All About You

Seven

L ike every great romance, the second meet-cute needs to be as great as the first, if not, even better.

Diane, Kiara and I spend most of our lunch break devising a game plan for this second meeting. It needs to be memorable. Iconic.

“Try reaching for a book that’s way too high for you so he can run to help you,” Kiara suggests coyly with a wink, biting into a french fry. “It’s a classic move.”

“Or ,” Diane begins, leaning forward, “Just straight up ask for his number. Easy-peasy.”

I’m leaning more toward Kiara’s suggestion, since my flirting skills definitely do not reach the level of confidently asking for someone’s number.

“Are you sure he’s working today?” Kiara interjects.

Oh, I’m sure.

This morning, before class, I’d peeked in through the Books and Bricks window, taking a sneaky detour to ensure I passed the bookstore. I didn’t expect I’d see him, but there he was, rearranging books at the centre table, with his sandy, 90s heartthrob, Titanic-Leonardo-Dicaprio hair.

I had to quickly hurry away when he turned his head, likely sensing my Joe Goldberg energy.

“Maybe I don’t ask him out just yet,” I say, continuing from Diane and Kiara’s suggestions. This earns a groan from Diane. “But, maybe I will do the whole reaching-for-the-book trick.”

Diane leans backward, pouting, “Boo, we need to get to the juicy parts already. And besides, you look hot today, he wouldn’t be able to resist.”

Not that I’d choose hot as the adjective, but I am quite proud of my fit. I was definitely feeling a little more frisky in choosing a semi-midriff top with my pink corduroy skirt. Really, though, it’s the Doc Martens that makes me look hot. Anyone wearing Doc Martens is instantly hot.

Still, I feel my cheeks colour, and I flick my head midair, “ Oh stop it you.”

The two of them chuckle in amusement.

Truthfully, for a hopeless romantic, I am still quite inexperienced in the actual ‘ romantic’ department. I’ve never had a boyfriend, unless you count the three-hour failure of Ralph, or the other time, where a boy liked me for only a week. I shudder again at the memory. Overall, the perfect romance needed to follow the perfect script.

That’s just the rules.

“Just be yourself,” Kiara whispers to me, once the lecture reaches an end.

She doesn’t yet know how crazy I am, though. I’m certain that if she got to truly know how hopeless of a romantic I am, she wouldn’t be telling me to be myself.

“Go get him, tiger,” Diane coos as we exit the building.

“Use protection,” Kiara adds, and I push her playfully.

I’m quite confident in myself, strutting in my boots all the way to Books and Bricks, until I reach the glass doors.

That’s when the what ifs flood in.

What if he finds me a weirdo, for visiting a second day in a row?

What if he ignores me?

Worse of all, what if he’s already taken?

The adrenaline keeping me afloat begins to deflate, leaving me to drown in my nervousness.

Thoughts begin to branch outwards at all the possible ways this second meeting could go wrong. I shake my head and inhale deeply.

You can do this. Follow the script.

With each step, my heart accelerates.

Just, be normal, I tell myself, because God forbid I do something worse than knock over a stack of books again.

The space is not that busy this afternoon. There’s a cafe attached to the bookstore, where a handful of university students occupy. An elderly couple browses the central tables. Other than that, there’s practically no one.

I saunter past the centre tables, toward the bookshelves, all the while trying not to make it obvious that I’m searching for someone. I begin from the first shelf - self help books. Nope.

Then the second - history. The third, the fourth, until I reach the sixth and final bookshelf, which are the young adult books. Still, nowhere to be seen.

Disappointment ploughs into me, harsh and heavy as I weave myself out of the last shelf.

That’s when I see him.

He’s standing at the counter, serving a mother and child. Seeing him has me frozen in place. A few strands of his sandy hair must’ve broken free from the gel, because they fall over his brows. I’ve never been one to gush over hair but he makes it so easy.

The mother and child leave the counter, his eyes following them, smiling even as they’ve turned their heads.

Then, those green eyes settle on mine.

And I swear time stops.

His gaze holds mine, and I can almost sense the cogs in his head turning.

Does he remember me?

His lips grow wider. Before I know it, he’s left his space behind the counter, and is walking closer to me. I remind myself to breathe, to think .

He reaches me, the smile never leaving his face.

I know I should say something now. A hello. Anything.

Yet, my lips part and no words come through.

Everything I’d scripted earlier, all the thinking and scheming erases itself from my mind.

He doesn’t seem to notice my nervousness though. Or maybe he pretends he doesn’t see it, to save my embarrassment.

“It’s you again,” he beams, “Though, I hope you’re not here to topple more books on me, right?”

“I - uh - no,” I manage to stutter out, before clearing my throat and chastising myself to get it together. I cover my nerves with a smile. “That was a one time thing.”

He puffs his lips, feigning mock disappointment.

“Here I was, looking forward to picking up more books you’ve tripped over.”

“I’d hate to leave you disappointed, so lead me to another good pile of books and I’ll make your wish come true.”

The banter comes easier than expected, and soon we both let out a chuckle. It’s enough to ease the weight on my chest.

The elderly couple from earlier approaches the counter, holding in their hands an Emily Henry novel, likely plucked from the Hottest New Romances piles.

“So…” bookstore boy begins, but he is cut off when the elderly man calls out, “Is anyone going to help us here?”

He turns his head, glancing at the customer, before meeting my eyes. I’d almost say he looks apologetic.

“Sorry, I’ve got to get that,” he says, and I make a cross-motion with my hands.

“No, no, please. Go ahead, do your job,” then, because I’m feeling extra confident, I add, “You go get that bag!”

I decide then and there that I shouldn’t speak, ever. He laughs though, which I take as a good sign, the best sign. For me, laughter is the way to a man’s heart (at least, that’s how I think the saying should go.).

He swivels toward the counter, but not before craning his neck to look back at me one last time. That one action has me thinking that yes, everything is going to plan.

I see bookstore boy two days later.

Is two days too long of a gap? Will he have met someone else in those days? I used to be thankful that I only had to come into film school three days a week (Monday, Tuesday and Friday) but now I actually find myself counting down the days until I can come into the city again. Crazy, what crushes can do to you.

“You’re so down bad already,” Kiara sings, after class ends on Friday afternoon. I swat away at her hands as she pokes my sides, but I’m giggling as I do so.

“I’m calling it, y’all are going to be 100% dating by the end of the month,” Diane declares, wiggling her brows.

I shake my head a little too fast, the delusion of it all getting to my brain.

“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.”

“Anyways, don’t waste anymore time, go ahead!” Kiara exclaims, pushing me onto the street once the lights go green.

This time, I fight the nerves and push through the doors. I head straight toward romance fiction, making it look like I actually want to buy a book this time. My eyes gloss over familiar titles, books that I’ve already read countless times before.

Duke and I, Happy Place, Betting On You…

“Hey, it’s you again.”

The voice envelops my heart before the words do. I swivel my attention toward him, not wanting to appear too keen. Air catches in my throat as I meet his eyes.

It should be a crime to be this handsome.

“Hey, it’s me,” I reply, and my throat seems to strangle my words because it comes out all croaky. I clear my throat, coughing a little.

“We keep running into each other like this,” he teases, and I wonder if he’s flirting right now. Is this really flirting? “If we keep running into each other more, you’ll have me believing it’s more than a coincidence.”

He leans his shoulder against the shelf smoothly, and I decide that yes, I think this is flirting.

I like it. Alot. If only I could flirt back. Instead, I just gape at him, lips opening, then closing like a fish.

“I didn’t catch your name, by the way,” he continues, seemingly oblivious to my torment.

“It’s Ja-” my throat catches again. God, were there dust mites launching itself into my throat, or something? I cough, then swallow, before continuing, “Jaslene, if me choking before didn’t make that clear.”

His lips twitch, amused.

“I’m Rafayel.”

Rafayel. What a deliciously prince-worthy name.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”

I’ve found everything I’ve been looking for. He’s standing right in front of me.

I say instead, “Just my next read to get me out of my slump.”

“Nothing from this selection interests you?”

“I’ve actually read most of them.”

His eyebrows shoot up.

“A fan of romance, I take it?”

My cheeks flame at that, and I really hope that my demeanour is not as transparent as I feel right now.

“You could say that,” I reply, looking down at my shoes. I wore my favourite sneakers with heart patterns, just for today. “Though, I’ve been wanting to delve into other genres.”

Rafayel hums, reaching up to scratch his chin.

“Hmm, well, why don’t I show you what I’m reading at the moment and see if it suits you?”

I agree enthusiastically, nodding my head a little too fast and follow his lead. He directs me toward the new adult section. His fingers skim over some titles that I vaguely recognize from posts I’ve seen around the book community on social media, before settling on a particular title I’m not too keen on reading and have been wanting to avoid.

A Whisper of the Dark . It’s a fantasy novel about werewolves, vampires and dragons and of course, forbidden love.

Book influencers have been calling it cheesy, not-good and predictable, and while I try not to get influenced by good and bad reviews online, the excerpts floating around have been…unappealing.

Still, as he turns around, book in hand, I simply smile.

“I’m currently reading this one,” he informs, pushing the book against my hands.

“It looks interesting,” I say. I’m sure it’ll be better than what I've read online.

He holds my eyes for a moment, and before the blush can form on my cheeks, he takes the book back.

“It’s on me,” he winks. Wait, what ?

He’s turning toward the counter just as I process what he’s doing.

“Rafayel - wait - no you don’t have to!” I call to him. He’s a fast walker, though, because he makes his way around the counter just as I reach it.

It’s too late. He’s scanning the book into the system and pressing his own credit card against it. I just watch in shock as he bags up my book, then hands it to me over the counter.

I’m frozen, holding the book, my jaw unclasped and gaping. Did he just…buy me a book?

“It’s a gift,’ he insists, tapping the book, “for visiting again. Maybe next time, you can treat me to something.”

Next time.

I take the book in my hands, clutching it to my chest like treasure. His gaze drifts behind me, and his expression shifts to a customer service one. I don’t even realise that a line had built up behind me.

“You have a good day ma’am,” he states. Then, softly, he murmurs, “I’ll see you soon, I hope.”

“Yes,” I manage to say, through my beating heart and red cheeks, “You will.”

I leave the store, almost reluctantly, and feel like I can breathe for the first time when I step outside.

Did that just happen? Did I seriously just learn the name of this boy plucked from the depths of my dreams and have him buy me a book?

I glance around me, wondering if anyone notices that a romance equivalent to the ones in books, in movies, is unravelling right before them. Everyone walks past me on the footpath, oblivious to it all.

The train ride home doesn’t feel as long as usual. All the way, I let myself sink into my delusions, hugging the book against my chest. I imagine what our first date would be like.

He’d take me to a nice little restaurant, where they would maybe be playing 1950s tunes and there’d be a dance floor in the middle. Then we’d walk along the water, share our dreams. He wants to be an independent bookshop owner one day, while I write books and make them into films.

He would treat me just like Dad treats Mum. He wouldn’t laugh at my face, like my crushes during primary school did, wouldn’t snicker or scoff like the boys in high school did. I would finally feel like the main character of a rom-com, just as I’ve always wanted. With every delusional daydream I let myself conjure, they always had the same ending.

A happily ever after.