The Love Scribe by Amy Meyerson

Author:Amy Meyerson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Park Row Books
Published: 2022-12-06T20:42:42+00:00

17

Same Time Next Week

It became their mantra. Their parting phrase. Their tradition. Also, their boundary. When Duncan motioned goodbye, voicing those familiar words, Alice heard a door shutting to remain closed until she returned to his shop the following week. She trained herself not to think about him during the time between, as though he only existed within the walls of Willow Bindery & Paper Goods. Since she’d never seen where he lived, never witnessed him interacting with cashiers at the supermarket, waiters at restaurants, bartenders, it was easy to imagine that he never did these things, that he was just a bookbinder. Easier anyway. The brain was a powerful muscle, one Alice couldn’t control as well as she hoped.

She found her mind drifting to Duncan at inopportune times. With clients. At her desk. When she was asking guests if they preferred red or white. By late July, Santa Barbara’s wedding season was in full swing. With Alice’s cutbacks to make time for her writing, she was exclusively working those events. Often she didn’t even realize her thoughts had wandered from the demands of these over-the-top receptions to Duncan until she stood a moment too long at a diner’s side with a bottle of each.

“I said white,” a man corrected as she began to fill his glass with red.

“I told you I don’t drink,” another snapped when he saw a full glass before him, as though she was intentionally taunting him.

As she sat across the table from a client who was delineating a very long and very unsuccessful dating life, she found herself visualizing Duncan’s strong, ink-stained fingers, wondering what they might feel like if they stroked her hair.

“Alice? Did you hear me?” her client asked.

“What?” Alice sprang back into the present. “Sorry. I just started to get an image for your story. Do you mind repeating yourself?” That was proving to be a good lie.

When she and her mother watched a movie they’d rented, Alice saw Duncan’s emerald eyes, during a close-up of green eyes on screen. This made her think of Duncan’s hair, the way its deep brown accentuated those eyes, which made her wonder what his hair would look like if it wasn’t fashioned in a ponytail, how it might change his face, which made her think of his mouth, his voice, the way he said his own name, Duncan, and the way he said hers, Alice, until the credits rolled and she had not registered anything else about the film.

Bobby clicked off the TV and looked over at her daughter, misty-eyed. “Wasn’t that wonderful?”

“It was.” Which happened to be true, even if Alice wasn’t talking about the movie.

After the film, Bobby walked Alice to the door. In the past, Alice might have stayed over in her childhood bedroom, not wanting to make the late-night drive back to Santa Barbara. In the past, they would have driven down the hill the next morning to their favorite Mexican bakery, where they would have been in no rush to part, no rush to begin their day.

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