Chapter Twelve
Cleaning up after a crying jag was no easy feat in the bookshop’s tiny restroom. Clara splashed water on her face. And her blouse, and her jeans, and her shoes. She checked her reflection. Mascara, gone. Hair, dripping. Eyes, puffy. Nose, red. And just two more hours until her date with Doug.
She’d gone to the café with Nick hoping for some practical advice, or so she’d told herself. She should have known better. There was no doubt about Nick’s strong, magnetic pull on her. What to do about it—that was the burning question.
But the answer would have to wait. She’d asked Harry to help Margot with closing. He arrived at four, trailed by two familiar figures: Dave and Molly, the sixty-something bikers who’d sold them used books the previous week. This time, they wore matching jeans jackets embroidered with Silver Wheels Road Warriors.
“Back from your trip so soon?” Clara asked.
Molly’s grin swelled her rosy cheeks into shiny apples. She patted her husband’s jeans-clad behind. “Just one of many trips. We’re not done yet, that’s for sure.”
Dave kissed her hand with a loud smack, sending her into a fit of giggles. “Just got back from Victoria, B.C.,” he said. “Pretty spot. You been up there?”
“Not lately. The shop keeps me pretty busy.”
“Oh, Honey,” Molly said, “You’ve gotta make time for fun in your life.”
Clara’s cheeks heated. Well, she had some fun plans. Okay, a high school play wasn’t as much fun as a road trip to Canada, but it was progress.
The couple brought more books to sell: two vintage cookbooks, three coffee-table books of travel photos, and a candidate for the back room: Rodin and Eros. Clara flipped through to be sure it belonged behind the red door.
Molly planted her finger on a page. “This one’s my favorite.”
The photo showed a couple sculptured in marble. The woman stood, her dreamy gaze focused inward. The man knelt before her, his hands clasped behind him, his head inclined to kiss her waist—a gesture of tender submission.
Nick would love this book.
“This statue really tells a story.” Molly sighed.
Blushing hotly, Clara turned away to punch numbers into her calculator while Harry chatted with the couple about their next trip.
“Taking off tomorrow for Taos,” Dave said.
“On your bikes?” Clara asked. “Aren’t you worried about crossing the desert?”
“A little,” Molly admitted. “We’ve never gone so far at a stretch, but what the hell?” She patted Dave’s hand. “Life is for living, right? I’ve always wanted to see the desert up close.”
Dave smiled down at his spunky little wife. “Nothing between us and Mother Nature but skin.”
“He means our riding leathers.” Molly swatted him. “I told you, I’m not riding naked.”
“I’ll persuade you someday.”
When they left, Harry dropped his big-knuckled hand onto Clara’s shoulder.
“So, any adventures in store for you tonight? Maybe a naked motorcycle ride?” His grin etched his whole face with laugh lines.
“Nothing quite so adventurous just yet.”
She adjusted the price sticker gun and labeled the new arrivals. It was a tricky balance, pricing books low enough to draw in repeat customers but high enough to keep her shop in the black. Lately, that black line was developing alarming spots of red.
“Harry, what’s your connection to Doug?”
He rubbed his lip. “Just the running club, mostly.”
“Mostly?”
He shrugged. “Okay, you got me. He’s my cousin’s boy. So I can vouch for his family too. They’re good bunch—mostly.”
“Did you know his ex-wife?”
Harry wrinkled his nose. “Kind of a drama queen. Wanted a man with more money.”
“Ah. That’s too bad.”
“When Doug refused to give up his teaching job, she dumped him.”
“Wow.” Was Harry telling her the full story? It sounded too cliché to be real. But the more questions she asked about Doug, the more Harry would think she was interested in his cousin. Was she interested? Too early to tell.
“Anyway, I’ll close up here tonight, so you can go get fancy for your date.”
“Right. I’ll dust off my pearls and my mink stole.”
Clara came back later freshly showered and perfumed, hair fluffed, and wearing an outfit she hoped was dressy enough for the occasion without suggesting seductive intentions. Since they’d be outside, she layered a warm cardigan over her blouse, with a scarf tucked into the pocket just in case the wind picked up off the Willamette. She was behind the screen fiddling with her hair when the doorbell tinkled.
“Ahoy, Doug!” Harry called.
She took a deep breath, smoothed her blouse, and emerged to greet her date. Cute was the first word that sprang to mind. Dressed as before in chinos and a button-down shirt, he’d ditched the tie but pulled on a tweed sport coat that, by the rumpled look of it, got very little wear.
“Evening, Harry.” He clapped his cousin on the shoulder. How’s your knee?”
“Better. The wrap you recommended helped.” Harry made a show of polishing the counter. “You kids run along. I’ll close up here.”
On an impulse, Clara scooted behind the counter and kissed her assistant’s scratchy cheek. “Thanks, Harry.”
Even at the low wage she could afford to pay him, he was always ready to pull extra hours when she needed him.
He smooched her forehead. “Speak nothing of it. Now go have fun.”
****
At the Thai restaurant, a little Mom and Pop place with blaring Asian pop music, they chatted about Doug’s work over delicious shrimp in fiery red curry sauce.
“What made you choose this age group to teach?”
He wiped sauce from his lips. “I get that question a lot. I like teenagers. They can be snotty sometimes, but they’re really hungry for attention from adults.”
When he talked about his students, Doug’s face lit up with lively enthusiasm. It made him look—well, not quite handsome, with his prominent nose and deep-set eyes, but very attractive. Something about Doug in motion radiated warmth and kindness. Clara wondered what Jared would have thought of him. He’d probably like him, she decided, since they had so much in common.
“Anyway, I want to hear more about you. You’ve been running the bookstore on your own ever since your husband…”
“Since Jared died, yes.” People had a hard time saying the D word around Clara. She understood. Before losing Jared, she’d found herself tongue-tied around grieving people.
“How long has it been?”
“Almost a year.”
His smile drooped.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind your asking.” She squeezed his hand. “And yes, I own the business, but I get a lot of help, especially from your cousin.”
“Oh, he told you that, eh? He’s really more like an uncle, since he’s so much older.” Doug rubbed the back of his neck. “Harry’s a great guy, but I’m afraid he’s kind of a matchmaker.”
“I noticed.”
“He really likes you, though. Speaks highly of your strength, your kindness.” He flashed his shy grin again. “And of how pretty you are.”
“That’s nice to hear.”
As they both fiddled with their chopsticks. An idea swam into focus. Was Harry pushing her toward Doug out of concern for her welfare, or was it the other way around?
“So, Harry tells me you’re divorced.”
“Yup.”
He didn’t elaborate, so she dropped it. Maybe the wound was too fresh. In any case, she was glad he didn’t launch into a diatribe about his evil ex. That spoke well of his character, at least.
Doug checked his watch. “We’d better book it. Show starts soon.”
He insisted on paying for dinner, and afterward they climbed into his car, a battered VW station wagon. “Not very glamorous, but it gets me where I need to go.”
“That’s all we need, right?” Unlike his ex-wife, she’d never been one to judge a man by his car.
The setting sun gilded the Willamette River as they pulled into the parking lot near the Cuthbert Amphitheater. Swallows tumbled and swooped among the cars, snatching the bugs attracted by the overheat lights. A cool breeze carried the rich, green odor of freshly-mowed lawns. At the box office, teens in N.E.H.S. Drama Club T-shirts clustered, giggling and swatted each other with rolled up programs.
“Mr. Garvey! You came!” A tiny girl in striped stockings and Doc Martins bounced up and down like an excited puppy.
“I said I would, and I always keep my promises.” He accepted the program she handed him, then took another for Clara. As they passed through the gate, the girl whispered to her companions, and the whole pack broke into shrill giggles.
Compared to concerts Clara had attended at the Cuthbert, the crowd was pretty thin, but the seats closest to the stage were packed with students, parents, and teachers. A stocky boy with multi-pierced ears stood to let them pass to their seats.
“Yo, Mr. G, this your lady friend?” he asked with a smirk.
“Shut up, Brock,” Doug said, but he was smiling.
“Niiice.” The kid whispered something to his buddies, who chuckled and snorted.
“Sorry about that,” Doug said. “Sophomores tend to be, well, sophomoric.”
“It’s fine.” Being surrounded by so many teens triggered her mischievous side. “Shall we make out, give them something to talk about?”
Doug’s brightly blushing face glowed, even in the waning evening light. “We’d probably end up in the yearbook.”
A hefty dad took the seat next to Clara, forcing her to lean against Doug’s shoulder—bony, but warm. Comfortable. Soon the stage lights flared to life, bathing the scenery in a rosy glow, and the band struck up the opening notes of the overture. A little thrill of nerves ran over her skin at the memory of her own opening nights. Right now, those kids huddled behind the canvas flats onstage, both jazzed and terrified by the size of the audience.
Doug interlaced his fingers with hers. The intimate gesture surprised her, and she found herself focusing more on his big, cool hand than on the kids singing and dancing on stage. She kept readjusting her position, trying out the sensation of her hand in his, her shoulder against his.
The appearance of Audrey Two, the giant, papier mâché, man-eating plant that served as villain of the story, drew Clara back into the present moment. It looked like something a large dog had chewed on, but the kid who voiced the plant off-stage was a talented singer and comic. “Feed me, Seymour,” his baritone voice rang out.
Clara whispered into Doug’s ear, “You know this kid?”
He turned to reply faster than she expected, and his lips nearly brushed hers. He hovered there a moment, just millimeters away, before pulling back with a small whoosh of breath.
“Sorry, I—”
“No, my fault,” she reassured him.
But he was clearly flustered. He released her hand and fumbled through his program. “Um, let’s see. Audrey Two…Freddy Camacho. Soccer player. Class clown. You know the type…”
So, Doug was a nervous blatherer, just like her. Clara wondered whether taking his hand again would calm him or make him even more nervous. It was worth a try. But before she got the chance, a roar from the audience pulled her focus back to the stage.
Audrey Two listed hard to starboard. The plant’s lower jaw, which bounced along with the offstage actor’s every word, had somehow come unhinged, revealing two black-clad puppeteers inside, scrambling to hold the wood and wire structure together before—
Too late. The plant’s face crumpled like used Kleenex. The boy and girl leads stood before the wreckage and gaped at each other, and then the girl flapped her hands and wailed.
“Oh no.” Doug moaned.
From somewhere behind them, someone chanted, “Freddy, Freddy, Freddy.” All around, kids picked up the chant, until the voice-over actor stepped out from behind the curtains, clutching a microphone. That big, booming voice belonged to a small, muscular boy with slicked-back hair and a macho swagger.
He grinned, held up his hand, and said into his mic, “The show must go on, right?”
When the laughter and applause died down, he stood beside the pile of wreckage that had been the giant plant and picked up his last line, “Feed me, Seymour.” He ogled the ingénue, a lustful leer on his handsome face.
She and her partner exchanged a shrug, picked up their lines, and the show went on from there. When the moment arrived for the plant to swallow Audrey, the two puppeteers held out their arms. She stepped through and crouched behind them while Freddy made “Nom, nom, nom” noises and rubbed his belly.
Clara and Doug laughed until tears streamed down their faces.
After the final curtain call, he asked, “Want to go meet the kids? I really should say hi.”
They inched their way toward the exit, eventually filing past the actors and crew who were lined up outside the theater. All along the way, kids and parents greeted Doug.
Clara stood on tip-toe to speak into his ear above the din. “You’re quite the popular teacher. I’m impressed.”
His answering grin was less bashful than before. “Not so popular on quiz days. But yeah, I like the kids.”
And to think his ex-wife asked him to give this up. Clearly, Doug had integrity, generosity too.
“Mr. Garvey!” The tall, busty girl playing Audrey threw her arms around his neck and danced him around in a circle. He carefully extricated himself and glanced back at Clara.
“Oh, sorry.” She seized Clara’s hand. “You must be his girlfriend. Did you like the show?”
“It was marvelous. Great recovery.”
“Thanks!” She threw her arms around Clara and squeezed her tight, smelling of sweat and cheap makeup.
Her costar tugged on her arm. “Easy, Becka. You’re scaring people.”
As they made their way down the line, she watched student after student light up for Doug.
“Mr. G!”
“Yo, Mr. Garvey!”
“Hey, Garvaay!” This last comment came from Freddy, the actor who’d saved the day. He exchanged an elaborate handshake with Doug, then turned his high-voltage grin on Clara, looked her up and down, and nodded his approval. “Hello, Miss. Thanks for coming. You takin’ good care of my favorite teacher?”
“Well, I—”
“Mind your business, Camacho.” Doug’s brows rumpled in mock sternness. “And good job.”
“Wow,” she said as they crossed the parking lot. “I’m really impressed.”
“Yeah, the kids were great.”
“No, I mean you. They clearly adore you.”
“Oh, well…” He leaned against his car door and resumed his bashful, aww-shucks routine. “Beautiful night, eh?”
She settled beside him, her hip against his thigh. He slung his long arm around her shoulders and let it rest there. No pressure, just pleasant warmth.
Together, they gazed up at the stars sparkling in the clear summer sky.
“I really love my work,” he said. “It’s exhausting, and it doesn’t pay well, but the kids make it worthwhile.”
“And your ex didn’t appreciate that.”
Oops. Doug hadn’t told her about his gold-digger ex, Harry had.
Doug frowned down at the pavement. “Yeah. That’s about right.”
“Hey, sorry. It’s not my business.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure Harry will make my business your business if he has his way.” He slid his hand into hers and turned to face her. “I don’t mind, though. Do you?”
The corners of his mouth lifted in a hopeful half-smile. His touch was gentle, warm, his size and presence reassuring.
This could be a very good thing, for both of us.
“I don’t mind.” She stepped into his embrace.
He pulled her closer and brushed his lips against hers. Sweet, soft, easy. She leaned her head against his chest for a moment and was surprised by the loudness of his heartbeat. His fingers slid into her hair, gently stroked the back of her neck.
She offered her lips again, but this time he took them forcefully, mashing them back against her teeth as he clutched her body against his. His long thighs were hard against her, and so was the swelling between them.
Her spine stiff with outrage, she planted both hands on his chest and pushed until a good two feet of cool night air blew between them. He blinked for a moment as if surprised to see her there.
“Oh, hey, I—” His broad shoulders slumped, and he passed his hand over his face. “Clara, I am so sorry.”
She glared up at him, her eyebrows reaching for her hairline.
“That wasn’t cool. I’m not usually so—It’s been so long, and you’re so beautiful, and you smell so good, and I’m—I’m an asshole.”
She had every right to be outraged, but something about his flustered, sputtered apology melted her anger.
“I’ll forgive you on one condition.”
“Anything. Name it.”
“Think you can drive me home without mauling me further?”
He nodded vigorously. “Absolutely.”
And he did. An awkward silence filled the car as they made the short drive, but he kept his hands on the wheel, and off Clara.
When they pulled up in front of the bookstore, hers was the only car still parked on the deserted street, and she was glad to have a male companion to watch out for her, even one as horny as Doug.
He hopped out, held her car door while she settled inside, then leaned onto the roof and gazed down at her like a giant puppy who’d just been caught shredding the couch, a pretty funny expression on such a tall, gangly man.
“So, uh…I want to apologize again. My behavior was totally uncalled for. And out of character.”
She pursed her lips to hold back a smile. “Maybe it was all those teenaged hormones.”
He nodded. “Absolutely. And if you’ll give me another chance—which I don’t deserve, by the way—I’ll show you what a gentleman I can be.”
She waited, one eyebrow raised.
“Dinner on Friday? At Pomodoro?”
The new Italian bistro downtown was pricy and swanky. Not easy on a teacher’s salary.
“I’ll keep my hands to myself, I promise. I’ll even sit on them if you want.”
She considered his offer for a long moment, mostly for the fun of watching him squirm.
“Okay, I accept. But I’m holding you to your promise.”
He grinned broadly. “Great. It might be hard to eat spaghetti while sitting on my hands, but I’ll manage if it means I get the pleasure of your company again.”
For a micro-second, she considered rising to kiss him good night, but decided against playing with fire. Friday was soon enough.
“Good night, Doug. And thanks for a fun evening.”
He backed away. The impressive bulge in his jeans, now right at eye level, had not abated in the least.
Oh my.
After Doug drove off, she sat in her car for a long moment, reflecting on the evening. She ought to feel—what, angry? She wasn’t, though. Doug was clearly contrite about his lapse in self-control. Hot and bothered? After all, he was an attractive man, graceful and athletic. But even the sight of his large, eager organ up close didn’t leave her especially tingly. And yet, her growing fondness for Doug was undeniable, and she looked forward to their next date.
Oh, but Nick.
She’d be with Nick tomorrow night. The thought kicked her pulse into overdrive. The memory of his sweaty, muscular body in the park, of his powerful erection straining against his shorts—the image jolted her like a live wire, making her breath catch and her stomach clench.
In a week, she’d gone from being a lonely recluse to dating two men. Two very amorous men.
Well, as Margot said, there’s nothing wrong with dating more than one person, especially in the early, getting-acquainted phase. And anyway, her next meeting with Nick wasn’t really a date, just a staff party. And she wasn’t planning to fall into his bed after—she counted on her fingers. They’d already had three dates, if she counted their two talks in the coffee shop, plus the wine tasting. Would Nick interpret this next encounter as an invitation to do more than talk?
“Okay,” she said aloud. “Relax. It’s no big deal. I’m just exploring my options. Just taking baby steps.” The long breath she blew out fogged her windshield.
Her gaze flicked up, attracted by a light left on inside the bookshop, a glowing line beneath the red door.