AllFreeNovel
Share Us
ELLIE
Hope is such a fiendish emotion. Everyone needs hope, whether it’s for motivation or purpose. Its intent is to keep the unknown in a state of possibility. But there’s the wretched side of hope. When those moments actually make you feel optimistic, invincible. As if a differing outcome isn’t possible when in reality, it’s the most likely scenario. That was what caused me to call Charles back. Hope. Hope that his words were true and Rhylan actually wanted to see me. Hope that what we had was real and that there could be a future for us.
But I was wrong. The most likely scenario that I tucked away because of hope surfaced and reared its ugly side.
After I left the hospital, I came home and licked my wounds. I cleaned and dressed those fresh cuts with self-affirmations that I would somehow get through this. Without Rhylan. Everything from here on out would be without Rhylan, like I had originally planned. All of my daily routines, my future, my life. It would all have to be without the person who I wanted to share it with. And I would have to learn to do so, even if I didn’t want to.
So I continued. Weeks passed and I went on with my life, burying deep the cold rejection that Rhylan threw at me and trying to live my life. Minute to minute, hour to hour, day to day. They all blurred into one.
Today, with my hours blending into days,I drive towards The Cottage Bookstore after school. I usually don’t work weekdays, but Mrs. Le has plans tonight, so she asked me to close the store. I arrive to Mrs. Le frantically packing a small stack of hardcover books in her worn-out Trader Joe’s canvas bag. She reaches into her purse to pull out a deep wine-colored lipstick and swiftly applies it as she uses the display counter as a makeshift mirror.
“Thank you so much for coming in today, Ellie. Paul made these dinner plans last month, and I completely forgot about them.”
She fluffs her hair in an attempt to make it more presentable. Mrs. Le’s style has always struggled to keep up with current fashion trends. She even thought gaucho pants were still in style until her kids told her she looked like she was bringing back a late nineties era fashion trend. She always wears the same wool cardigan underneath the red brick apron she puts on every morning before opening the store.
But tonight, she’s trading it all in for a simple black dress for a night out with her tech executive husband, even swapping out her New Balance sneakers for kitten heel pumps.
“Oh, it’s no problem. I’d probably be at home watching Netflix or something anyways. This is much more productive.”
She smiles at me while she swings her bags over her shoulder with heft. “Call me on my cell if you need anything. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The clicking of her heels echoes against the pavement as she scurries to her car. I watch as she drives off. It’s just past five o’clock. The day is starting to get cooler, and the sun is gradually setting behind the trees that line the plaza where the bookstore sits in a corner lot.
I settle myself behind the counter and flip through one of the books on display. With the store being empty and eerily quiet, I put the book down and tap my nails against the counter. I’m used to the in and out of customer traffic on the weekends, and this uncomfortable silence is making me needlessly restless.
Just then, the door jingles, announcing a customer’s entrance to the store. I look up and see Austin from my statistics class looking just as surprised to see me as I am to see him.
“Ellie! I didn’t know you worked here.”
“Hi, Austin,” I answer with a small wave along with a sheepish smile that naturally comes with running into someone in public.
“This is how you’re spending your Friday night? That’s no fun,” he says with a small chuckle.
“I usually don’t work weekdays, but my boss asked me to pick up an extra shift tonight. She has a hot date.” I smile at the notion of Mr. and Mrs. Le sharing anything other than a basket of sliced bread with a side of cold butter and an overpriced bottle of wine.
“Lucky her,” he answers as he looks around the store to see if there’s anyone else. He leans his elbows against the counter and faces me. The sleeve of his denim jacket brushes up against my hand that’s resting on the glass. “I actually came here looking for a book that my little sister needed. I guess it’s for her English class. You haveThe Great Gatsby?”
“Um, yeah. I’m sure we do.” My body swerves, turning to walk out of the small nook behind the counter. I keep my eyes on the shelves, tracking the alphabetic sequence to locateFbefore my eyes land on Fitzgerald. Austin stays close, his toes inches away from my heels.
“Here it is,” I say in a strained voice as I stretch my arms up to reach the top shelf. I balance on my toes and let my fingers graze the edges of the shelf before I search for a step stool.
“Here, let me get that.” Austin’s large hands reach up behind me to grab the book instead. I can feel his body lightly press against mine. When I turn and come face to face with his broad chest, I slightly jump, realizing how close he is.
He takes a step back and turns the book in his hand, a cheesy smile on his face.
“I’ll ring you up at the register,” I say softly, my voice timid and faint. I lead the way back to the counter to ring him up, and he follows closely before placing it on the counter for me to scan.
“That’ll be $10.94.”
He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket as he shuffles through the cash that was neatly placed in the bifold. I place the book in a small paper bag as he hands me a twenty-dollar bill, to which I give him change. The silence between us is awkward, audible through the crumpling of paper and clicks of the register. Even so, he smiles through the entire exchange.
I look up to thank him for his purchase, our standard greeting after every transaction, but he cuts me off before I speak. “Hey. So, I was going to tell you the next time I saw you in class, but I guess I’ll tell you now. My aunt runs this publishing company right here in LA, and she’s hiring assistants. It’s a bit of grunt work, but I guess you can work your way up,” he explains.
“Oh,” I say between his pauses.
“Anyway, she was asking if I had any friends or classmates that might be interested, and I realized that you’re the only one that I know that would fall into that category. Is it something that you might be interested in?”
“Oh,” I answer. “Maybe…” My voice trails off.
