Romance Through the Ages

by Amy Harmon

  “Hi. Uh, this is Elizabeth Barrett. Um, we went to lunch together a couple of weeks ago.” I hesitated. Maybe he went to lunch with lots of people and wouldn’t even remember who I was. “I’m the one from the grocery store. I was buying coconut milk and we talked about Pok Pok. Anyway, I just wondered if you might want to see a movie this weekend. Or something. Um, well, okay. If you do, just give me a call back and we can make arrangements. If you want. Bye.”

  Janessa laughed. “That was super eloquent.”

  “Don’t talk,” I said pointing at her. “I wasn’t ready for voicemail. I hate voicemail.” After a few moments, I smiled. “I sounded really bad, didn’t I?”

  “You’ve sounded better.”

  “Maybe this is good. Maybe he won’t call and we can end this dumb thing right now.”

  “You’ll just have to go out with the next guy ten times.”

  I frowned. “You can’t hold me to that. I have no control over how many times a guy asks me out.”

  “But you have total control over whether or not you try to make them want to ask you out again. That’s what I’m saying you need to do. Be cute. Be fun. It’s not that hard to make a guy interested in you.

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “Maybe you’ll actually like him if you give yourself long enough to know him. You’ve never done that before.”

  “You can’t possibly know if I’ve ever done that,” I said.

  “Liz, I’ve been your roommate for more than 4 years now. I know.”

  I didn’t argue any further because she was right. Every date I’d been on since that fateful night when I was sixteen had been spoiled by perfection. No one measured up. No one looked so good or brooded so well. No one was so haughty and egotistical or so generous and caring. No one had the right combination of eyes, hair, and expressions. I knew what I wanted was nearly impossible but I stubbornly refused to give up hope. I was a nice girl. I worked hard and loved my family. I liked children and I recycled. I deserved to have my dream come true.

  My cell phone rang. Janessa pumped her fist in the air like she was at a rock concert and I shook my head. “Hey, Lizzie.”

  “Hi, Chad.”

  “I just got your message. I was surprised.”

  “You were?”

  “It didn’t seem like you had much fun the other day.”

  “Oh. Sorry about that.” I turned away from Janessa and lowered my voice. The last thing I needed was her knowing I hadn’t been flirty and fun. “I guess I just had some things on my mind. I really did have fun.”

  “Great, then let’s go see a movie.”

  Janessa’s smug expression when I hung up the phone was rankling. “We may have to get our own apartments if I have to deal with your meddling much longer,” I said.

  “You love me and you know it,” Janessa said.

  “That doesn’t mean I want you managing my love life.”

  “Lizzie, you don’t have a love life. I’m trying to help you get one. Once you have one, I promise I’ll back off.”

  “Not all of us are lucky enough to have a Ben dropped in our lap.”

  “That’s true, but have you noticed how little Ben looks like Mr. Darcy? If I had your list of qualifications, I wouldn’t have given Ben a chance. And look what I’d have missed out on.”

  I busied myself with the remote control. I refused to acknowledge that maybe she had a point.

  * * *

  “Hey Liz, Chad’s here.” Janessa knocked on my bedroom door as she opened it.

  “I’ll be right out.”

  “Whoa, you look really good.”

  “I’m determined not to give you ammunition. I don’t want you saying I didn’t try,” I said.

  “Good girl. But be careful. You might make him fall in love with you.” I followed Janessa out to the living room where Chad was waiting.

  “You ready?” Chad asked.

  “Yep.”

  “You kids have fun,” Janessa said. I glared at her as I pulled the door closed.

  “How much is your heart set on a movie?” Chad asked when we reached the car.

  “It depends. Did you have something else in mind?”

  “Have you heard of The Slocums? They’re a local band and they’re playing tonight at a club downtown.”

  “What kind of music is it? I’m not a big fan of grunge.” I wanted to make that clear since Portland still had its share of leftover, grungy wannabes. They wore dirty flannel shirts, rarely washed their hair and they made their voices so gravelly, my throat hurt for them. I couldn’t imagine sitting through an evening of that.

  “It’s not grunge. It’s three brothers and they do more indie, acoustic stuff. I’ve heard them before and they’re really good.”

  “Sure. That sounds fun.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” His cute smile made me happy I’d agreed.

  We had to park more than a block from the club and I was glad I’d brought a sweater. The cool outside air made the hot, stuffy air of the club feel like a muzzle. Chad led me to a tiny table and we sat down, our knees bumping under the Frisbee-sized table.

  “What can I get for you?” The waitress, Myra, sounded bored and looked dissatisfied with the world. Her hair was cut in a severe boy’s style. Her eyes were heavily lined and her right eyebrow held three tiny hoops. Her left arm sported a snake tattoo that slithered its way from the knuckle of her middle finger, around and around her arm until it disappeared into her tank top. It reappeared at her neck, where its mouth was open wide, fangs extended, ready to eat her ear. She looked angry and fearsome, like a dystopian warrior. I pictured her battling an evil future government with rusted tin cans and broken bottles, not taking orders for drinks and potato skins.

  “We either need bigger tables or smaller plates,” Myra said when she put down our food and drinks. “These crappy tables are the worst part of my job.”

  “I’ll bet they are,” Chad said. “We’ll do our best not to create a mess for you.” He bestowed his warm, crooked smile on her. To my surprise, Myra’s glacial expression thawed and she smiled back at him. She had an unexpectedly pretty smile.

  “I appreciate that. But if something spills, it won’t be your fault. It’s the tables.”

  The potato skins were loaded with bacon and cheese and a small bowl of sour cream for dipping finished them off perfectly. Before we were through eating, The Slocum’s took the stage and began playing. Soon I was carried away by the music. It felt so real and heartfelt. The brothers moved from instrument to instrument throughout the performance. They played guitar, drums, banjo, mandolin, and piano. Before each song, a brother would share the story that had inspired it. Some were funny and a couple, like the one about the birth of the bearded Slocum’s baby nearly made me cry.

  Myra refilled our drinks and brought us another plate of potato skins partway through the concert. Chad sang along on a few songs. I was surprised to realize I was having a great time.

  When The Slocums finished, we clapped and cheered but they didn’t come back to the stage. Chad left a generous tip for Myra and we moved through the crowded room to the door. Chad kept his hand on my waist until we were outside.

  “That was fantastic,” I said.

  “I’m glad you liked it. I love live music.”

  “I love good live music,” I said. “I’ve been to a couple of live shows that were awful. But I loved this. I’m glad you suggested it.”

  Chad smiled. He had a really good smile—easy, slightly crooked, and totally genuine. It seemed to come from inside him and wasn’t just a happy thing attached to his face.

  “Thanks for calling me,” Chad said. “I’m usually pretty good at reading people, but my sensors must have been malfunctioning the day we went to lunch.”

  If I were a better person I’d have put his mind at ease and let him know his sensors were right on the money. But I decided that rather than confess the circumstances that led to this date, I’d let him puzzle over my mixed messages
.

  I didn’t want to admit it to Janessa, but I’d had a good time and a little part of me hoped Chad would call again. I tried to ignore that little part, however, because if I enjoyed myself too much, I’d have to admit that Janessa was right. And she wasn’t right. Mr. Darcy was worth holding out for. He was the man I’d been dreaming of for years. The one I was waiting for. The one who would walk into the bank on Monday morning.

  Chapter Four

  Mornings at the bank were busy. Courtney and I worked the inside teller windows and Pete ran the drive-thru. Our branch of Oregon National Bank was located close to the university and several streets of small businesses. Mornings were spent preparing all those little stores for the day’s business with cash for their drawers and petty cash boxes. Evenings, we had a flurry of deposits.

  It was a busy Monday morning. I was looking out at the line of waiting customers when he walked in. He was taller than anyone in the room. Of course. His hair was dark and a little disheveled. It was hard to see from where I was, but his eyes looked like they were blue. And best of all, he didn’t smile. He looked gorgeously unpleasant and impatient. He looked around the room and his eyes met mine. Still he didn’t smile. My heart was racing. He looked perfect.

  I gasped, shut my thumb in my cash drawer, and then tried not to cry while Mr. Sandoval from a hearing aid store asked me if I was okay.

  When I finished Mr. Sandoval’s transaction, I looked at him again.

  I did my best to time it so I’d be his teller. I went a little too fast with one customer and accidentally shorted her a twenty dollar bill. I tried to concentrate as I corrected the transaction. I slowed way down on the next customer, but just when I thought I was finished and would be able to help him next, my customer asked me to break a ten into change. He walked up to Courtney’s window while I counted out nickels and dimes. Furious, I stomped my foot. Not too loudly but enough to release a little of my frustration.

  I listened closely as Courtney helped him to see if I could learn anything, but he hardly spoke. He gave a terse nod when Courtney thanked him for coming in and turned on his heel and left. He had excellent posture and a nice, confident stride.

  I finished with my customer, and then before anyone else could step forward, I picked up the phone and dialed Courtney’s extension. She glanced at her phone’s display and looked over at me curiously.

  “Who was that?” I whispered when she picked up the receiver.

  Courtney shielded her mouth while she spoke. “Elizabeth, look how many customers there are.”

  “I know. Just tell me who that was.” I watched as Courtney picked up her last transaction slip.

  “His name is Matt Dawson.”

  “Is he married?”

  “I have no idea,” Courtney said, glancing toward Delia’s desk.

  “Was he wearing a ring?”

  “I didn’t look. What’s going on, Lizzie?”

  “I just need to know about him.”

  “Well, I don’t know anything about him and Delia’s watching us. I’ve gotta go.”

  Matt Dawson. Matt. Matthew. Like Matthew Macfadyen. Dawson. It was pretty close to Darcy. The only way it could be better is if his name was Fitzwilliam but I’d never met a Fitzwilliam in my life.

  Matt Dawson.

  This had to be a sign.

  Two days later, he was there again. His clothes were modern but it was easy to picture him dressed as an English gentleman. I could hardly tear my eyes away from him.

  This time my timing was impeccable and I put on my best smile when Mr. Dawson stepped up to my window.

  “How can I help you today?” I asked.

  “I’ve listed the denominations I need on the note.” He didn’t smile. In fact, he barely looked at me.

  “Of course. I’ll get right on that.” I dragged my gaze away from his beautiful face and his sapphire blue eyes and began putting together the money he needed. “Nice day out there today, isn’t it?” I said as I tapped a stack of ones on the counter and wrapped them with an elastic band.

  “Mmm.” His voice wasn’t exactly right, but it was close enough.

  The logo on his note said, “Pink Salamander Books.”

  “You work at the bookstore? I’ve been meaning to come in there. I’ve heard it’s one of the best bookstores in town. Not as big as Powell’s but definitely more personal.”

  “I don’t work at The Pink Salamander. I own The Pink Salamander.”

  Ooh. A little egotistical. Nice.

  “Oh. How exciting. That must be so interesting.”

  “Mmm.”

  I counted out the money and then put it in his bank bag. “Have a nice day, Mr. Dawson.”

  “Indeed.”

  My hand flew to my heart.

  Indeed? Had he really just said indeed? Oh, that sounded so refined and aristocratic. It carried the perfect amount breeding and class.

  And yes, his eyes were blue. Lake water on a clear day blue. Summer sky blue. Pools of gorgeousness blue.

  And he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. His long, elegant fingers held no jewelry at all.

  Somehow I had to make him notice me. Somehow I had to become the object of his affection. I wanted him to adore me, no, more than that. I wanted him to love me most ardently. After all these years, could my dream finally be within reach?

  * * *

  “Hey, Elizabeth. I finished The Help. Did you still want to borrow it?” Courtney asked. We’d just finished work and were walking to our cars.

  “Did you like it?” I asked.

  “It was really good. You’ll like it. I have it here in the car, if you want to borrow it.”

  Suddenly an idea leaped into my head. “You know, I think I might just buy it.”

  “I don’t care if you borrow it,” Courtney said. “No need to spend the money.”

  “That’s okay. I think I’ll just walk over to The Pink Salamander and pick up my own copy.”

  Courtney grinned and gently punched my arm. “Ah, I get it. You’re just hoping you see that guy that works over there. What was his name? Matt?”

  “He doesn’t just work there. He owns it.” I tried to sound as haughty as Mr. Dawson had sounded.

  “Nice. I’ve noticed how you make sure you get to help him.” Mr. Dawson had been in three more times and I’d finagled my way into being his teller all three times.

  “Is it that obvious? Do you think he’s noticed?”

  “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. In fact, today I took a minute extra on Mrs. O’Brien’s transaction so he’d have to come to your window.”

  “I knew I loved working with you.”

  “I’m not sure why you’re so interested in him. He seems like a snob to me.” Courtney unlocked her vintage green Volkswagen. “Go ahead. Go get your book.”

  I put on some fresh lip gloss and walked the two blocks to The Pink Salamander, a charming old Victorian house painted pale pink with darker pink rails and shutters. The wide porch floor was charcoal gray as was the front door. A bell jingled when I opened it.

  “Welcome to The Pink Salamander.” A woman a few years older than me stood behind the counter. I’d seen her at the bank before. She was exquisite. Her chin-length raven hair was sleek and stylish and her clothes looked more expensive than my car. “Can I help you find something?”

  “I’m looking for The Help.”

  “It’s in the Women’s Fiction room at the top of the stairs on the right.”

  A plush Persian rug ran all the way up the stairs, kept in place at the back of each step by an ornamental brass rod. The balustrade was intricately carved. As I climbed the stairs, I paused to look at the framed portraits of well-known authors. In a prominent position near the top of the stairs was a portrait of Jane Austen in an ornate silver frame. Was this another sign?

  The Women’s Fiction room was lined with built-in bookshelves. Two overstuffed chairs with soft, yellow upholstery sat at the window. It was an elegant room. I easily found The Help
, but I didn’t feel like leaving. Soft piano music wafted through the air from a speaker somewhere near the door and the pretty chairs beckoned me. I sat down and started to read. The chair was comfortable and the book captured my attention from the first page.

  “Pardon me. We’re going to be closing soon.” Startled, I looked up to see Mr. Dawson leaning on the doorframe, his arms folded. The light had changed while I’d been reading and the last of the late-evening sun slanted through the room. Tiny specks of dust floated in the air giving Mr. Dawson a hazy, dreamy glow.

  “I’m so sorry. I must have lost track of time.” I hurried toward the door.

  “Your purse,” he said and nodded toward my purse, still sitting beside the chair.

  “Oh yes, of course.” I retrieved my purse, intensely aware that Mr. Dawson was still filling the doorway, watching me. “I’ll just pay for this downstairs then,” I said as I moved past him. He shifted, but barely enough for me to walk by without touching him.

  “Nanette Eggleston will be doing a reading and book signing here next week.”

  I was almost at the top of the stairs. I turned back toward him. “I’m sorry. Who’s Nanette Eggleston?”

  “She’s a local author who writes women’s fiction. I thought you might be interested. If you read something other than just best-sellers.”

  “Of course, I do.” My voice sounded defensive so I tried to soften my tone. “I read all kinds of books.”

  “Then perhaps you’d like to come. She’ll be here next Tuesday evening.”

  “I’d love to. Thanks for inviting me.”

  Wait. Had he invited me? Or had he just informed me. There was a big difference and I wasn’t sure. I searched his face for a clue, but his empty expression gave nothing away. He looked at me for a long moment more before he turned and walked away.

  Chapter Five

  “Lizzie? Are you sick?” Janessa asked. We’d finished dinner and were watching a reality dance show on television.

  “No, why?”