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I glance down at the message from Mara as it comes in, smirking to myself before I dart across the street. She’s not wrong, I guess. Our weekend plans would make the perfect plot for one of the thrillers we love so much.
I shove my phone into my purse, making a mental note to respond to it when I get out of the interview, and stare up at the bookstore in front of me.
Spines and Wines.
My fingers are like icicles as I squeeze them into fists, pulsing them twice before I pull the ends of my hair over my shoulders, smoothing it down and puffing out a breath.
It’s going to be fine.
They’re going to love you.
My sister’s voice rings in my ears. Tucking my purse over my arm, I stride toward the door of the bookstore and pull it open. The place is cozy, with plants hanging in the windows and warm, wooden shelves as far as the eye can see.
A woman behind the counter, with a golden hoop piercing through her nose and her orange hair cut into a mullet, smiles at me. “Welcome in.”
“Hi.” I approach the counter, where a fat, gray tabby cat lies, purring happily as the woman strokes her side. “I’m here for an interview.”
“Oh, right.” Her eyes widen along with her smile. “I’m Mary, the manager. Nice to meet you.”
My worries fade instantly, already at ease in her presence. “Nice to meet you, too. I’m Lena.”
“Can I get you anything to drink?” She points at the oversized chalkboard behind her with their options painted in pretty, white script. Tea, coffee, wine, and beer.
“I’m okay. Thank you, though.” My stomach rumbles, and I pray she doesn’t hear it, too self-conscious to drink during the interview. “It’s so cute in here.”
She smiles, glancing around the room lovingly, and it’s so completely obvious how much she adores the place. “I could die happy here,” she says with a laugh. “And if I don’t get a new employee soon, I just might.” She rubs her hands together with a deep inhale, looking around at the counter. “Okay, cool. Well, if you want to browse the shelves or have a seat, I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Him?” Shoot. She’s not the one interviewing me. Just like that, my anxiety is back. I relaxed too soon.
“Oh, right. Yes. Our owner.” Her smile goes somewhat stiff. “He’s… Well, you’ll see. He likes to do the interviews himself. I’ll tell him you’re here, and he’ll be right out.” She picks up the phone to her right and presses a button.
I take a step back, and the cat lazily lifts its head to look at me, then opens its mouth with a wide yawn and rests again, entirely at ease. Her loud purrs fill the quiet space.
“Your interview is here,” Mary says into the phone softly, her voice so low I can hardly
hear her. “Okay.” She places the phone down and looks back at me. “He’s in the middle of something right now, but he’ll be out soon.”
I nod and take a seat in one of the oversized maroon wingback chairs next to a table behind me. It’s comfortable, but I’m not. I can’t decide how to sit. I don’t want to be seen slouching, or pushed all the way back in the seat so my feet don’t reach the ground, but perching near the edge feels too desperate. In the end, I settle on sitting in the middle of the seat, so my feet can reach the ground comfortably, and placing my purse in my lap.
I adjust my hair and smooth my shirt, trying not to appear too anxious as I wait for the mysterious owner.
What feels like an eternity later, I hear the sound of footsteps crossing the quiet bookstore. I sit up straighter, clearing my throat and placing my hands in my lap carefully, trying and failing to stop the nervous jittering of my leg.
When a man comes into view, he’s not looking at me but at his phone instead. His head full of dark hair is tilted downward so it’s all I can see. He’s tall with an average build and olive skin, and, when he finally looks up, shoving his phone into his pocket, I can’t help noticing the way his brown eyes drift over me as if not really seeing me at all.
“Lena Ortega?”
I nod and stand, extending a hand. “Hi. Yes. It’s so nice to meet you. Thank you for doing this today.”
He takes my hand briefly, as if touching me might be causing him physical pain, then retracts it. “Memphis Reed. Can I get you something to drink?”
I shake my head. “Oh, no. Thank you, but I’m okay. I’m sorry, did you say your last name is read? How cool. Fitting, I mean.” I gesture around me. “With the bookstore.” Squeezing my lips together, I will the word vomit to stop.
“Reed with two e’s,” he says simply, not looking at me as he approaches the counter where Mary has a paper cup waiting for him. “Cream?”
“Already in it.” She gives him a small smile.
“Thanks.” He grabs the cup and leads the way to a small table in the corner near a window
When he sits down, he pulls out his phone again. I sit down in shock, trying not to stare at him as I feel the weight of how badly this is going. But why? What have I done? Do I have food in my teeth? Impossible. I triple-checked.
Does he have an issue with plaid dresses? I sneak a quick glance down at my outfit. Or my simple, black ballet flats? Am I overdressed? Under, perhaps?
When he places the phone face up on the table, I realize we’re staring at my résumé on his screen. Blood rushes from my face. I’ve been panicking over nothing.
“So, tell me, Ms. Ortega, why do you want to work at Spines and Wines?” The scent of his coffee hits my nose as he pulls the lid off, inspecting it with a careful sniff, yet not casting a single glance my way.
I just want to leave. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this uncomfortable.
“Um.” I squeeze my hands together under the table. “Well, I love books, always have. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a librarian.”
He looks up at me from behind dark brows, skeptically, then back down at his coffee cup as he takes a sip.
“And,” I go on, “well, I’ve just moved to the area and started to look for jobs—”
“What brought you to the area?” he asks without looking up.
“Um, I…” I trail off, trying to decide how to say, A messy and terrible divorce after a five-month marriage at just twenty-four years old and the loss of the life I’d always imagined, without sounding pathetic. “I just needed a change of scenery, I guess. I grew up here and my parents still live in town, so I decided to come home and regain my bearings.”
“So you aren’t planning to stay long term?” For the first time, his eyes meet mine.
“No, I will,” I say. A potential lie, but I suspect I’m not getting this job anyway, so does it even matter? “I’m planning to stay here. I had my fun out of state and realized how much I missed this place, you know?”
I glance over my shoulder at the free-spirited Mary. Perhaps her appearance is the reason he insists on doing all of the interviews himself now. If he has such a problem with my appearance, surely he’s bothered by hers as well. If plain black flats and knee-length plaid dresses are inexcusably offensive to him, I can’t imagine he approves of her brightly colored hair, overalls, and crop top. Maybe someone else hired her, and he’s miserable over it. Enough so that he’s not taking any chances with other hires. What would he prefer I be wearing? I wonder. Jeans and a dress shirt, like him? A turtleneck sweater and tweed jacket?
Apparently, feeling
judged brings out my petty side, but I can’t help it. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me. Or rather, the way he won’t.
We both seem to know this is a waste of our time, yet neither of us is impolite enough to say so. Not yet, anyway.
He takes another sip of his coffee just as his phone begins to buzz. He stares down at it, but dismisses the call, quickly sending a text. There are no apologies offered for the disruption.
“Do you read?”
The question catches me off guard, and I can’t help the edge to my tone. “Of course.”
“What do you read?”
“Thrillers, mostly. An occasional nonfiction, romance, or historical. I used to be really into fantasy, but I haven’t read it much since I was a kid. But I’d be able to give a wide range of recommendations to your customers. I’m active on social media, too, so I always know what’s being talked about.” I gesture toward an empty space in the floor setup. “One of my favorite bookstores in my old city had a table just for what was trending online. If you wanted to try something like that, I’d be happy to help.”
He grimaces at me, his upper lip literally curling with disgust. “What’s trending matters very little to me. I care about what’s good.”
“Taste is subjective,” I say with a soft breath, shocked by his manners.
“What would you recommend for me? If I came in and asked you what to read.” He leans forward over the table, challenging me.
“Well, what do you like?”
“Never read a book before,” he says with a quick shake of his head. “No idea where to start. Come on.” He snaps his fingers in quick succession. Snap, snap, snap. “Recommend something, Ms. Full of Recommendations. What’s in?”
Sweat gathers at my hairline as I stare at him in utter disbelief that this is happening. “Um, well, if you prefer thrillers, Riley—”
“I don’t know what I prefer. I just told you.” He stands up from the table, shaking his head. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Ortega.”
“Wait. What just happened? Are we done?” I follow him with my eyes as he walks away.
“I’m afraid so. I’ve learned all I need to. Feel free to ask for a coffee on your way out. On the house.”
With that, he disappears in between the shelves of books. I stare at his path in complete
shock. Then the anger hits.
What kind of interview was that?
What the hell is his problem?
I stand, gathering my purse and pulling on my jacket, and jump when I hear Mary’s voice behind me.
“Sorry about him.”
I turn, accepting the coffee cup she’s handing me. “Is he always like that?”
“A ray of sunshine, you mean?” she asks with a chuckle. “Most of the time, yeah. I should’ve warned you, but I didn’t want to give you…er, what’s the opposite of rose-colored glasses?” She laughs again. “Doesn’t matter.” She waves away the question when I don’t answer. “He’s a good boss. Pays well, isn’t too picky about days off. He just wants things done his way.”
“Well, it doesn’t seem like I’ll have to worry about that,” I say with a sigh, glancing at the door. “Thank you, though. And thank you for this.” I lift up the cup of coffee.
“No problem.” She steps back and turns away, then spins to face me again. “Oh. The answer is Of Mice and Men, by the way.”
I stare at her.
“To the recommendation question, ...
