Page 27 of Just This Once

Rachel’s bubbly laugh mixed with mine. “I think you need to talk with the Bluebirds.”

“Who?”

“The Bluebird Book Club. They’re the women of Outtatowner who meet at the bookstore on Wednesday nights. You want anything done in this town, those ladies can make it happen.” Rachel left me with a wave over her shoulder, and I walked in the opposite direction, refusing to look back at Whip.

Fine. I totally looked. Sue me.

Tan firefighter pants molded to his trim hips. The red suspenders hung at his sides. His bare chest and arms were smattered with rich, fluffy bubbles. It reminded me of a porn video I’d watched once, and I made a mental note to see if I could find that one again. Whip’s bright smile dazzled driver after driver as they all lined up and paid for the men and women of the Outtatowner Fire Department to wash and scrub their vehicles.

It was amazing to see how many cars waited, and, if my math was even close, the fire department would make a killing for their chosen charity.

If Whip and his stupid smile and ridiculous pecs could do it, then so could I.

I needed the full-time position at the school. There was no other option. If the foundation was the way to make that happen and some women’s book club could help me, then count me in.

ELEVEN

EMILY

Bluebird Books was nestledamong the quaint storefronts in downtown Outtatowner. The wooden sign that hung above the glass door looked hand carved, and it hearkened back to a time before smartphones and Kindles and other modern technology.

I peered through the glass. The bookstore held promises of whispered secrets between stacks of old books, of discovering new favorites among cherished classics. Through the large front window, I saw plush seating arrangements nestled between tall stacks of books. Along the window seat, overstuffed pillows invited visitors to take a break from the beach and bustle and simply sit and relax with a good book and a cup of hot coffee or tea.

I hadn’t even set one foot inside its doors, but the Bluebird Book Club had already become my favorite place in Outtatowner. Though the lights were low, I could see figures milling about at the back of the store. I stood, feet planted in front of the entryway door, and smiled at the sign that statedClosed for the Bluebirds.

Rachel assured me that this unique group of women would be theoomphI needed to push my fundraising ideas forward. With their support, I might be able to rally the members of mynew town and impress my boss, proving to him I was worthy of a full-time position on his staff.

I am confident.

I am capable.

I am charismatic.

I closed my eyes and repeated my mantra, and when I opened them again, a sense of calm settled over me. I nestled my laptop case deeper into my armpit and set my shoulders. Energy hummed under my skin.

The metal bell clinked against the glass door, announcing my arrival. I followed the murmur of hushed voices as I wound my way through wooden shelves toward the back.

The overhead fluorescent lights had been turned off, and the entire space was illuminated by candles and a smattering of table lamps, casting the space in a warm and inviting glow.

As I got closer, my heartbeat ticked higher. Excitement rather than nerves danced through me. I gently cleared my throat and lifted my chin, prepared to insert myself into what Rachel called a super-secret not-at-all-about-books book-club meeting, when my toe clipped the corner of a bookshelf, throwing me off balance.

I crashed to the floor. My laptop skittered across the thin carpeting with a sickening crunch and bounce. My knees and wrists caught the brunt of my fall, and a chorus of gasps rang out, followed by deafening silence.

I stared at the hunter green and mauve fibers of the Berber carpeting. My breaths sawed in and out of my lungs.

That did not just fucking happen.

My knees throbbed and my head ached from the jolt.

“Emily?” My mother’s voice drew closer, and I was shocked to find her crouching at my side. One arm banded across my shoulders, and the other dipped into my armpit in an attempt to hoist me up. “Honey, are you okay? What are you doing here?”

I allowed her to pull me to standing. My stomach wanted to fold in on itself as I took in the curious faces of the women in front of me. I rolled my sore wrists and glanced down at my laptop.

“Hey, Mom. I could ask you the same thing.”

“Are you all right, dear?” An older woman stepped forward, concern furrowing her brow.

I plastered on the calmest, fakest smile I could muster to keep from crying. “I’m embarrassed, but otherwise just fine. Thank you.”

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