Anne of Manhattan by Brina Starler

Anne sat in one of the chairs outside Dr. Lintford’s office, trying to balance her planner across her knees while hunched over and scrolling through the phone calendar for the upcoming guest lecture dates for her class on the exploration of eighteenth-century writing culture, in an effort to distract herself from a case of jittery nerves. The class promised to be fascinating, but it was hard to get excited about the course offerings when her extensive list of thesis project ideas kept running in the back of her mind.

This was it, the moment she and her mentor put together a plan for the most important project of her school career. It would be the make-or-break component of her degree. If she messed this up, the last two years would be for nothing.

The sound of footsteps echoing down the hall had her looking up, the sight of Gil had her narrowing her eyes. It had been a week of bumping knees every time she shifted in her seat, of sideways grins when one of the professors made a terrible joke, and of being distressingly conscious of the summer humidity creating a halo of frizzy, short curls that escaped from her ponytail no matter how tightly she bound it. A week of Gil in her way at every turn on campus. It should have been aggravating that after six years, he’d suddenly turned up again and disrupted her neat, ordered life. But for some reason, it wasn’t. Instead, Anne found herself smiling back at him with a growing sense of . . . fondness.

It was enough to make her snippy on principle alone.

She stifled a sigh as he dropped into the seat next to her, despite the other three chairs lining the wall. He didn’t say anything, just pulled out his own phone and began reading what appeared to be a news article. Not that she was looking over his shoulder. Setting her jaw, Anne turned her attention back to the planner. Her appointment with Dr. Lintford had come and gone ten minutes earlier, but she’d learned that some professors operated on what she called doctor’s office hours. That’s to say they were constantly inundated with work and students, and ran on their own private timetable. There was nothing for it, this wasn’t a meeting she could skip, so she just kept filling in her semester’s schedule, and tried to ignore the way Gil’s bicep brushed her arm every time he shifted in his seat.

But after the third time it happened in as many minutes, Anne snapped her planner closed and turned to him, exasperated. “Did you have too much caffeine today? You’re positively twitchy.”

“Sorry,” he said, easily. “Didn’t manage to get a run in this morning. Meds don’t do everything; I’ve learned focus comes a lot easier if I cut my energy with regular exercise.”

“Ew, running. I only do that if someone’s chasing me.”

“Har, har, never heard that before.”

Anne sent him a tiny grin. She wasn’t against exercising but was much more inclined to spend her free time lying on the lawn in Washington Square Park with a book as opposed to running the paths. It was good people-watching, especially when the dogwoods were blooming.

“Are you here to see Dr. Lintford?” she asked, glancing at her phone again. The professor was now fifteen minutes behind, and she was in danger of missing the window to grab food before her afternoon class.

“Yeah. Ten-thirty appointment, but I guess he’s running late.”

Ten-thirty appointment. That was her time.

Anne turned in her chair to face him. “I think either there’s a scheduling problem or one of us got it wrong, because I’m here for a ten-thirty as well.”

Before he could say anything, the door to Dr. Lintford’s office opened. He ushered out a stressed-looking blond girl, reminding her to email if she needed to discuss anything more, then turned to face Anne and Gil.

“Ah, good, you’re both here. Sorry about the wait, come on in.”

Anne blinked as he gestured to them in welcome before disappearing into his office. Surely, he couldn’t mean both of them, but Gil was already up and following the professor. Caught off guard by the development, she hastily shoved her planner into the backpack at her feet and joined them.

Taking the second of two guest chairs in front of Dr. Lintford’s desk, Anne looked around the small, windowless office. Packed bookshelves crowded the walls, only broken by the occasional photo of the professor with one famous writer or another, and his multiple, framed degrees. There was an artistic interpretation of a sepia-toned world globe on a brass stand squeezed into one corner that she’d love to get a closer look at. A line of colorful, blown-glass paperweights marched across the desk, next to an expensive-looking gold pen perched in its holder. The combination should have been comforting for Anne, all the things she enjoyed best, but the low ceiling and lack of natural light gave the office an oppressive air. It didn’t help that sitting this close to the older man made his heavy hand with the cologne a bit overwhelming.

Not to mention that the assessing glint in the professor’s eye when he turned his attention to her made Anne want to shift in her chair with discomfort. She controlled the urge, placing her backpack on the floor before she sat on the edge of the seat and folded her hands in her lap. Determined not to let her nerves show, she squeezed her fingers together tightly, pressing them into her lap.

In contrast, Gil leaned back in his chair and crossed one ankle over his knee, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world. She didn’t understand how he was so relaxed. She felt like she was going to leap out of her skin.

“All right, let’s see. As you both know, I’m Kenneth Lintford, and will be your thesis departmental liaison for the year.” Dr. Lintford shuffled some papers in a stack on his desk, then pulled out two thin folders. He flicked them open, one after another, scanning whatever was inside as if to familiarize himself with it. After several agonizingly long seconds, he looked up again, running one hand over his beard thoughtfully. “Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe. How interesting you grew up together and both wound up here. Serendipitous, you might say.”

A frisson of wariness rippled through Anne. She had to excel in this for both her career prospects and her own peace of mind. Lumping her in with Gil just because they both came from Avonlea wasn’t exactly going to give her a chance to shine.

“I’d asked everyone earlier in the week to come prepared to their meetings with several ideas for their project, so I hope you each brought a list. My time is valuable, and I won’t waste it on brainstorming; this is a master’s degree, not a middle school science fair,” he continued. “When the first semester is at a close, I will start to evaluate progress on your project and make suggestions as necessary. But again, I’ll stress, this is a student-driven project, a sort of a test-drive for the post-graduation real world, if you will.”

“Excuse me,” Anne broke in, her brain still stuck on one point. “Did you say ‘project,’ as in singular? As in together?”

Dr. Lintford frowned at the interruption but answered her. “Yes. As I’ve stated, my time is valuable. I wasn’t expecting a last-minute transfer, so space in my mentorship program is a bit on the tight side.” He tapped the folders in front of him with one finger. “I assumed, as two grown adults in an M.Ed. program, you could manage to successfully work on one project together. Was I wrong?”

By the tightness in his voice, it was clear the professor disliked being questioned. Anne bit back her instinctive urge to rise up in the face of such disdain. His approval was too important to alienate him this early in the year. Or at all.

“Not a problem for me,” Gil answered calmly, and she felt the side of his foot press against hers in warning.

Instead of stomping on his toes, she dredged up a smile for their mentor. “Perfectly fine.”

Dr. Lintford eyed her for another moment, then turned his attention to his open laptop and tapped a few keys before gesturing to them. “All right. Go ahead and tell what you’ve each come up with and we can discuss it, and hopefully get this settled before you walk out of here today. Mind the time, however, I’ve got several more appointments this morning.”

A bit unfair considering how delayed their own meeting was, but Anne only drew in a deep breath and pulled out her own laptop as Gil started to go over his ideas. This was going to be a trying year, between being tied to him on a project she’d had so many plans for and working with Dr. Lintford. The man strongly reminded her of Mr. Philips and not in any sort of favorable way. But it was what it was, and she’d just have to make the best of it. Dr. Lintford was right—they were at the top of their class and full-grown adults. Surely, they could manage to successfully work together on this one thing.

Besides, things were different between her and Gil now. Time and space had done them well, the animosity of their younger years mellowed. For the most part. She’d just have to make sure they didn’t backslide into sniping and one-upmanship. Since she’d really only have to see him in class until they started working on their thesis project, it shouldn’t be that hard to keep things professional.

Of course, she should have known Gil wouldn’t cooperate with that plan any more than he’d ever done at any time in her life. Because after he’d somehow managed to finagle her into telling him where she worked, he seemed to be constantly underfoot.

One of the biggest perks of working in the bookstore was that it was only a short walk from her apartment, tucked away in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen on Forty-fifth and Tenth. The Lazy Lion Bookstore wasn’t trendy, or even particularly pretty, but it had been a neighborhood staple for fifty years and had a steady stream of loyal customers. Which was great, because it meant the owners could afford to pay her enough to make rent every month, and also eat regularly. But sometimes she forgot what it was like to just stop and breathe. It turned out, shockingly, that working forty hours a week while going to grad school full-time was exhausting.

Gil’s inexplicable decision to make the Lion his second home by the end of the week, creating a big snag in her plans to avoid him outside of their designated project collaboration sessions, didn’t make things easier.

“You know this isn’t actually a public workspace, right?” Anne asked as she shelved a couple of books with possibly more enthusiasm than needed. Gil glanced up from where he was working at the small wooden table shoved up against the picture window at the front of the shop. His gaze followed her as she crouched down to find space for the newest installation of a science fiction novel she’d tried, and failed, to muddle through. Considering how quickly they sold copies, however, it seemed to be a singular problem.

“There’s free wifi, cheap coffee, and a table with decent light. Not to mention the staff is easy on the eyes. Seems pretty ideal to me.” From her viewpoint, she could see him tip his chair back on two legs and nearly gave into the temptation to kick it out from under him.

“Easy on the eyes.” Anne rose, rolling her own eyes. “Am I supposed to be flattered?”

“Bold of you to assume I was talking about you. Maybe I have a thing for octogenarians with a permanent scowl.”

Despite herself, she snorted, glancing over her shoulder to where the other bookseller on duty was standing at the register. Ken was eternally grouchy, and while she didn’t think he was quite into his eighties, he had been working there as long as anyone could remember. Anne had been an employee for most of the last two years and he still referred to her as the “new kid,” and not in a fond way.

She turned back to Gil, eyeing the pile of books at his elbow. “Are you actually buying any of those or am I just going to be reshelving them all later?”

He shrugged, a lazy movement that drew her gaze to the way his T-shirt clung to muscular shoulders. How he kept in shape when he seemed to spend all his time split between classes and the Lion, she didn’t know. Annoying. Biting back a sigh, Anne grabbed the handle of the book cart and pushed it over to the next aisle. The shop was quiet, the sound of traffic and pedestrians beyond the glass window muffled, the loudest sounds the air conditioner clicking on and Gil tapping away on his laptop. She lost herself in the task of shelving books, occasionally pulling down a title that caught her interest and reading the back copy. Her collection was already a bit out of control, but the call of a new book was irresistible. Engrossed in the first page of a romance novel, she jumped as Gil spoke from behind her.

“Excuse me, miss, I’m looking for a book. Maybe you can help me.”

Pressing the book she was holding against her chest, trying to quiet the sudden thump of her heart, Anne turned to glare at him. A man his size should not be able to move so quietly.

“Not enough to come in and pester me at my job, now you’re actively trying to kill me?” she said, willing the heat in her cheeks away. Having skin as pale as hers was a trial at times, especially when she was embarrassed. Or angry. Or . . . She cleared her throat, fingers clenching and unclenching on the soft cover of the book. This constant awareness of him, and the way she couldn’t seem to turn it off, was becoming quite inconvenient.

“Sorry, I thought you heard me.”

She didn’t believe that for a minute, her theory supported by the little grin that flirted at the edges of his mouth.

“Moving on from your near brush with death . . . I really was wondering if you can help me find this book. Promise I’ll buy it this time.” He brandished the page pulled up on his phone browser at her.

Grateful for something to focus on other than how the green T-shirt he was wearing made his eyes look warm and golden like honey (and didn’t that overused cliché make her want to smack herself in the forehead), Anne considered the title of the book. She didn’t recognize it, but that wasn’t unexpected. The bookstore housed a surprisingly high volume of items for such a small shop. Skirting around Gil, she headed to the old computer at the front counter. Ken gave her a dark look as she squeezed past where he was tagging a new shipment of novels, but she ignored it, used to his suspicions she was somehow shirking her bookseller duties. Stepping up to the counter to rest his forearms on the worn wood, Gil leaned forward, craning his head to watch the screen as she searched the database. Which put him much too far into her personal space for comfort.

She tapped the down arrow rapidly with one hand, pressing the other one to his forehead and pushing him back to his side, trying not to smile when he made a noise of protest.

“We don’t have that one,” she said, after a minute. “But I can order it, if you want.”

“How long will it take?”

“Maybe a week.”

Gil tucked his phone into his back pocket. “Yeah, okay, that’s fine.”

Pulling up the digital order form, Anne squashed the urge to ask him why he didn’t just order it online. It would definitely be faster. But Ken was nearly falling over in an effort to eavesdrop on their conversation, so she wasn’t about to sabotage a sale and give him a reason to complain about her again. Not after the incident with the pastrami sandwich.

After hitting send, Anne turned back to where Gil was idly flicking through the small display of New York City guidebooks they kept in case any tourists wandered into the Lion on their way to some new trendy restaurant down the block that they’d read about in the Times food section. She didn’t have the heart to tell them they’d probably have more luck in Tribeca or Soho.

Searching for familiar ground, she pulled her own phone out and pulled up the calendar. “When are we meeting up to talk about the thesis project? I still don’t understand why Lintford would pair us on this. I’ve never heard of a joint thesis. It seems counterproductive; how will he know we each put in an equal amount of work?”

“Are you worrying I won’t hold up my end of the project?” Gil didn’t look offended by her bluntness, just curious. “I’d like to think by now you know I don’t work like that.”

“No, I do,” she conceded. “Still, it’s a strange arrangement.”

He shrugged. “But it’s one we have to work with, so let’s figure it out. I’m free tomorrow afternoon.”

“Tomorrow’s no good for me, I’m the TA for Professor Kerry’s Shakespeare Lit class.”

“Yikes.”

“Hey, I like Shakespeare!” Anne protested with a laugh. Rude. “He created some of my favorite words. ‘Fathomless.’ ‘Reprieve.’ ‘Never-ending.’ As in, ‘it’s fathomless to me that I get no reprieve from your never-ending presence in this bookstore.’”

“All right, all right, I know where I’m not welcome.” He pushed away from the counter in mock indignation and headed back to his table. Once he’d packed up, he slung his messenger bag across his chest and headed for the door. One hand on the door handle, he paused. “You free Friday night?”

Anne blinked at him, brain stalling out. Was he asking her out?

“Friday night?”

“To make a final decision on the project topic, divvy up research?” Gil’s expression was bland, but she got the feeling he was laughing inside at her.

“Oh.” Well, that was embarrassing. “Um. Yes, my weekend nights are usually free.” Oh God, did she just admit to having no life to speak of? She hastily added, “I work morning shifts here, the store opens at eight. I have to be here early to neaten up and dust. That sort of thing.”

With effort, Anne snapped her mouth closed, cutting off the mortifying, directionless babbling spilling out.

With a nod too solemn to be genuine, Gil hauled the door open. “Great. See you at the library at seven? There’s a study space in the back of the fiction section I found that never seems to be occupied.”

“It’s a date,” Anne said, unthinkingly.

“Perfect. See you then.”

By the time her words registered, the door was closing on Gil’s back. With a groan, she leaned forward and thumped her forehead onto the wood counter. Ow.

“If you’re done with the dramatics, there are a few dozen new books waiting to be shelved.” Ken’s tart voice piped up from the right of her. With a sigh, Anne straightened, managing not to bobble the box the older man shoved into her arms.