Anette looked between us both as I paused to choose my next words. I’d told my friends I wasn’t doing this for love. The truth was, I hadn’t let myself think that far ahead. I thought I’d found my happy ending with Ricky, and look how that turned out. I couldn’t admit this to Ben, so I shrugged. “I just need to find someone willing to say he’s fallen for me,” I said tightly. “I’m not looking for ‘the One,’ just something NOB will find believable. It doesn’t need to be earth-shatteringly real for either of us.”
A beat. “Right,” said Ben. He returned to the travel section, as if I was dismissed.
Anette made what looked like a K symbol under her dad’s nose, using two fingers and a thumb. After a moment, he returned it. She leaned back as if satisfied, swinging her legs.
“I think you’re brilliant,” she told me.
I clinked my mug against hers. Who needed Ben’s approval, anyway?
The woman in the queue couldn’t have been more right about him.
NOB: Your dialogue’s improving. Though, you do know that you can give up at any point, don’t you, Sewerella? I’m starting to think I’m the only one taking our deal seriously. Two months to fall head over heels, and you’re already one shoe down. Tick-tock, Red
Chapter 9
The One Where They Meet in a Bookshop
EXT: THE DUSTY BOOKSHELF—WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 12, 7:30 P.M.
EVIE stands in front of a bookshop. The window frames are painted midnight blue. A wooden sign hangs above the door in matching blue with silver lettering, declaring it THE DUSTY BOOKSHELF. There are Christmas lights in the window display, flashing languidly on and off, illuminating the books. EVIE’s nose is bright pink. Her braided hair pokes out from beneath her thick green woolen hat as she peers into the shop.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that the moment the words “What’s the worst that can happen?” are uttered, a dozen possibilities pop into existence. Yet, as I stood outside the Dusty Bookshelf, on a side street in Peckham, those were the words I repeated to myself.
I’d gotten the time and details from Jane, who hadn’t known what this month’s book was but promised the group would be an absolute hotbed of romance! When I’d asked her what kind of books they read she’d told me, “Fantasy, mostly. You know, werewolves and whatnot.” I hoped that meant horror and sci-fi too, because I was at least familiar with those as film genres.
As I stood in front of the window of the warmly lit shop, my stomach tipped like a funfair ride heading over a drop. Assistant drinks aside, it had been a while since I’d done anything social without Ricky by my side. How did I end up with an introvert? He’d smile, vowing to stick by me all night.
I steeled myself. I had to do this. It had been over three weeks, and the only thing I’d managed to get out of NOB was requests for more meet-cutes. My only consolation was that he was insisting I was helping him to write. I just wished I could believe him.
I pushed the door open.
Inside, a woman sat reading behind a till at a desk that groaned beneath a pile of books. The place was beautiful. Wooden shelves were crammed with books old and new, fairy lights had been wound around the rafters, and the furniture was mismatched, with lamps in every conceivable nook and cranny.
“Hi,” I said hesitantly.
The woman took a second to finish her page before looking up at me. “We’re closed,” she said.
“I’m here for the book group.” The woman leaned back in her chair and took off her glasses to appraise me.
“Well,” she said after a pause, “it takes all sorts. Follow me.”
Flustered, I trailed behind her, trying to keep track of her bobbing bun as we zigzagged between shelves until we must have been at the very back of the shop. The shelves gave way to a small, book-lined space filled with people, a variety of chairs, and an old stained table bearing wine. Oh, thank God.
“One of yours,” the woman announced, and then left me there.
* * *
There was a tall black woman in long red boots near the table, perhaps a few years older than me. “White or red?” she asked. She sounded American.
Nerves had hold of my tongue.
“I’m Steph,” she added.
“Evie.”
She pushed a glass of white into my hands. “Drink this, it always helps the first time.”
“I like to think of it as social lubrication!” A man stepped out from behind her. Steph gave him an affectionate look and a glass of red. He was slight and neat-looking, midsixties, with a knitted vest top over a short-sleeved shirt. “Gabe,” he said. “What brings you to our little corner of the world?”
“Somehow our notice keeps getting removed from the window,” Steph added. “Though someone keeps putting it back.” Gabe grinned.
“People can be weirdly snobbish about genre fiction,” I said.
“You should try writing it. Whenever I explain what I do for a living, people act like I’ve grown an extra head,” said Steph.
“How fitting,” I said, and was rewarded by Steph’s red-lipped smile. I wanted to ask her more about what she was working on, but a woman with thick corn-colored hair clinked her pink nails against her glass and indicated for us all to take our seats.
“Welcome, my fellow explorers.” Her gaze alighted on me. “Oh, I do love seeing a new member.”
A few titters as people turned to look at me. I beetrooted on the spot.
There was a pause in which I realized slightly too late that that was my cue to introduce myself. “Evie!” I shouted in a misguided bid to compensate for the delay.
“Welcome Evie! I’m Meagan. We can’t wait to hear what you thought of December’s book choice.” This was absolutely the moment any normal person would speak up and admit that they hadn’t had time to find out what the book was, never mind read it. However, my friends had insisted I follow one rule while doing the meet-cutes: no taking a backseat in my own movie. Meaning: I had to take part in the book discussion, even though I hadn’t read the book.
As I looked around at the faces in the circle, my heart started to drop. Of the dozen people there, there was one man. Gabe. I’d come here assuming most science fiction and fantasy fans were men, but clearly I was wrong.
A throat cleared behind us, and Meagan beamed. “Come in, come in.” We turned to see a latecomer. It was a man who was about my age.
The curious looks everyone gave him told me he was a first-timer too. He unwound his scarf and took off his hat to reveal a shock of thick ash-blond hair. Oh, hello.