Page 8 of Can We Skip to the Good Part?
“That bulletin board gets more play than my Aunt Millie in her good years.” He stood there, wide-eyed and stone-faced, waiting for the comment to settle.
“Well … good for Aunt Millie. That’s my first thought.” Ella raised a brow and nodded. “I’ll have to check out this bulletin board with that kind of endorsement.” Doug nodded and left her space to wander. She made a point to take her time, enjoying every detail of the unique shop. The intertwining aisles had norhyme, reason, or organization to their arrangement, further bolstering the child-lost-in-a-mysterious-forest feel. Finally, she made her way to the small coffee nook, poured some of the suspicious dark brew into the uneventful paper cup, and took a sip. Her eyes closed. It was not only well brewed, it felt like a warm embrace from a long-lost coffee relative. “Doug!” she called. “This coffee is amazing. You are to be commended by the coffee officials. I don’t know any, but maybe some will find their way in.”
“I know.” Doug’s voice floated quietly back to her over the shelves between them.
Realizing that was all she was going to get, Ella carried her favorite new cup of coffee over to the bulletin board to pin up her card. The brown corkboard on the back wall was already crowded with ads, flyers, and notes of all sizes and colors. Most of them overlapped in chaos reminiscent of the store itself. Some of the posts advertised for roommates, while others sold items like a “used bike that’s seen damned better days.”
“Same,” she mumbled to the flyer. Next to it hung a blue index card with the wordsRead It and Weep Book Club. She smiled, moved past it, but found her gaze backtracking to the words scrawled in thick black Sharpie.Interesting. She’d always wanted to belong to a book club, but had never really stumbled upon the opportunity. She loved to read, but it had gotten away from her in the last few years. Then there was the fact that she’d never really read with anyone before, not even a buddy. Certainly not strangers. But wasn’t she reinventing herself and turning over a new leaf? If this wasn’t the time to try something different, then when was? She studied the details on the card. It seemed the club met on Tuesday nights and asked new members to send a message to the number on the card for the current week’s book selection. She snapped a photo and decided to let the idea linger in her brain for a bit, see how she felt.
“Hey, do you know much about the Read It and Weep Book Club?” she asked Doug as she passed the checkout counter on the way out.
“I do. Feisty women who have lots of opinions. They call themselves the Weepers. I don’t mess with ‘em.”
“My kind of people.”
“If you want to join ‘em, this is what they’re reading this week.” He pointed at the small pyramid of books on top of the counter. “You’d think they’d meet monthly, but no, they tear through books like raccoons to a bag of trash. They gotta have their romance, too. Did I mention all the books are romance?” He scoffed as if personally offended by their inability to branch out. “There are lots of genres to explore, but Stevie just refuses to budge.”
Ella considered herself a reasonably fast reader, and it wasn’t like she had too much going on. Why not? She returned to the counter and checked out the selection of the month. “Romance,” she murmured. It had been a while since she’d read one of those.
“Parker Bristow is a bestseller,” Doug said, ambling behind the counter. “She brings all the girls to the yard.” A pause. “I should know. I’m the yard.”
“Does she?” Ella flipped the book over and paused at the two women looking rather in love on the cover. “Oh. It’s women. Like actually.” She didn’t know how delicate she needed to be with ole Doug.
“Ah, yep. Bristow’s veered into the sapphic lane these days. So have the Weepers. That’s what they call it. Sapphic.”
She met his gaze and he met hers, unwavering. “You’re very astute, Doug.”
“I know.”
Ella wanted more information, her interest significantly piqued. She knew one thing for sure, book club or not, she was taking a copy of this book with her and exploring a romance thatmight speak to her more than she was used to. She handed over her credit card and waited as Doug rang her up.
“I will definitely be back,” she told him with a smile. The coffee alone would haul her in.
“You will,” he said, handing her the book in a cute little blue bag with millions of books all over it. This place had a definite point of view, and it involved there being lots of books in the world. Doug was running with the theme and not looking back. “And I’ll be using your services sooner rather than later for flyers. Flyers can kiss my ass,” he said to no one in particular. She wondered about their sordid history.
“So, I have a new client?” she asked, standing a little taller. This had been such a worthwhile stop. Her excitement rose and swarmed.
“Ah. Yep. You do. Provided you’re any good.”
“Well, I am.”
“I’ll call soon so we can do the planning properly.”
“Looking forward to it. Have a great day, Doug.”
But he was already off and puttering again, headed down one of those curvy aisles. “Enjoy your Bristow,” he said without looking back.
“Planning on it,” she called sunnily, pleased with her afternoon, pleased with the store, and thinking she might be the newest member of this town’s feisty gay book club.
Max checkedthe time on her desk clock as she slid out of her stupid heels and into the short boots that allowed her to sigh happily as she sank into wonder and comfort. Boots had so much more to offer the world than heels. So much more agreeable. So much closer to the ground. What had she ever done withoutthese boots on her feet? She glared at her discarded pumps and shook her head. “Angry, angry shoes.”
“Are you shaming your work heels again?” Sonya asked. Her curly red hair was untamed and awesome today. Max was well aware that Sonya’s hair inspired her mood, which meant Sonya was on fire and flitting from one task to the next without the hair binding. Free hair was honestly when she did her best work. “They’re just shoes.”
“Little bitch ones,” Max muttered. “And hold all my calls, please. I’m hanging up my hat for the day and taking a bottle of cheap wine to my smutty book club.” She’d joined on a whim a year ago when her friend, Ariana, who was the ex-girlfriend of a friend of Max’s (who then began dating Ariana’s other ex, who dated everyone in town), had invited her after they’d chatted about books at a party.
Sonya nodded, hands on hips. “Love that for you. Smut is good for the soul. And the cooch.”
“Sonya.” Max went still, mid-hair-fluff. “Really?”
