The Bookshop on the Corner (A Gingerbread Cafe story) (10 page)

He said, “I’ve always felt like that, like I was one step away from finding out whatever it was…and then I saw you. And it clicked. You intrigue me, Sarah. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Were these mere words? We hardly knew each other, and yet something had changed when I first met Ridge, too. The old me, pre-Ridge, would be running for the hills right now, but I stayed, because maybe this
was
something extraordinary. Maybe after a whole life of my reading romance novels, the love gods decided to drop a real-life hero into my world. And who was I to fight it?

“So, you see, going to Australia doesn’t seem all that enticing any more.”

He was going overseas. To a country so far away they were practically living under a different sun.

“But that’s your job, Ridge. You’ll always be on assignment, won’t you?” It was easier to talk about anything other than what he’d said. I wanted to hide from the words in case he took them back.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean one day I won’t want to settle in one place. I do have a base in New York, and that base can be anywhere.”

His suggestion hung in the air above. I couldn’t help thinking if this were a romance novel any minute there would be a plot twist. Something to upset the balance. Before I could rethink my actions, I leaned forward, put my arms around Ridge’s neck, and pressed my lips against his. He gathered me in his arms, and kissed me back softly, our legs falling over one another in a jumble. Desire spread through me, making me feel lush and alive. Instead of dreaming up an embrace with a hot hero, I was actually enmeshed in the real thing. Finally.

Chapter Ten

After a languorous afternoon beside the river bed discussing our varied lives, Ridge had walked me home, and said his goodbyes. He was going to pick me up for dinner at
L‘art de l‘amour
, a tiny French bistro just outside Ashford.

A longing for sleep overcame me. I wandered into my book-laden bedroom, and fell into bed. My reflection in the dressing-table mirror stared back at me and I gasped. The girl in the mirror had wide eyes that kept a secret, her cheeks were rosy, her hair a tangled mess. She looked older, and self-assured. Huh. I pulled the quilt over and lay back against the pillows, too tired to even read.

***

As night fell I finished tidying up the front room for Ridge’s benefit. I wasn’t a neat person; I subscribed more to disorganized chaos. Time cleaning was less time reading, so I usually just did the minimal amount, and left it for another day, a day that would never come.

Whistling as I dusted, it occurred to me I was strangely confident. Maybe it was the wine from the picnic still buzzing around my bloodstream. Or the way in which Ridge had made me feel adored. When doubt tried to crawl its way in I pushed the thought away and instead focused on Missy’s advice: not to overthink things.

Car tires scrunched over the gravel of my driveway. I rushed to the mirror in my room to double-check my appearance. My hair was shiny, and untangled, and my kohl-rimmed eyes looked bright.

Spritzing on perfume, I tousled my hair once more, hearing Missy’s stern advice in my ear, and headed to the door.

“Sarah.” He said my name as though it were something magical.

“Ridge.” I knew I had a cheesy grin plastered on my face, but how to contain it?

“You look beautiful.” He gestured to my dress. A little black number that Missy assured me was perfect for a second date, before adding a quip about the second-base metaphor, and then saying it would be acceptable to hit a home run if I so desired.

“Thank you. You look handsome too.” And there it was. Handsome? You look handsome? Urgh. “Would you like a drink first?”

“Sure.” He strode inside, breezily as if he regularly dropped in to visit. He was dressed casually in dark jeans, and a white shirt, that somehow looked fancy. Maybe it was just him. He made everything look good.

“Sit down.” I motioned to a recliner. “I’ll bring you a glass of wine.”

Returning with two glasses, Ridge was bent forward, peering at the books on my shelves. “Not a romance reader?” he said, pointing to an entire numbered collection of Harlequin books.

I handed him the glass, and laughed, which unfortunately turned into a mini snort. “Well, never say never is my motto.”

“Where’s the bloody gory zombie ninja books you said you love?”

“Oh, they’re around here somewhere,” I said, pretending to look for a bunch of books that didn’t exist.

He smirked and said, “I’m sure they are. Shall we go? I know you well enough now to guess you’re probably ravenous.”

“I have a fast metabolism…” And one that would probably catch up with me in the coming years.

“One day, I’ll entice you to New York. You would love the food there.”

Again, he was on about travelling. I tried not to feel as though he was expecting me to be someone I wasn’t.

“Don’t think you can bribe me with food. It won’t work.”

He edged close and put a hand on the small of my back. “Then I’ll send photos of bookshops.”

“You know my weaknesses.”

We put our wine glasses on the mantelpiece and headed out into the moonlit night.

***

We arrived at
L‘art de l‘amour
and the maître d’, Jean-Pierre, showed us to a small table in a dimly lit corner of the restaurant. A tea candle threw shadows that danced around the white tablecloth. Ridge ordered a bottle of champagne, and we settled back to talk.

“Will you stay in touch while I’m in Australia?” Ridge asked. There was something vulnerable in his eyes; his usual composure was missing for a moment.

“That depends,” I said.

“On?”

“If you have Wi-Fi where you are.”

He grinned, and relaxed his shoulders. “I know you think I’m forward, but I like you, Sarah. And I want to get to know you properly. I asked about you travelling at the picnic earlier because I had this crazy notion of enticing you to Australia. I could protect you from errant snakes, and randy redback spiders…”

It clicked. He wanted me to travel
with
him. And there I was thinking he’d pegged me for this two-dimensional girl, too staid to want to explore the world.

Jean-Pierre bustled over with the champagne in an ice bucket. It gave me time to imagine the scenario Ridge painted. Did he expect a girlfriend to globetrot with him? Follow him blithely while he worked? Jean-Pierre popped the cork and expertly filled our flutes without spilling a bubble. We thanked him before turning back to each other.

“It sounds nice in theory,” I said. “But we hardly know each other, and my bookshop doesn’t run itself.” I’d always been discounted by men for living in a fictional world, and it seemed as if Ridge was no different.

He shook his head. “I didn’t mean it that way. I only meant a holiday, and after we talked today I realized it wasn’t possible. And before you think I go and ask every woman I’ve just met to come on assignment with me, I don’t.”

He had this uncanny ability to read my mind, but in all likelihood he must have read the expression on my face. “Then why me, Ridge? As much as I like this whole wooing thing, it does seem so fast.” Even a dating dummy could see that.

He shrugged. “It’s crazy, I know.” His voice drifted away as he groped for more words. “I can’t even explain it myself. I just feel as though I don’t want to be away from you. Not for a minute.”

My breath caught. Could it be real? I’d read enough books to know it did happen, but I never imagined it could happen in real life, not to me anyway.

Ridge ran a hand through his dark hair. “I wanted to show you what my job is like. The excitement of a new country, a new place. Meeting the locals, and learning their customs. Sometimes it makes you appreciate how easy we have it here, and other times the place makes me yearn for it, long after I’ve gone. Some towns can get under your skin…just like a great book, and I selfishly wanted to show you that. Open that part of living up to you so you’d think of me as someone who added another layer to your life, and so you wouldn’t think of me as a roving reporter, but as someone who searches the world to get to know myself better. Every time I go somewhere, I learn more about myself. The man I am, and the man I want to be. So, you see, locking eyes with the girl from The Bookshop on the Corner at the chocolate festival didn’t seem like such a random thing. It felt like coming home.”

I picked up my champagne flute with shaky hands and held it out. Ridge clinked his glass against mine and said, “To finding what you’ve been searching for.”

In that instant I decided to live in the moment. Whatever the future held, I’d take the risk and enjoy it right now.

***

“Would you look at her?” CeeCee boomed. “All folded in on herself like she’s got a secret.” I was sleepy, and sitting on the couch at the Gingerbread Café, my legs tucked in front of me, and my arms wrapped around them.

Missy giggled, and said, “I know you’re not one to kiss and tell but we beg you to make an exception, because, well, we need to know.”

Lil wandered over with a tray of gingerbread milkshakes. She knew I loved them and drinking one would be akin to downing truth serum. “And,” Lil said, setting the tray on the coffee table, “Rosaleen’s already stopped in here today, saying she might have seen a thing or two as she walked by your front porch late Sunday evening.”

“Glory be,” CeeCee said. “I don’t know how that woman does it. She has some kinda radar, or somethin’.”

I groaned. If Rosaleen, the town gossip, knew about me and Ridge, then it wouldn’t be long before everyone knew. I thought back to Sunday evening, and saying goodbye to Ridge on the porch: he’d lingered, kissing me briefly in the moonlight. I colored, thinking of Rosaleen somewhere in the inky night stumbling on us.

“So,” Lil prompted. “How did the weekend go with the sexy reporter?”

I told the girls what had transpired.

“I knew it! I knew that man were perfect for you,” CeeCee said. “When you gonna see him again?”

I took a sip of the gingerbread milkshake and was momentarily lost for words. How on earth did they make a milkshake taste like comfort itself, like a warm hug on a cold day? “He’s going to Australia for two weeks, so some time after that. I really do like him,” I said. “And he’s so fervent about me — I guess I kept waiting for the punchline, like it’s some kind of joke. Honestly, girls, a man that gorgeous, well, I thought he’d be shallow, but we talked for hours, and hours, about so many things. I got swept up in the end. And I figure, this once, I will let go of the mind-bending fear of being heartbroken, and see what happens.”

Missy sat quietly opposite me, shaking her head and crying softly.

“Missy, what is it?” I asked.

She waved a hand at us. “I’m just so happy. Proud like a momma, or something.” She plucked a tissue from a box. “You’re radiant, beautiful, Sarah. Love suits you. I know you’ve held out, only wanting the boy from the books, and now you’ve found him.” She broke into full-fledged sobs.

I went to her and hugged her tight, trying to contain my laughter. “Thank you, Missy. I don’t know if I’d use the L word yet, but it has been nice.” I sat back on my haunches and studied her. It was the first time I’d ever seen Missy cry. “You sure you’re all right?”

Dabbing at the smudged black mascara under her eyes, she said, “Don’t you worry about me. It’s those pregnancy hormones everyone goes on about.” She was laughing and crying in unison.

“Cherry blossom, come here.” CeeCee hugged Missy, squashing her perfect mane of hair against her ample bosom as a grandmother would do. I waited for Missy to protect her hair, but she continued sobbing while CeeCee patted her back and hushed her.

“You might need to invest in some o’ that fancy waterproof mascara, Missy,” CeeCee said.

Through her tears, she said, “I’m going to buy cartons of the stuff! Now, never mind that.” She looked pointedly at me. “Tell me about Ridge again. I got myself all worked up and missed the best part. What did he say about finding the missing piece?”

It was too good to be true; that was how it felt. We hardly knew each other but maybe love at first sight wasn’t just a trope used in stories. “He said when he saw me it clicked, the ‘something’ he’d been searching for…”

Chapter Eleven

The week went inordinately slow. I spent a lot of time lying on the chaise longue by the back door, staring out of the big window and into the garden. A fragrant summer breeze blew through the screen; the scent of roses wafting inside made me think of love. My real-life Harlequin love affair.

I couldn’t concentrate on anything that usually made my days whole. Reading, the words blurred, and doing paperwork I ended up doodling pictures of flowers and hearts, like a teenager in the throes of puppy love. A sort of listlessness overwhelmed me; it was unlike anything I’d experienced before. I was lonely, but didn’t seek out my friends, because there was something special about the feeling. A kind of rapture that could only be assuaged by Ridge returning. I’d never felt time march so slowly; it didn’t march as much as hobble.

Deeply buried longing had finally been unearthed by a man who I’d thought would never see anything in me. A real man, who looked and acted like the fairy tale.

For once, I couldn’t eat. Lovesick. Who knew that was real?

The computer pinged with an email. I jumped up, hoping it was from Ridge.

Sarah Smith
,

In the afternoons once everyone is beat after a day of 4WDing, I wander away from the campsite and sit on a red rocky outcrop nearby. Quiet time alone to think of you snuggled in the bookshop, busily packing up books, or reading with that beautiful sleepy look on your face. The thought of you being so far away makes me ache. It’s as though the clock never turns over, and the days stretch on. Tonight, I’ve managed to find an internet café, but from tomorrow they say we’ll be out of range for a few days. This wide brown land is ruggedly beautiful and I often wonder what you’d make of it. Snakes abound, and crocodiles too. But so far, not close enough to do any damage. I’m sure I could wrestle a croc to the ground if need be — do I sound like one of your heroes now? In truth I’d probably run the other way
.