My Darling Jane: Chapter 11

On the morning of Erin’s date with Jasper, I wake with dread in the pit of my stomach. It only gets worse as I go through the morning, getting Londyn ready, dropping her off at preschool. By the time I get to the bookstore to start my shift, I’m more worried than ever.

“Why do you look like you’re about to throw up?” Babs asks me.

I groan. “Why do you think?”

She follows me out to the sales floor, where I turn on the lights and power up the register. “By the way you’re freaking out, you’d think you’re the one going on the date.”

I sit down on the stool behind the counter and unpack a book delivery from yesterday. “I’m trying not to think about the fact that I set Jasper up with one of Londyn’s preschool teachers.”

Babs helps me stack the books on the counter.

I sigh. “It’s someone I might run into. If this date goes south, it could be really awkward the next time I pick Londyn up.” And if it goes well? How will I feel then? I shove those thoughts away.

Babs shrugs. “It’s just coffee, right? Not even a real date.”

I press my lips together. A lot can happen in a forty-five-minute, midday coffee meetup. Babs does not know the power of Jasper. He bewitches women. Even Abigail sent me an email after her date and told me how charming he was. Even though he wasn’t a long-term prospect for her, she was impressed by the match and left a review on the website forum for others to read. She also said she’d enjoy having drinks with him again if he wanted.

Babs pats my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve spoken to her about him, right?”

“Yeah.”

“What did she say? Is she a sports fan?”

“Huge, and yes, she’s super excited.”

Before I can get another word out, the door chimes and in walks a man. He’s in his forties, sporting a mullet that’s battling baldness on top. He pauses next to our foyer’s old manual typewriter and caresses the keys with a dramatic flair, like he’s channeling his inner Hemingway.

What really catches my eye is his attire. Despite the summer heat, he’s wearing a long beige overcoat, and from what I can tell, that might be all. His legs are bare, and he’s in flip-flops.

Babs leans over, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

I nod, feeling a sense of impending doom.

“Flasher alert?” Babs asks.

I press my fingers against my temples, foreseeing the headache this day is going to bring. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Maybe he’s just odd.”

With glee, Babs eyes the direction the man goes. “Remember that guy last year? The one you chased down the street? Think it’s him? Should we tail him? I’ve always wanted to be in a spy movie.”

“Just stay on alert. DEFCON 1, Babs.”

She nods, scanning the store like a hawk. “Ready. Operation Flasher is a go.” She grabs the microphone we use to make store announcements.

“Ladies and gentlemen, attention please,” she says over the speakers, her voice dripping with false cheerfulness. “Today, we’d like to welcome the NYPD to the Darling Bookstore. They’re here to keep literature safe! What a wonderful group. We give them free coffee with every visit. Please say hello when you see them. Also, employees, we have a possible F in the store. I repeat, a possible F. Be alert, and thank you for shopping with us!”

F means “flasher.”

Or it could mean “fucker.”

It just depends on who has entered the building, according to Babs.

The announcement echoes through the bookstore, causing a few customers to glance around with raised eyebrows. The man in the trench coat pauses in his tracks, his head cocking as he looks around, maybe searching for a cop. He walks to the science fiction section and browses. Then he looks over at us, and even from several feet away, I see the gleam in his eyes.

“Babs? I don’t think he’s buying the NYPD. I think he’s gonna do it,” I mutter, starting to move from behind the counter, but she pushes me aside.

“You had your fun last time with the twig and berries. This one’s on me. You can thank me later.” She sounds like she’s gearing up for a race.

I watch in amazement as she dashes toward the man just as his fingers start to fiddle with the buttons of his coat. I wince when I see his furry chest and big stomach.

“Stop it, motherfucker!” she yells, her voice echoing around the first floor.

The man’s eyes widen in alarm, his hands freezing mid-unbutton, right at his crotch, as he backs away from her. Babs launches herself at him, tackling him to the ground. Books from the nearby shelf rain down around them.

I leave another employee at the counter as I jog over to them, hoping I can prevent anyone from seeing what’s going on. I’ve got my phone out to dial for the police.

The man lets out a yelp as Babs pins him down. “Sir! No one wants to see your naughty bits! You are disgusting!”

The bookstore goes silent before a few customers erupt into cheers and applause. I guess subtlety is out the window now.

Trying to break free, the man wriggles around, eventually sliding out from under Babs. He scuttles away on his rear end, while I pray no one sees his genitals. He then leaps to his feet and dashes through the aisles. “You haven’t seen the last of me!” he yells over his shoulder as he disappears out the door.

“And it’s only ten in the morning,” I muse.

Babs, unfazed, brushes herself off and checks her reflection in a pocket mirror. “Still got it,” she says with sass as she smooths her hair back into place.

I can’t contain a snort of laughter. The flasher is gross and terrible, sure, but in the world of retail, it’s just another day.

She sashays back to the counter and grabs the microphone like a seasoned MC. “Attention, darlings! Code F is officially over. Our flasher has fled. As a token of our appreciation for your ordeal, please enjoy a complimentary pastry on us. Remember, at the Darling Bookstore, we protect your right to read in peace!”

I shake my head, chuckling. Only here would a flasher become an incident for a pastry giveaway.

Around lunchtime, I sling my heart-shaped purse over my shoulder, ready to dash out for a while.

Babs looks up from a summer-reads display. “Off to spread the word about Cupid’s Arrow?” she asks, her tone light but eyes sharp.

“Yep.”

“And where might that be?” Babs prods, leaning on the counter.

I glance at my phone, buying time. “Cool Beans,” I say nonchalantly, pointing down the street. “They make great sandwiches.”

Babs raises an eyebrow, a knowing look crossing her face. “Isn’t that where Jasper’s date with Erin is?”

I shrug, feigning indifference. “Coincidence.”

But Babs isn’t buying it. She strides over to me. “Jane Darling, are you planning to spy on Jasper’s date?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Maybe because you two got a little too close recently?” she says, a playful smirk on her lips.

I let out a frustrated sigh, wishing I had kept that night to myself. “Okay, I may have influenced their meeting location, but it’s only because I’m worried about my professional relationship with Erin.”

Babs opens her mouth, no doubt ready to rip apart my excuse, but I’m already heading for the door. “I really have to go,” I call over my shoulder, fleeing.

I step out onto the street. Am I really concerned about Erin, or am I just looking for an excuse to keep an eye on Jasper? The thought of him with someone else tightens something in my chest, a sensation I’m not ready to examine too closely.

Walking briskly toward Cool Beans, I tell myself it’s all about protecting my business interests, but deep down, I can’t shake the feeling that it’s personal.

I slip into the coffee shop, the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans mingling with the scent of baked goods. It’s a cute place with lots of bohemian charm. It’s busy, but I manage to find a secluded spot in a little alcove. It’s partially hidden by a decorative folding screen, offering me a place to observe without being seen.

Settling into the chair at the table, I pull out Jane Eyre. As I pretend to read Brontë’s words, my gaze scans the entrance.

Erin walks in. Her long brown hair cascades over her shoulders, framing a face with striking blue eyes and a sweet smile. Today, she’s the picture of casual grace, her movements poised yet relaxed. She has a degree in early-childhood education, and she’s only twenty-three, yet there’s a maturity about her I’ve always liked. Londyn adores her and must be disappointed the bestest-teacher-ever took a half day off today.

As Erin’s gaze sweeps the room, likely searching for Jasper, I slink into the shadows behind the screen. But she’s too preoccupied to notice my presence. I watch as she selects a table near the window.

From my nook, I have an unobstructed view of her table, a perfect spot to observe. My heart twinges with an emotion I can’t quite place as I wait for him to arrive. The anticipation of watching them together is unsettling.

Ugh. I’m officially a creeper.

And why? Because, apparently, my orgasm with Jasper really got under my skin.

I mutter under my breath, “Is this what my life has come to?”

Why am I so invested in Jasper’s date? The questions gnaw at me, but I push them aside. I remind myself this is about protecting my professional integrity, about ensuring Erin’s experience with Cupid’s Arrow is a positive one. But deep down, I know there’s more to it than that.

Erin pulls out her phone and starts to scroll through it as a waitress comes up to her.

Erin glances my way, and I hold my breath for a good ten seconds, until she says something to the waitress and the waitress walks away.

I look up and realize that she was looking at the menu, which is on the wall right over my head. Whew.

Letting out a relieved breath, I’m about to turn to my book when the same waitress comes over to me. “Hi,” she says, pen and pad at the ready. “What can I get you?”

But right at that moment, the door opens and Jasper walks in.

I forget to breathe, because he looks . . . well, perfect. He’s wearing more than the gym clothes I saw him in last time. It’s like he’s making an actual effort, in slim jeans, casual loafers, and a tight-fitting T-shirt. He removes his sunglasses, scrapes a hand through his wayward hair, and I swear, every jaw in the place drops. It’s such an entrance that I roll my eyes.

I want to hate him. I want to find something to dislike about him. But other than possessing more perfect DNA than any single human being should have, there isn’t a damn thing. Sure, I give him a hard time, but it’s my defense mechanism. I’m attracted to him. Who wouldn’t be? It’s nothing.

The clock on the wall above him says 12:00 p.m. exactly. He isn’t even late. I watch closely as he catches sight of Erin. The corners of his eyes crinkle a little, and the smile that spreads across his face is genuine. Like he’s really happy to be in her company. She stands up and gives him a hug, and why do I wish he’d greet me that way? I’m sure it must be amazing to feel those muscles, and I know he smells fantastic.

Focus, Jane.

He slides into the seat next to her, not across from her, without any hesitation, as if he wants to be extra close so he can really connect with her.

“Hello?” the waitress says, actually snapping her fingers in my face.

I forgot she was waiting for me to order. “Oh, um . . .”

“Your order?” she says, sounding annoyed.

“Hot tea and a chicken melt.” The words come out in a low mumble. I don’t want to call attention to myself.

“Huh?” She’s louder now. “I can’t hear you?”

At that moment, Jasper looks around for the waitress. His eyes sweep dangerously close to me.

I stiffen.

“Hello, lady?”

“Hot tea and a chicken melt,” I say softly, punctuating every word.

“Swiss or provolone cheese?”

I don’t answer, because I’m too busy trying to read lips.

She clears her throat.

“Surprise me,” I hiss.

She lets out a huffing sound and heads off. I’ll apologize with a big tip. Right now, I have work to do.

I watch as the two of them converse. It’s easy, friendly. A little flirtatious, from the way she keeps giggling. I strain closer, wishing I could hear what they’re talking about. At one point, she throws her head back and laughs, slapping the table.

Oh, yes, how droll. You’re just so funny, Mr. Romeo.

My surveillance mission feels increasingly like self-inflicted torture. I can almost feel my blood pressure rising, irritation, and . . . jealousy?

No, can’t be.

Then, disaster strikes. As the waitress delivers Erin’s coffee, Jasper glances around the café and his eyes lock onto mine. In a panic, I hoist my copy of Jane Eyre like a protective barrier. Really smooth.

Peeking over the top of my book a moment later, I see that Jasper has turned his attention back to Erin. But now, he’s holding her hand on the table, his thumb tenderly stroking her skin. My jaw drops slightly.

Hand-holding? Already? They’ve barely been here fifteen minutes!

The sight sends a jolt through me, and I find myself grumbling under my breath, “Damn bewitcher.” The words slip out louder than intended, drawing a curious glance from a nearby patron.

I sink back into my seat, my grip tightening on the book. This is ridiculous. I’m supposed to be observing, not getting upset about whatever Jasper’s doing. But there’s no denying the twinge of something more than professional interest at the sight of him with Erin.

The waitress returns with my order, sliding it in front of me with a snippy “Enjoy,” as if she’d rather I choke on it.

“Thanks.” I lift the tea to my mouth without thinking and burn the crap out of my lower lip. I wince and pull away, sloshing some of it on my hand. “Mother—”

I bite my tongue and pluck at the napkin dispenser, trying to get one. Instead, I get an entire pile, which I clamp over my hand.

Peeling the napkin back, I see a blister already starting to form in that fleshy part between my thumb and forefinger. Perfect. Erin gets the touch of adoration, and I get this. I should really run it under cold water before it gets worse.

The restroom is behind me, but if I get up, I’ll have to leave the protection of the screen. And they’ll probably see me. Or maybe they won’t, since they seem to only have eyes for one another.

I sit there, grimacing in pain as Erin now leans into him, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger.

She shows him a picture on her phone, and he inches closer. I grip my book, bracing for a coffee shop kiss. Then my mind goes to the worst-case scenario, a restroom hookup.

It’s his life. He can do what he wants, but if they go to the bathroom, they’ll stroll right past me. I’m practically a human land mine they’re about to step on.

Not that it matters. I’m like a ghost in my own stakeout.

I should be cheering them on. A successful match is the goal. That’s why I’m in this business. I should be throwing confetti.

I take a deep breath, forcing my shoulders to relax. As the matchmaker, I’ve done my part. Now it’s time to step back and let whatever happens happen.

The waitress walks by, balancing a tray. I snag her attention. “Any chance of a back exit?”

She squints at me. “What?”

I gesture toward the rear hallway, raising my voice a notch. “Back exit?”

“Employees only,” she replies curtly before moving on.

I can’t help myself as I reach out, clutching at her arm. “Please, just this once—”

She shrugs me off, annoyance etched on her face. “Absolutely not.” She strides away to another table.

It’s futile anyway. Jasper and Erin are already rising from their table. My eyes dart to him as he scans the café, then down the hallway. I shrink back, a sinking feeling in my stomach.

Instead, he pulls out his wallet, casually placing a bill on the table. He assists Erin with her cropped jacket.

I shove my book into my bag, eyes still glued to them as he opens the door for her. I inch toward their abandoned table, stealing glances through the front window. They walk away, side by side, until they vanish from my sight.

“Whoa, nice tip,” a voice says beside me.

I turn to see the waitress, smiling as she eyes the fifty-dollar bill Jasper left.

Mr. Big Spender . . . I think, wanting to find something to get pissed about. Flashing his money around. I bet it’s because . . .

Of course.

It’s his reason for everything. Sex.

But not in the restroom. Somewhere else.

I rush for the door. Just as I’m about to push it open, I realize I never paid for my own stuff. So much for that big apology tip. Turning back, I reach into my bag and pull out the first bill I find. The waitress is confused as I grab her hand and thrust the money into it. “Here. I have to go.”

She looks down at it. “A dollar? Your order was $12.79.”

“Oh.” I fumble through my purse and find no cash whatsoever. Shit. I hand her my credit card. “Can you ring this up real fast? I’m kind of in a rush.”

“You don’t say,” she deadpans as she moves like a snail back to the counter.

“Put fifty percent on for a tip,” I say, hoping that’ll make her go faster.

I don’t get the same praise Jasper got. She takes all the time in the world, handing me the receipt and my card, glaring at me.

On the sidewalk, I look as far down as I can, but they’re gone.

By the time I’ve walked another block, I come to my senses and exhale. I slow to a stop and shake my head.

I’m an idiot. Completely.

Why do I care so much?

I’m not his boss.

But a part of me thinks that if he did hook up with Erin, then it would prove everything I believe about him.

I’ve just turned to head back to the bookstore when a big hand clamps over my wrist.

It’s Mr. Big Spender himself, a knowing little smirk on his face.

He leans in close to my ear and says, “How was your stakeout, angel?”