The kid grinned hugely.
Paul blinked, trying to decipher why any parent would name their child Tater and pair it with the last name Leaf. He decided it most likely linked to some long history that would take ten minutes and a diagram of the kid’s family tree to explain.
“Nice to meet you, Tater. I’ll be in town for a while,” Paul said. “If you’re ever interested in joining our team of beta testers, we have a small group that runs through the very first versions of a game.”
“Wow,” Tater breathed. “The very first people to try it out?”
“Just to work out the bugs. Sometimes the final version is pretty different.”
“Absolutely. Really. I would.” Tater was nodding and grinning.
“Cool. Here’s my card.” Paul scribbled his cell phone on the back. “And now, I have to get some breakfast before I start eating my own hand.”
“Sure,” Tater said. He stepped out of the way, still grinning. “See you around.”
Paul managed to make it the rest of the block without anyone else stopping him, although he did hear a few whispers and the quiet click of people taking pictures. Any other time, he’d have stopped, or at least flashed a smile. But he was focused on getting breakfast and getting back to the privacy of his apartment, where he could take a few minutes to process what he’d just realized about himself.
Babet’s Diner was packed to the gills with hungry customers. Paul hovered near the door, breathing in the smell of bacon and eggs. The conversation ebbed for a moment when he walked in, but then picked back up to a respectable level. Although he felt more than a few pairs of eyes on him, he didn’t feel as uncomfortable as he did walking around big tech conventions. You knew your fame had passed the comfort level when you needed a security detail to go to the bathroom.
He leaned against the wall and pulled out his phone, sending Andy a quick text. Looking around at the crowd, he wasn’t sure takeout was an option. A lot of these old tourist places were sit down only. While he waited to see if Andy was awake, he clicked on the Browning Wordsworth Keats site, then to his email. Scrolling through the mail, his heart rate started to rise. He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter, but as soon as he saw Alice’s name, he almost stopped breathing.
It took several seconds to decide whether to open it. If she didn’t want to meet him, this awkward double life would continue. Things were happening faster than he could predict and who knew what tomorrow would bring? He hoped not another fistfight. He took a steadying breath and opened the note. Red boots. He’d never been a great dancer, but he was more than willing to dance with Alice.
He hit reply and pecked out a short reply.
Dear Miss Alice,
I’ll be there. Looking forward to hearing the story of EBB and your youthful outrage.
Your BWK
“Paul? Is that you?” A woman’s voice cut into his thoughts.
He turned. “Mrs. Joubert?” He started laughing. He couldn’t believe his eyes. “I haven’t seen you since sixth grade.”
She looked the same, except for the streaks of silver in her curly dark hair, and she looked thinner, more fragile. Memories washed over him. He used to pepper Mrs. Joubert with questions that she couldn’t answer during their science classes. She never got angry, and would return the next day with everything she’d discovered. Now she reached out, pulling him close, wrapping her arms around him. “Oh, Paul,” she breathed. “Gimme a Yankee dime.” She turned her cheek and he kissed her. He felt her shoulders shaking under his hands.
Were those tears in her eyes? “Mrs. Joubert, is everything okay?” He hadn’t kept up on the local gossip. Maybe she was dying. Maybe she had lost a spouse. Or a child. The thought made his heart drop in his chest.
“Sorry, sorry, it’s just a surprise seeing you,” she said, wiping her eyes. She stepped back. “Look at you, so handsome. And I always knew you’d do real well just soon as you got turned loose. I knew it, Paul.”
He nodded. He heard that kind of thing all the time. People who couldn’t be bothered to give him the time of day when he was younger liked to tell him how they’d always been his most ardent supporters. But Mrs. Joubert was different. “I remember you telling me that. Sometimes more than once a day.”
“You took a lot of convincing.” She was still blinking back tears. She held onto his hands and leaned close. “Tell me the truth, son. Beyond all the money and the fame, are you doing well? Are you happy? When I see you in the news, I’m right worried about you. I want you to be happy, Paul.”
Her words touched him deep inside, in a place he kept hidden from the rest of the world. Standing in an old diner, surrounded by chattering tourists enjoying their enormous platters of bacon and grits, Paul felt as if he were being asked to review the last ten years of his life. And he found it wanting.
“I’m doing fine. My mother has a nice farmhouse out of town. My company has branches in every major city and offers some of the best benefits around,” he said. She cocked her head and said nothing. He went on, “I have a good friend. I’m not completely alone.” He realized how pathetic it sounded.
She smiled. “One good friend is better than a hundred admirers.”
“You’ve got that right,” he said, not returning her smile.
“So what are you doing in here? Didn’t you bring your own cook to make you grits? I know you have a jet. We all saw pictures of it on the front page of paper this morning.”
“Nope, no cook. We just got in yesterday.”
“Oh, not even enough time to get make groceries at the Piggly Wiggly. You and your friend come to dinner tomorrow after church. You still go to church, right?” She turned and gave him the eye.
Paul wanted to laugh but knew it was in his best interests to just nod. “Sure do.”
“Good. I have another question maybe you could shed some light on. I hope you
can forgive me for being nosy.”
“Go ahead,” he said. He couldn’t imagine a nosier question than whether he was happy or if he was still attending church.
“I heard you’re in town for a while. Now, my son lives in Atlanta and he said when a ScreenStop opened there, you came just for the day and then went back to the city.”
“That’s true,” Paul said.
“Are you working on another project in these here parts?” She held up a hand. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I was hoping you’d heard about our problem and were coming to lend a hand.” Her cheeks went pink. Paul realized that she wanted to ask him for a favor, but was worried he would be offended.
“Mrs. Joubert, anything you need. Please just ask. I’ll do anything I can.”
She swallowed. “We were tryin’ to get a grant for a new computer lab for the elementary and middle school but it went to a bigger school in New Orleans. A lot of our kids don’t have a computer at home. They think computer tech is all about getting on the Internet on their phones. They go on to the high school and the computer classes are so below standard that they’re not worth a plugged nickel.” Mrs. Joubert shook her head. “Our kids just can’t compete, Paul. The ones who get into college are struggling from the moment they set foot on campus. They don’t understand basic word processing, programming, web design, or graphic design.”
“So the school needs help? Mrs. Joubert, whatever I can do, I’ll be happy to pitch in.” He felt the truth of it deep in his soul. She had believed in him when he was just a scrawny kid who carried a chip the size of a cinder block on his shoulder. “You made everything seem possible, if I worked hard enough.”
She gripped his hand. “Yes! These kids could make the same sort of difference in science or technology in these here parts, if they got the chance. There are so many who need basic skills that they can only get with labs that are properly equipped. I had real hope that if we got the grant we could shore up the city, keep the young folks from movin’ away, but…”
Along the Cane River: Books 1-5 in the Inspirational Cane River Romance Series Page 13
