by Emery Lee
“Sweet, I’m ready!” I say.
“Let’s say a customer comes in with a return, but they don’t have their receipt,” Amy says. “What might you do in a situation like that?”
“Return the book?”
“No, no,” she says, shaking her head. “If they don’t have a receipt, we don’t know that they bought the book from our store. So what might you consider doing in a situation like that? Feel free to take some time to think it over.”
I pause, weighing the situation. Truthfully, I know nothing about working retail, and frankly, capitalism is a scam, so if this person wants to return the book, who am I to say no? But obviously Amy’s looking for a specific kind of answer here, so I need to tread carefully.
Finally, I say, “I could ask them where they bought the book?”
Amy sighs. “Sure, but if they’re returning it to our store, we already know the answer. So what if they stole it or something? We’re not just gonna give them a refund, right?”
“So I should . . . call the cops?”
Amy’s eyes widen. Drew peeks over at us from behind the counter, holding in laughter. Finally, Amy sighs again, placing a hand on my shoulder as she says, “Noah, you seem like a nice kid, but I’m thinking maybe you’re not cut out for working retail.”
“I—oh.”
Amy dismisses herself to the back room, and I stand there frozen for a moment, shame washing over me. Well, at least I don’t owe Maggie that favor now.
A whistle cuts through the shop, and I look up to find Drew waving me over.
Of course, I could just leave the shop and save myself any further humiliation, or I could take this as the Hand of Destiny, Fate pushing us closer together as long as I can seize it.
I creep up to the counter and say, “So, you saw that, huh?”
Drew chuckles, leaning forward against the counter. “I take it that was your first interview.”
“For a job? Yeah,” I say. “I’ve done personal interviews, but only online stuff.”
“Oh, what kind of stuff?” he says.
And I pause because I didn’t expect him to ask me about it, so I didn’t think mentioning it would be a big deal. But of course it’s all Diary stuff that I can’t really bring up in casual conversation, so I look out at the stack of books and rush to change the subject.
“Isn’t this place supposed to be alphabetized or something?”
He winces, following my eyes through the shop. “Well, yeah, it’s supposed to be, but there are a few new releases that came out this week, so we’re kind of swamped. Is there something I can help you find?”
I shrug, tilting my head toward him. “I guess I’m mostly just enjoying the scenery.”
He smiles, and wow, it’s super cute, and exactly the kind of response I was hoping for. Perfect white teeth against perfect pink lips. I imagine he’s a great kisser. This is the part where he talks about his passionate love for books, and then he says some cheesy line about that not being all he’s passionate about, and before you know it, we’re making out on a stack of books, getting papercuts in awkward places.
“You okay?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “You look really happy.”
“Oh, what? Yeah, I’m great. I’m just relieved the interview’s over.” I chuckle.
He laughs, which is a very nice sound. Like wind chimes, or that Haley Reinhart cover of “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” Then he says, “Sorry it didn’t go so well. Do you like coffee? We have a café out on the patio that only operates once summer officially starts in June, but I can brew you something right now if you want it. Consider it a consolation prize since you came all the way out here.”
Oh my God. He’s asking me out for coffee. “I’d love a vanilla latte.”
He grins. “Classy. I’ll work on it. Watch the register?”
“I got you.”
I slip behind the register like they’re actually going to get any customers and just kind of bounce on my heels while Drew heads out back. I feel like it would be rude to be on my phone while I’m manning the counter, but I really want to text Becca and tell her how well this whole thing is working out. I mean, what are the odds that I’d stumble into the ice cream shop guy again? And now he’s in the back making me coffee, which is exactly the kind of creativity I need in a perfect partner.
A few minutes later, Drew steps back into the room with a little paper cup. It doesn’t have the floral milk pattern I was hoping for, but I think it still counts for creativity. I mean, he made it, so that’s definitely a start.
I happily accept it, smiling as I take a sip and choke.
“You okay?” Drew asks, a sloppy grin on his face.
I nod. “Yeah, it’s just hot,” I say, which isn’t entirely true. I mean, yes, it’s hot, but it’s also really bitter, like maybe he forgot that vanilla is an ingredient in vanilla lattes. But it’s fine. I’m not turning down free coffee, especially not free coffee brewed just for me by a gorgeous boy.
“So, are you like a huge book nerd?” he asks.
I giggle. “Not really.”
“So why apply to work at a bookstore?”
“I’m staying here with my brother for the summer, and I really need some cash,” I say. I take a look around at the clutter and hold in a wince. “His girlfriend recommended the job.”
“You don’t like her?”
I tilt my face downward. “I didn’t say that.”
He smirks. “Didn’t have to. Your voice said it for you.”
“I don’t dislike her. She’s just—I don’t know. Not really my type of person, I guess.”
“Does it matter? I mean, she’s dating your brother, not you,” he says.
I nod because I know he’s right, and if Brian likes her, that’s all that really matters, but it also sucks when someone you care about is all over someone you hate. Especially when that someone is slowly turning them into someone else. “I guess a part of me feels a little shut out, you know? Like if he gets close to her, that might mean cutting me out to spend more time with her.”
And honestly, I can’t believe I just said that. I’ve never been big on opening up about my insecurities, but that one in particular isn’t even something I’ve voiced to Becca.
I’m already overwhelmed by just how comfortable I feel around him, like he’s slowly prying me open and spilling my deepest secrets out on the counter.
Drew smiles, but I think it’s supposed to be one of those reassuring smiles. “I’m sure you won’t get shut out. I mean, you’re family. You were around first.”
I shrug. “Yeah, but first doesn’t always mean better.”
And God, I really hate that.
Thursday, May 31
MeetCuteDiary posted:
It started at a bakery, the two of us locking eyes from across the room and my breath being swept away almost immediately. I hadn’t had the guts to talk to him, and I went home feeling hopeless, knowing I’d never see him again.
So when I walked into the bookstore the next day, all tidily dressed for my interview, the last thing I expected was to find him standing there like Fate was pushing us together. As he paged through a book at the front counter, his body froze, his eyes rising to meet mine.
“Hi,” he said. He paused for a moment, like his heart was beating too fast for him to think. “You must—are you here for the interview?”
I nodded slowly. “I am.”
He smiled. “Let me get the manager.” He turned to retreat into the back room, and paused, his hand idly drifting toward his curly, dark hair. He turned back slowly, his eyes wide as he said, “Regardless of what happens in the interview, would you maybe want to get coffee with me later?”
I smiled. “I’d love that.”
And we’ve been dating ever since.
Anonymous
Roseybride replied: This is amazing! I love that you two found each other again!
Crystalsandgems replied: This is so cute! I want a love story like this!
Thede
monsangel replied: This story is adorable. Too bad it’s probably fake.
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“Did he really ask you out for coffee?” Becca asks.
I shrug. “He made me coffee. It’s even cuter. You included creativity on my list, right?”
When Becca and I first decided to take the plunge into the dating scene, we also wrote each other up a Best-Friend-Approved Datemate Qualities list. I was super thorough with hers, making sure to include things like “must acknowledge that 1989 is a better album than Reputation” and “better not hog the popcorn on movie dates.” You know, the stuff that matters but might get overlooked in the heat of the moment. I just worry sometimes that she may have been a little lax with mine since she’s never taken that kind of stuff very seriously. We both swore we wouldn’t actually read them over until we’re certain we’ve found “the one,” and I’ve been trying to get Becca to spill for years now, but I’m a good friend who keeps my promises so the list she wrote for me is still tucked away in a shoebox under my bed.
Becca rolls her eyes. “Popping a K-Cup into a Keurig is not creativity.”
“It was a latte. It’s cute and it counts,” I say. “I think there’s a lot of potential there. I’d say we’re already deep into Step Two.”
“Excuse me?”
I roll my eyes. “My Twelve Steps to the Perfect Relationship? Step Two: The Hand of Destiny. It’s when Fate pushes you together despite reason. Do I need to make you a handout?”
“Okay, Noah, no more romance books for you.”
That’s kind of an overstatement since most of my romance experience comes from fan fiction and Wattpad, which Becca knows since she’s the one who got me into fan fiction in the first place. Really, most of my fandoms come from Becca. She’s just always been a lot better at screening media, and it’s more fun watching her critique whatever new show she’s watching while I hit on all the fictional characters than it is to sit in my room reading manga alone. Or, at least, it was back when we could still watch things in person.
“I don’t need them. I’ll be experiencing the romance on the books,” I say, which is kind of regrettable. “Anyway, how was your day with Dentist Darling?”
Becca rolls her eyes, but I can already see a flush creeping up her cheeks. “It was fine. My teeth were clean as usual.”
“Okay, but did you at least get her number?”
“No, I didn’t, because that would be weird, and I’d like to be able to go back to my dentist, thanks.”
That’s fair, but while Becca always stresses that she thinks I’m throwing myself into the ocean of love without anything to protect me from the waves, she’s too scared to ever leave the damn dock. And of course, I could stress the whole You can’t find love if you don’t take a risk thing, but I know she’ll just say she’s perfectly fine with that. It’s like she can’t do anything without her parents popping up in the back of her head and chaining her down.
“Look, let me handle my own love life,” Becca says. “Go get lost in fantasizing over guys you’ll never see again.”
I ignore her comment and say, “I’m your best friend and the romance expert in our duo. Helping with your love life is kind of my job.”
She groans. “Just let me figure things out over here, okay? You’re like a thousand miles away. It doesn’t make sense for you to try to steer.”
And I can’t pretend that doesn’t sting, because I know distance is separating us, but that doesn’t mean she has to let it come in between us.
Finally, I sigh, and say, “Okay, fine. So, the Diary. What do I do?”
Becca sighs too, but it’s her long, painful sigh, the one that says I want to help you but I’m not a miracle worker. “I guess the best thing you can do is try to disprove the troll, right?”
“Okay,” I say, “but how can I disprove a troll who’s right?”
And really, really dedicated. They make new posts every few hours—probably have a whole queue full of them—and I’ve been mostly silent on the Diary since they started. I’m hoping the Bookstore Babe Meet Cute story will be enough to distract people for a while, but honestly, I feel like I’m just sticking a Band-Aid over a festering wound. Only a matter of time before the whole limb gets amputated.
“We just have to pick apart some of the faults in their logic,” Becca says. “Like, for instance, they start by citing statistics on the number of people who live in Miami, right? But everyone knows Miami is a tourist trap. You can just say that people were visiting.”
It’s not the worst plan, but it feels kind of feeble. It’s easy to lose people’s trust, but it’s not so easy to get it back.
“Do you really think they’ll buy into it if I post that?” I say.
Becca laughs. “Obviously not. I’ll post it from a separate blog. They’ll be more likely to believe it if it comes from someone not affiliated with the Diary.”
“Sweet! Love you!” I say, and just like that, it feels like Becca’s back to solving all my problems, just like she always has.
Step 3: The Invitation
It’s the first step toward something intimate, the moment one person offers and the other says, “Yes.”
Inbox (57)
Emsayshey asked: hi noah. thank you for running the mcd blog. seeing other trans people talk about their love stories every day really keeps me going. it makes me feel like there’s a meet cute out there waiting for me, and i just have to stay alive long enough to find it. but the hate blog going around is really making it hard to be a diary fan. can you ask some of the anons submitting their stories to leave some proof so people will stop believing the haters? thanks!
The next morning, I wake up to the sound of Brian slamming the door on his way out and immediately check the Diary. I’m still dropping followers, so I text Becca like Yo, did you make that post or what? but she doesn’t respond, so I read through some DMs that just make me miserable before finally crawling out of bed.
I head to the kitchen to heat up some leftover arroz con pollo from last night. Part of Brian’s cooking kick involves actually embracing our cultural heritage—white and Japanese on our mom’s side and Afro-Caribbean on our dad’s—for the first time in his nineteen years on the planet. It’s nothing spectacular, but it’s nice to have something that at least mostly tastes like home while I’m so far away.
My thumb opens the Tumblr app out of muscle memory, and I check my recent notifications to see more people commenting on the bookstore meet cute. Despite all the negativity, there’s still a good number of excited commenters, so I can’t be too upset. Then I feel my stomach drop as I remember the interview from yesterday. Yeah, that was pretty humiliating, and I can’t quite say I’m ready to brave the world of job hunting again just yet, but I’m also kind of sad about Drew. Well, about the fact that I’ll probably never see him again since I didn’t get the job.
I’m just finishing breakfast as my phone rings, and my first instinct is to throw it across the room because my phone never rings. I mean, sometimes my mom calls, but I don’t recognize the number on my screen. I’m not even sure what area code that is, and knowing my luck, if I answer, I’ll end up on a permanent telemarketing spam list.
So maybe it’s the hand of Fate that pushes me, causing me to stumble as I head out of the kitchen and race to grab my phone before it can hit the tile, accidentally answering the call in the process.
“Hello?” the voice on the other end says, and I freeze.
“Drew?” I say.
“I—yeah. Noah?”
“Um, hey,” I say. “How did you get my number?”
“Oh, um, from your résumé,” he says. “That’s not creepy, is it?”
And frankly, if he wasn’t a super hot guy I had two perfect meet cutes with, it might be, but as it stands, my heart pounds in my ears as I say, “Not at all. So, what’s up?”
“Do you mind coming into the store? I kind of want to talk to you about something,” he says.
And there’s a mill
ion and a half things that something could be. Maybe Amy changed her mind about giving me the job, or maybe he couldn’t sleep last night, images of me running through his head and making him lose his breath. Maybe it was all he could do to wait until this morning to finally place the call, to bring us closer together again.
“Sure, I’m in.”
This time around, I walk a little faster, excitement driving my every step. I get to the shop in just about twenty minutes and peek through the window to spot Drew standing at the register counting money. When I tap on the glass, his eyes shoot up, and a grin creeps over his face as he spots me.
After slipping the money back in the register, he slides over to the door, unlocking it long enough for me to enter.
“You got here faster than I expected,” he says.
I smile. “Well, I was in the area, so it wasn’t a big deal.”
“I can go make you some coffee if you want.”
I smile as I plop down onto the carpet next to an open box of books. They’re from the local authors section, this particular title called The Blonde Conspiracy. “Thanks!” I say, and as Drew heads to the back to brew me a latte, I stare at the artfully illustrated book cover and wonder what it must feel like to have a published book sitting in a local bookstore. Before the Diary, I used to try writing new projects every time the inspiration struck, but I always abandoned them. They just never felt all that inspired, like they didn’t have any real life to them.
Drew comes out with another cup of coffee and passes it to me. I smile again, noticing the little recyclable symbol on the bottom. I’ve always wanted a guy who fights for a cause, so this just feels like another sign. I take a sip, careful not to burn myself before saying, “So, why did you want me to come in?”
“I kinda want to ask you something, if you don’t mind,” he says.
I say, “Go for it,” before taking another sip.
“Do you run the Meet Cute Diary blog?”
I choke, coffee running from my mouth down the front of my shirt. Drew slips around the counter and returns with some napkins, but I’m still coughing up a lung.
