Romance By the Book by Sarah Ready

Will

“I have a question,”says Jessie.

“Alright.”

We’re leaving the hardware store, where Mr. and Mrs. Kwan told us how their son found his soul mate because of Erma. They’re ecstatic to finally have grandchildren. Before that, we stopped to chat with the town sheriff. He was grabbing a coffee and told us about his match almost twenty years ago. The gruff and hardened sheriff wanted me to understand that Miss Erma’s word was akin to the law. And also, that this town made certain Erma wasn’t bothered by newspapers, journalists, cuckoo birds, crazy love seekers, or general nuisances.

“You’re still not a believer? Even after the Kwans and Sheriff Rodham?”

“I’m not convinced.” If I believe in this, it means I’ll have to keep my word, leave her alone and watch her marry my brother. “Was that your question?”

The breeze ruffles her hair and she pushes it out of her eyes.

“No.”

She studies me and I stand still and let her look me over and work out whatever she’s pondering. She starts walking down the sidewalk and I fall in beside her.

“All those years,” she begins, then stops.

I nod. “Yeah?”

She chews he bottom lip, then, “All those years, when I saw you around town, I'd smile at you and you’d never smile back, you’d just turn away.”

There’s a bitter taste in my mouth. I realize it’s guilt and regret.

“That’s true.”

She’d smiled at me from the time I was seventeen and until the day after I turned twenty-one. Gavin and I had our twenty-first birthday in Romeo. I’d just fought off my father’s second takeover attempt since ousting him from the company. I was in a hell of a mood and Gavin was ready to party. We’d gone and spent the night at the bar—the one and only time I’ve ever gone on a bender. Gavin went home with a tourist looking for romance in the Town of Love. Not me. For some reason, I stumbled out of the bar at four a.m. and fell asleep on the bench outside the library.

Jessie shook me awake three hours later. She was returning a pile of books to the book drop. When I opened my eyes, the sun felt like a knife prying open my skull.

“Will? Are you okay?” she’d asked.

And because I felt like I was going to die by hangover, it was only natural that she looked like an angel. She gave me that slow, cautious smile and I closed my eyes to block it out.

“Should I call someone? Gavin?” The way she said “Gavin,” breathless and worshiping, sent a howling jealousy through me. Gavin was likely in bed on round number six with his birthday girlfriend and here Jessie was, the woman I’d always wanted, here she was, wanting Gavin.

“What can I do to help?” she asked.

Kiss me, want me, I ached to say. But I was bruised and sore from another corporate battle with my father. And the world’s worst hangover and a six-year-long hard-on for this woman, the one who doesn’t want me, made me say bitterly, “You can help by leaving me the hell alone.”

She gasped and I grew angry at my inability to do such a simple thing as be charming.

“I’m not Gavin,” I added viciously. “So stop smiling at me.” She may smile at me, but she beamed at Gavin.

I got my birthday wish. In the years since, Jessie never smiled at me again. I’d loved her smiles. I’d hated her smiles. But I hated it even more when the smiles stopped.

I look over at Jessie and I’m pulled back into the present.

“Why?” she asks. “After your dad was gone and you were in charge of your life, why didn’t you ever smile at me, or say something nice or tell me…” She fades off and her cheeks turn pink.

We’re near the river and the stone footbridge. She stops and picks a dangling leaf from a nearby maple tree and tosses it into the river. The leaf floats on top of the swirling water and is carried downstream under the bridge. I watch until it’s out of sight around the bend.

“Did you ever notice that people stay in situations that are uncomfortable or intolerable? They stay and don’t try to leave or change. Do you ever wonder why?” I ask.

We move to the grassy edge of the sloping riverbank. The grass curls over into the water and the sun shines golden on the rippling water. A cool breeze comes off the shallow sun-dappled river.

Jessie sighs. “It seems safer to stay with what you know than leave and risk something worse. It’s why I never yelled at my dad or demanded that he talk to me. Because what if he said something I didn’t want to hear? Like he didn’t want me. Or didn’t love me. Silence, as horrible as it was, was better than risking what I was afraid he might say.”

I look over at her downturned face. The sun and shadow play over her bare shoulders and the white lace of her dress. I reach over and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re loved,” I say.

She looks up with wide, shocked eyes.

I smile ruefully. "Look around this town. People light up when they see you coming. The kids love your library story time. The seniors at the retirement home love your visits and book bundles. I’ve had a dozen people stop me and tell me how you brought them books when they were sick and housebound, or helped with their résumé, or helped them learn to do a dozen different things. Half this town is in love with you.”

She laughs and brushes my words aside.

We’re silent for a moment, watching the river pass. Her hand dangles next to mine and I ache to reach out and grab it.

“You know why I never smiled at you, never tried to change?”

She looks at me. “Why?”

“At first I wanted to protect you. Then I wanted to protect myself. I knew how you felt about me. Over the years we made a pattern of how we interacted and the roles we played. I didn’t know how to stop. It felt better to be in an intolerable situation with you than in any situation without.”

A small wrinkle forms between her eyebrows.

“Will…” She reaches out to put her hand on my arm.

“I was afraid that if I tried to change things, that you’d…”

“The risk was worse than the silence,” she says.

I swallow and nod. “That’s right.”

“What changed?” She takes her hand off my arm. I watch as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Things staying the same became infinitely worse than risking rejection.” I glance at her then down at my hands.

“Because Erma said Gavin is my soul mate.”

I look back at her. “No. Because I don’t want to imagine the rest my life without you in it. Also, he’s not your soul mate.”

She shifts from one foot to another, then looks at me with her brows lowered.

“What will you do if it’s proved he is?”

My chest tightens painfully, but I smile through it. “I’ll turn Gothic villain. I’ll kidnap you and keep you locked up in my mansion where I’ll pamper you and give you everything you could ever desire. Books by the thousands, first editions, autographed copies, rare manuscripts. Thirteenth century love poems. I’ll make you mochas with the extra chocolate you always want but never ever ask for. I’ll fill closets with vintage dresses procured from around the world. I’ll give you heaven on a platter.”

Her eyes are wide and slightly glazed, just how they look right before I kiss her.

“There’s only one catch,” I say. “Heaven comes with me, soul mate or not.”

Her eyes clear and she nods. “Right. I uh, I had another stop. Hart’s Chocolates? We should go before they close. I still have to convince you soul mates are real.”

I look again at the river, a leaf flows past, unable to break free from the current.

“Alright,” I say. There’s a hollowness expanding in my chest.

Jessie walks to the footbridge and I step next to her.

“Will?” she turns to me.

I raise my eyebrows in response. “Hmm?”

“I wish…” She shakes her head. Then, “I wish we’d become friends sooner.”

I don’t know what she was going to say before she cut off, but I know that wasn’t it. I don’t remind her of what I said before—that she’s always been my friend.

“And that,”says Gregory Hart, “is how Erma led me to the love of my life.”

Jessie and I are in the chocolate tasting room at Hart’s Chocolates. Gregory, a stout fifty-year-old with a handlebar mustache, pinches his wife Martina on her bottom. She smacks him with her kitchen towel. She’s not quite five feet tall. She has wide brown eyes, streaks of gray in her hair and an infectious smile.

The smell of rich chocolate fills the air. The shop reminds me of the inside of a chocolate box. It’s painted in dark brown, red, and gold. The walls are lined with hot cocoa mixes, foil-wrapped chocolates, and candies. On the far wall there’s a glass case full of freshly made truffles and things like chocolate-covered orange peel and chocolate-coated toffee. As soon as we walked in, my mouth started to water.

Jessie and I are seated at a small tasting table near the back of the store. There are a few marble-topped tables with café chairs, secluded from the rest of the shop where customers can sit and have chocolate and coffee in private.

Since Jessie and I are the only ones in the store, Gregory and Martina were more than happy to share the story of their soul mate connection.

“When Erma said to Gregory he’d find his love on the cocoa farm in Peru where he bought his beans, he flew down and spent six months in the village convincing me to marry him,” Martina says.

Martina and Gregory share a look and then she laughs and smacks him again with her towel.

“How did you convince Martina she was your soul mate?” asks Jessie.

“With chocolate, of course,” Gregory says.

Martina laughs and smiles her wide infectious grin and Gregory turns bright red.

“You’re fated, no? I can see it,” Martina says.

“No,” Jessie says.

“Yes,” I say at the same time.

Martina doesn’t hear either of us. She’s walked over to the truffles and ducked below the counter into the chocolate case. She’s pulled on white cotton gloves and has a delicate white china plate. Gregory brings over two cups of water and two long white scarves.

“We’re going to give you a demonstration of how chocolate and love are alike. You’ll be our guinea pigs for the new class we want to teach,” Gregory says.

Martina has lined six truffles on the plate, two each of three different varieties.

“You’re going to have a blind tasting,” explains Gregory. “Put on the blindfolds, feed each other the chocolates, and take turns saying what you taste. You can describe texture, flavor, memory, emotion, a sensation.”

I look over at Jessie and a bright pink blush travels across her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Gregory, but Will and I aren’t together,” Jessie says.

“Yet.” Gregory winks.

The bell at the front of the store rings, announcing a customer.

“We’ll be at the front. Enjoy,” Martina says. She and Gregory hurry to greet the customer. Gregory sneaks in another pinch and Martina smacks him with her towel. I wonder how many times in the past twenty-five years they’ve reenacted that pinch and whack.

Jessie clears her throat. “We don’t have to do this if—”

“Of course we do. You’re teaching me about true love and soul mates. It’s part of the lesson.”

She purses her lips, but her eyes flicker to the truffles. All six are glossy dark chocolate, rectangular and plump, their flavors hidden beneath the chocolate shell.

“I know you want to,” I say. “And you don’t want to disappoint the Harts. Plus, maybe this time I’ll be convinced. But the only way that’ll happen is if we feed each other the chocolate.”

I hold up the long silk scarf. Jessie’s eyes cloud over. I feel like we’re in the Garden of Eden and I’m offering her the forbidden fruit. Perhaps it wasn’t an apple or a pomegranate, but cocoa.

She eyes the scarf like it’s a snake, but she leans towards me. “Fine. Yes. We’ll do it.”

I smile, feeling elated.

“Together,” she says. She lifts the second scarf.

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. I reach for the glass of water and take a long drink. Then I set the glass back on the white marble. I lean forward in my chair and move the three matching chocolates to opposite sides of the plate.

“Top first. Then middle, then bottom,” Jessie says.

I nod. For some reason, I feel like I’m fifteen and we’re on our first date. A date before she kissed me and said Gavin’s name. Before I ruined any good feeling she might have for me.

My hands shake as I lift the scarf. Her eyes are solemn and watchful. I try to give her a small smile but I can’t make my lips turn up.

I steady my shaking hands as I wrap the white scarf over her eyes and tie it in place at the back of her head. My fingers brush her silky soft hair and I imagine what it would feel like to run my hands through it as she lays under me on my white bedsheets. I pull the knot tight and run my fingers over the scarf, tracing her cheeks, making sure it’s secure. Her lips are a contrasting bright red against the white fabric. The tip of her tongue darts out and she wets her lips. She has no idea how erotic she looks.

“All good? You can’t see?” I manage to say. I take a deep breath of the chocolate-scented air.

“No, I can’t see.” She holds up the scarf in her hand. “Your turn.”

I lean toward her. She reaches out and feels the air between us. Her hands land on my chest. She pulls away, then softly places them on my face. Her fingers drift gently over my skin. She lingers for a moment longer than necessary, and I watch as she draws in a nervous breath. Then she wraps the scarf over my eyes and pulls the fabric tight.

“Can you see?”

“Nothing.” The world is now a grayish blank canvas behind the scarf. My view of Jessie is gone. But I can still feel her next to me. The pull between us is there, even when I can’t see her.

“Ready?” I ask.

I reach for the plate and pick up the first truffle. I hear her do the same.

“Ready.”

I reach out and find her lips. I hold the chocolate to her mouth. She opens and carefully wraps her lips around my fingers and the chocolate. She pulls it free, running her teeth over my skin. I shiver at the sensation. She lets out a quiet sound of pleasure.

Then it’s my turn. She holds the chocolate against my lips and rubs it over my bottom lip. I take it from her hand, softly as a gentle kiss. The dark chocolate flavor explodes in my mouth. I bite into it.

It’s chilies. Chilies and dark chocolate ganache.

Jessie shifts next to me and I hear her let out a soft breath.

“Heat,” she says.

“Passion,” I say.

“Complexity,” she says in a careful, neutral voice.

“Longing,” I say.

I hear her grab her glass of water and take a long swallow. “Let’s try the next,” she says, ignoring my descriptions.

I take a drink to clear the flavor of spiced, heated longing, and reach for the next chocolate.

When I hold the truffle out to her, she takes it with a perfunctory, impersonal bite. I follow her lead and take the chocolate from her fingers with my teeth. The flavors are dark chocolate, bergamot and black tea. They coat my tongue and fill me with a nostalgic warmth.

“Tea,” she says.

I smile. “When you first gave me The Horse and His Boy and I read the Narnia series, I imagined having tea just like they did. Strong and piping hot, at a table with all your friends. I imagined having tea with you too. I was twelve, we talked about books and drank hot tea. In my mind, it tasted just like this.”

The flavor of warm tea lingers on my tongue. I smile at the memory of my twelve-year-old-self wanting to have tea with Jessie.

“What did we say at your imaginary tea party?” Her voice is soft and there’s a whisper of curiosity and connection.

I haven’t thought about those imaginings in years. I never lingered on things I knew couldn’t come true.

“At first, we talked about what books we were reading. When I told you The Voyage of the Dawn Treader was my favorite book, you made a compelling argument that brought me back over to The Horse and His Boy.”

“Did I?” she asks, a smile in her voice. Then, “What did you like about The Voyage of the Dawn Treader?”

I pause, afraid to tell her. But she leans closer to me and her leg presses against mine. I wait, count to five, but she doesn’t pull away.

I begin, “Because Eustace is a horrid, miserable character that no one likes—”

“Rightly so.”

“Rightly so,” I agree. “But then he hits rock bottom and sees how wrong he’s been. He asks forgiveness and he’s given it.” My voice is quiet and I can hear the plea in it, although I don’t know if Jessie can.

“Redemption,” she says. She reaches over and finds my hand, then threads her fingers through mine.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I pause for a moment and feel the warmth of her hand in mine.

She squeezes my hand. "What did we talk about after books?”

I shrug even though she can’t see me. “I was twelve. I told you about how hard things were. In my imagining you were very understanding.” I smile even though she can’t see me.

“It’s funny. When I was that age, I’d sit in the oak tree and read and look at your house.”

“Look for Gavin”goes unsaid.

“I’ve come to the conclusion that reality is always better than fantasy,” I say.

She’s silent a moment, then she says, “Hmm. I think you’re right.”

“Should we try the last one?”

“Let’s.”

She keeps her left hand laced in mine and reaches for the chocolate with her other hand. Slowly, she places the truffle against my lips. When I take it, she rubs her thumb across my lower lip and lets her fingers linger there. I close my eyes behind the blindfold and memorize her touch.

She pulls back. The chocolate melts over my tongue and the flavors slowly unfold. I sigh in recognition.

I take the last chocolate from the plate and hold it up for Jessie. When she takes it, I press my second finger against her lips in the replica of a kiss.

“Red wine,” she says.

It’s dark chocolate with a red wine infusion, and the wine is tinted with the flavor of the wine barrel.

“Oak,” I say.

“Oak,” she agrees.

“Friendship,” I say.

“First kiss,” she whispers.

“First kiss,” I agree.

“Wanting and wishing,” she continues. “A lifetime’s worth of wanting and wishing.”

I stiffen and slowly pull my hand from hers. We’ve been wanting and wishing for two different things. I take the scarf from my eyes and blink at the bright light. Jessie pulls the scarf off and blinks at me. Her cheeks are pink and her eyes have changed. She isn’t looking at me in the same way.

I push the chair back and stand up.

“I still don’t believe in soul mates,” I say stiffly. “I won’t leave you be. I won’t admit you’re meant for Gavin.”

She nods and smooths her hands over her white skirt. “I know. Do you mind if we have one more stop tonight?”

She’s completely composed, while I’m the exact opposite.

I look at my watch. It’s nearly seven. “Alright.”

“Good. I think this one will do the trick. There’s no way you won’t believe after this.”

I shake my head. Not a chance.