Haunt Your Heart Out

Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

A fresh dusting of snow fell overnight, enough to turn the early December landscape into a scene straight off a Christmas card. I parked my car in front of Dog-Eared, skated my way to the door, and dashed inside in time to catch Charles’s daily call on the third ring. I inhaled in preparation for my monologue.

“Good morning, Dog-Eared Books and More, where select used paperbacks are three for two and home of the Coffee of the Month Club, this is Lex, how can I help you?”

He didn’t respond right away, likely proof that I’d caught him off-guard by rattling off the mile-long greeting. He cleared his throat, a sputtering ah-he-hem , stalling for time as he searched for the morning’s criticism. “Darla tells me you’ve rearranged the nonfiction section.”

“Only slightly, Charles. Customers were tired of searching for the history books alphabetically. So I sorted by era, then by author within each era. Like other bookstores would.”

“I suppose that’s a sensible choice. I’ll let it slide. Future reorganization, however, must go through the proper channels. Next order of business, are we meeting our Coffee Club quota?”

I reached for the latest sign-up slips—only three of them in the last week, because all of the regulars had already jumped on board. It wasn’t like Charles used the email addresses for anything logical—say, a newsletter or promotional messages. Talk about missing the point of data collection. “We’re gearing up for some big movement in that program, don’t you worry, Charles. Our busiest weeks are coming up. Perhaps if we swapped to a punch card program instead of an opt-in format, you’d get more bites. Tourists aren’t willing to share their personal info, but they may fill a punch card in a weekend.”

“No, no. I’ve already paid for the sign-up slips. We’ve got a thousand of them in the office. We’ll see this through.”

I spun the slips on the desk, suppressing a yawn. The slip on top caught my eye. James Coen, with the out-of-town 315 number. James. With the crooked, playful grin and deep brown eyes. His jagged, purposeful letters, scrawled with enough pressure that the pen left minor indents at the start of each letter. James.

I smoothed my hands along the paper, pressing the wrinkles out and examining his careful handwriting. The determination of the pen strokes suited what I knew of his personality: devious, but in an appealing way. Approachable, yet self-assured.

“We’ll amp up the program, Charles. Customers are waiting for drinks. I’ll talk with you tomorrow.”

I hung up the phone and fiddled with the paper some more, worrying at the corner with a thumbnail until the edge turned fuzzy. Natalie couldn’t get away for a night out like I’d hoped—the inn was short-staffed, so she was helping out her parents for the evening.

I wracked my brain for someone else to ask to be my alibi, but—and this surely said more about my introverted nature than anything—the only person who came to mind was James. He had seemed nice enough. I could be social; it didn’t have to mean anything. Even if he had been on my mind the last few days. What harm would it do, really?

I grabbed the phone and punched in James’s number.

It rang a handful of times before his voicemail picked up. I inhaled, then forced a slow-and-steady stream of air though my lips. The only thing worse than leaving voicemail messages would be having the person pick up and having to speak to a human.

“You’ve reached James. I’m not here so leave a message. Bonus points for knock knock jokes.” Beep.

“Hey, James. It’s me. Lex. Umm, Alex. Alex. Anyway. I’m sorry for calling you like this, it’s just that I was wondering if you’d be interested in hanging out sometime. Tonight, maybe. I know you already asked me this, and I said no, but … I was thinking, and maybe I’d like to, well, I don’t know. Make more suggestions for where to get meals or something. Sometime. I mean tonight. Okay. Oh, and knock, knock … Nobel … Nobel, that’s why I knocked. Wow, telling a joke in a recorded message is impossible, don’t judge me based on—”

The voicemail beeped again and cut me off, midramble. I took a deep breath and held it while I struggled to decide whether the message saved before it cut me off, or if something had glitched and sent my nonsense to the void. One would hope the latter, but I was rarely so lucky. I’d already made a first impression. And a second. I dialed the number again and waited for the voicemail to beep, then left another, more succinct message.

“Hey James, it’s Lex. From the bookstore. I’d like to take you up on your offer. If you’d still like to get together, ignore my previous message and give me a call at Dog-Eared.”

I settled the phone back in its cradle, and buried my face in my hands.

I’d only just kicked my feet up for a book and lunch break—Tolstoy and takeout, a match made in heaven—when the bell above the front door let out a muted jingle. Shuffling feet wandered serpentine through the aisles, so I continued my routine. A few pages later, the footsteps picked up pace, coming toward the desk. I tucked the closest piece of paper into my book and brushed crumbs from my fingertips as the customer approached.

“Good afternoon, is there anything I can help you find?” I asked a moment before they rounded the corner.

“I’ve been receiving harassing phone calls from this establishment.” James sidled up to the desk, leaned a hip into the corner, and crossed one ankle over the other. His cap cast a shadow over his face, but his teasing smile couldn’t be missed.

Every blood cell rushed to my cheeks. Determined to play it cool, unlike every other time I’d spoken with a dreamboat who was a thousand times cooler than me, I forced a nonchalant shrug.

“Sorry, sir. You should have read the fine print. You opted in to rambling phone messages from the store’s only full-time employee. Guess you’ll check out those contracts a little closer next time.”

He sucked air through his teeth and shrugged back. “See, here’s the thing. The woman said her name was Lex, and I have it on good authority that your name is, well, just Alex.”

“You’re never going to let that die, are you?” I narrowed my eyes, but the furious blush had begun to subside, for which I was grateful.

“Consider it dead. Murdered, even. They’ll never find the body—I know a guy with a pig farm.”

A laugh slipped out. His satisfaction at my amusement was plastered across his face in a grin that set his eyes sparkling. “So, Lex , I got your messages–”

I winced. “Oof, both of them?”

“Yes, both of them. Seemed urgent, what’s up?”

I smoothed my jeans and turned the swivel chair a bit to avoid eye contact. “I’m a terrible person.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Let me judge.”

I caught the mildest whiff of his cologne and savored it a moment—handsome, good taste, and he smelled divine, the world was cruel—before snapping back to attention. “My parents are in town.”

“Wow, you move fast.” He pressed himself away from the desk, straightened, and brushed his hands together. “Alright, I’ll meet your parents.”

“Oh, god no. No, trust me.” I was shaking my head wildly. “That’s not an option. They want me to go to dinner with them, and I may have hinted that I’ve been seeing someone—you know, just … around—and that I have a date tonight, so I can’t meet them for dinner. And while it sounds like I’m only asking out of desperation, please know that I am sure you’d make adequate company, even without my parents involved.”

James lifted an eyebrow. “Really now?”

“You’re insufferable.” And far too easy to fall into comfortable banter with.

“And you’re using me to get out of dinner with your parents, who I assume are wonderful people,” he teased, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Hardly. As if being the disappointing child my whole life wasn’t enough, now, my lack of ambition and multiple failed relationships have them worried I’ll never amount to anything.”

He nodded. “Tonight, then?”

“That’s it? I drop that on you, and you’re in, just like that?”

“Absolutely. Besides, if you recall, I happen to have asked you to dinner first, and was shot down. If spending time together, strictly hanging out—definitely not on a date—is what it takes, I’m in. When should I pick you up?”

“The store closes at five, want to meet me back here at six?”

“Six it is. Oh, and dress warm. Layers.”

“Imagine you telling a Vermont girl, through and through, how to dress.” I crossed my arms and plastered a smug, crooked smile on my face.

“Trust me,” he said. He tugged the Vonnegut paperback from his jacket pocket and set it on the counter. “This was an excellent recommendation. What else do you have?”

I tapped a fingertip to my lips and made a show of considering the options, but I didn’t need time. I crossed in front of James and wandered the creaky floors toward my favorite corner of the store to tug a book from the shelf.

“Philip K. Dick?” He flipped the paperback over to skim the back.

“Androids. Mayhem. Morals. Report back.”

“How many pages should my essay be?”

“At least a hundred, single-spaced. And don’t mess with font sizes. Bumping it to thirteen won’t get you ahead.”

He winked and counted a few dollar bills onto the counter, then raised a hand to his cap’s brim and dipped his head. “Tonight.”

“At six.” I nodded.

He left, the doorbell jingling behind him.

Operation: Avoid My Parents by Conning a Total Stranger Into Spending Time with Me was a go.