Don’t Be in Love

11

Don’t Get Caught in the Rain, It’s Much

Too Romantic — Adelaide

Only five minutes into book club and Jane already spilled red wine on the carpet, Evelyn provided points on why her book on the creation of the British Flag should be the October read ( again ), Lottie shared too much about her daughter’s romantic life, and Beatrice realized she’d been reading the wrong book.

“You said Gonzo Girl!” Beatrice argued, holding her copy of Gonzo Girl up.

“No, you numpty, I said Gone Girl!” Dotty responded.

“I even put it on the e-invites,” Iris reminded her.

Beatrice rolled her eyes and dropped the book into her bag.

“Not like we were going to talk about the book much anyways.” Cora pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders and took a long sip of wine, eyes to the ceiling.

I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. The few customers that walked in and browsed the aisles gave the book club a look. Some smiled. Some questioned the wine on the carpet.

The first Friday of the month was easily one of my favorites. Iris, Dotty, and their five friends, all in their 70s, drank wine, ate slices of cheese, and pretended to talk about a book for two hours.

I’d join the gossip circle if it weren’t for the number of customers walking in and Dorian in the back working on his project.

The customers were an easy excuse to sit out here. My face was hot from him glancing at me so often.

“I should sit at the desk since Iris and Dotty are busy. Just come get me if you need help,” I had said in a rush, pooling everything into my arms and leaving the backroom as he stared at me with confusion.

I needed to focus.

The research for International Business paper: halfway done.

Slide deck for the Consumer Behavior week six assignment: done.

Dress for tomorrow’s dinner: done if it weren’t for this damn seam.

This was the result of wearing my good dresses to the pubs with Mia. A broken zipper, a torn seam, and the smell of the pizza we’d get on our way back. I handled the broken zipper, scrubbed out the pizza smell, but I was losing my patience on the seam. The material was just so slipp— ouch . I yanked my thumb away from the needle, bringing it to my lips.

“Addy darling, what are you doing?” Jane asked. Tight curls of salt and pepper bounced as she leaned forward with intrigue.

I lifted my head. All seven women were watching me.

“Are you sewing a dress?” Cora questioned.

“Just fixing a hole.” I smiled, holding the fabric up.

“She has the Townsen Dinner tomorrow,” Iris explained.

“Oh, how fun!” Lottie smiled.

“Come sit with us,” Jane waved me over.

“But the customers—”

Dotty shooed the words away. “I’ll close the store then.” She clapped as if to say problem taken care of , getting up to flip the door sign.

“No, you don’t have to—”

“Bring the dress over, I’ll take care of it,” Evelyn ordered, putting her reading glasses on. “Don’t argue with me, come here.”

“Thank you,” I responded in an apologetic manner, taking a seat in the plaid upholstered couch between her and Cora’s ginger bob.

“Your mother didn’t send you here with any other dresses?” Jane asked, her sequenced cardigan swaying forward as she reached for a slice of cheese on the centered coffee table.

My stomach twisted. Your mother . It was easier to say, “I guess she didn’t think about it,” than to explain that we hadn’t spoken in over five years.

Iris and Dotty shared a meaningful glance. I didn’t talk about my mother, or my father, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if Mia or Sabrina filled them in enough.

“Addy actually lives with her aunt,” Iris explained.

“Oh,” Jane said, looking regretful. “Well, that’s nice. What’s your aunt like?”

Quiet. Stoic. Possessed by conversing in a monotone voice. “She’s nice. She works at a bank. Lives by herself.”

“Have you spoken to her recently?”

Not since I started college three years ago. “We’re not very close,” I shrugged with a closed lip smile.

Iris came to my rescue. “Addy’s been doing so well in class that another student asked her for help with his project.”

Definitely not a rescue.

I threw my hand over my face, almost poking myself in the eye. Out of all the topics this woman could’ve picked, she went straight for the jugular. The result of telling gossip to your romance-obsessed boss.

“Oh my, that’s quite a compliment!” Lottie’s long face turned up in a smile, making her pearl earrings perk up.

“What’s the project on?” Evelyn asked as she pulled the needle through the fabric.

“Putting together a social media marketing campaign for a company that’s lacking online branding.”

Beatrice raised her glass. “You lost me at social.”

“Wait, did you say he ?” Lottie crossed her legs and leaned forward. Her gaze swung from Iris to me.

Iris began to open her mouth.

Oh shit .

She turned to glance at the back door where I left Dorian. I sat up urgently to stop the stampede she was about to create toward the backroom. “He’s just another student in my—”

The back door swung open on its own. All eyes shot to the creak of the wood.

“Hey, I had a question about—” Dorian stopped. His laptop open in his arms and his lips parted. His hair was ruffled, like he was twisting strands in thought before walking out. He shut the laptop abruptly. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was interrupting. I’ll just—”

“No, no, no! Stay!” the older women protested and cooed.

I slowly shook my head. No .

What am I supposed to do? his wide eyes said.

I scowled as he succumbed, moving closer to our circle.

“Is this the student you’re helping?” Beatrice asked. Everyone seemed to move forward in their seats. I pinched the bridge of my nose.

His brow arched in curiosity. Talking about me, huh?

I rolled my eyes. “Yes. This is Dorian.”

“You didn’t mention he was handsome,” Cora whispered conspicuously.

He bit his lip, catching a laugh before it could escape.

“Are you two dating?” Lottie dug for more information.

“No!” I interjected.

“Leave the poor things alone,” Dotty attempted to quiet them down.

“Why aren’t you two dating?” Evelyn asked, knotting the end of the thread.

“Because we’re not interested in each other like that,” I blurted out.

He bit the inside of his cheek, crossing his arms. Oh really?

“That can’t be possible,” Evelyn shook the idea away. “Isn’t she pretty?” she asked Dorian.

“She is very pretty.” He nodded. His eyes met mine. It was so earnest that it was painful to absorb. Brown orbs swirling with a palette of golden watercolors that threatened to pull me in.

“And isn’t she smart?”

“Incredibly smart.” He nodded. I couldn’t read his face. It was quiet but full of thought. A closed book full of wisdom written in foreign languages, disguised with a simple cover. Only, his face was never simple.

“Well, why don’t you ask her out!” Evelyn argued.

I lost hold of his gaze. He turned to Evelyn. “I have. Unfortunately, she’s uninterested in me .”

Oh .

He had rosy cheeks, the color of the strawberry jam I had added to my buttered scone that morning. I looked down at my lap and fiddled with my ring.

The women gasped as if he had told them he was cheated on by his sixth wife and was left without a home and prospects. Theatrical as usual.

“But she’s willing to tutor me, so I’ll take whatever she offers.”

My spine was taut like the Union flags pulled across Regent Street. But my legs were a pool of useless muscles, muddled by unfamiliar emotions. The more he spoke, the more I questioned if this charming act was habitual … or if it was genuine.

“Alright, let’s let them get on with their night. They have a party to get to tomorrow,” Iris spoke up. “We have a book to discuss anyways. Well, except Beatrice.”

The group—minus Beatrice—laughed.

“Here you are, darling.” Evelyn handed me the dress, the seam repaired. “Have a fun time.” She winked.

“I am so sorry about that,” I groaned.

Never did I think I’d be apologizing to Dorian Blackwood, but here I was.

I shut the front door behind me, leaving us in the quiet of the street.

I sighed. “I probably should’ve mentioned the group of women that are intensely interested in everyone’s personal lives. I completely forgot about book club until they were walking through the front door with a bottle of wine and a tray of cheese. I should’ve known the second Iris asked me if you were coming today.”

He smiled as we passed under a streetlamp. No moon or stars tonight in the sky. Only gray clouds swirling around in the wind like cotton. “I’m happy I could supply the entertainment. Even if it means they’ll look at me with pity each time I see them.”

“They will not pity you.” I shook my head.

“Oh really? Because the woman with the big earrings handed me her daughter’s number.” He held up a piece of crumpled paper.

I grabbed the paper from his hand to verify. “Lottie, you mischievous woman!” I shouted when I realized it was real, handing it back over. “I am so so sorry. That’s so inappropriate.”

He accepted it and threw it in a passing trash bin. “I’m flattered she thinks I’m good enough for her daughter.” He laughed.

“I’ll warn you the next time they come,” I promised.

I opened my bag and pushed the dress in between my laptop and marketing textbook.

“Someone change their mind?” he asked, gesturing to the dress.

“What?”

“The Dinner tomorrow.”

“Oh, that. Yeah, James had mentioned it. And then talked Mia and Sabrina into it. So looks like I’m going now.” I brushed my hair out of my face. The wind was picking up. The trees on the sidewalks were battling, branches colliding.

He nodded understandingly. “If I knew James could’ve convinced you in the first place, I would’ve had him invite you.”

“It’s not like that. Sabrina was insistent on going the second she knew that Dorian Blackwood’s friend was going,” I explained, not that I needed to. But I didn’t want him thinking there was something between me and James. I was serious about staying away from all things Dorian.

“Does that mean I’ll get to see you?” He glanced over at me.

“From afar,” I said pointedly.

“What if I happen to bump into you on the dancefloor?”

“ Dorian .” I glared at him.

“I like it when you say my name with your cute accent. It sounds better your way.” He smirked, and it was tumultuous. The boyishness charm in his cheeks was deafening. I wanted to capture it, box it up, and hang it on a keychain so I didn’t have to face it again.

“Do you ever give up?”

“I don’t know what—”

The rest of his sentence was cut off by a thunderous clap in the clouds. One raindrop ran down my forehead. As I wiped it away, ten raindrops replaced it. I looked up, and buckets of rain fell, painting car windows and the skin on my arms, pounding surfaces like a drum.

Our walk quickly became a run. “We’re still ten blocks away and I didn’t even bring my stupid umbrella!” I shouted over the sound of the rain hitting the street’s pavement. I pushed my bag under my jacket. My laptop, my textbook, my dress .

“We’re not that far!” he shouted, running beside me.

Then I felt his arm around my shoulder. “Don’t touch me!”

“You’re so stubborn, I’m trying to help!”

“And you’re too persistent!”

Suddenly, some of the rain lessened. I looked over and found fabric blocking my left peripheral.

He was holding his jacket over my head as we ran. The rain was completely soaking his hair. Dark brown strands became black, matting themselves to his forehead.

My heart scaled my throat. I held onto the sides of his jacket to cut off the image and keep the wind from pushing it away.

“Some people like my persistence!” he argued.

“Is that what they tell you?” I yelled.

“To think I was going to ask you to dance tomorrow!”

“I told you we can’t be seen together!”

“You’re saying that, but do you really mean it?” he countered.

“You’re the most unbearable person I’ve ever met!” He was infuriating .

The lights coming from the apartment windows lining the street were blurred. But I could still identify the leaning tree that lived outside my balcony.

As we reached the awning that stretched outside my apartment lobby, he pulled the jacket off from over my head and wrung it out. He clutched the material and squeezed, the muscles in his arms tensing. The white fabric of his T-shirt clung to each curve and sharp angle of his body. From the line of his shoulders to the dip between the muscles in his chest to his torso. It made the roman numeral tattoo on his chest poignant. Rising and fall, taking in air.

The last time I had seen that tattoo was the first time. He had been kissing my neck. Saying my name in that accent when—

“Is your dress okay?” he asked, worried, his jacket hung at his side now. He was looking at me. Waiting for me to respond. Rain running down his neck.

“What?”

“The dress, in your bag?” he wiped the moisture from his forehead.

“Oh. Oh my gosh.” I swiped the leather of the bag, watching the water jump off before slipping my hand inside. I exhaled. “I think it’s okay. I’m sorry about your jacket. I can buy you a new one.”

“I don’t need a new jacket, Adelaide,” he responded.

“I feel really bad,” I apologized, patting down my hair that wasn’t nearly as wet as his.

“I’m not worried about the jacket.”

“How are you going to get home?” I asked. The rain was still coming down in full force.

“I can call someone. I’m not worried about it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Goodnight, Adelaide. I’ll see you tomorrow. From afar.”

From afar. That’s what I asked for. So why did I feel like a hollowed out tree?