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“So?” Joe asked, as soon as the customer Nile had been ringing up when he walked into the bookstore was out the door. There were still a few other customers around: two undergraduates idly browsing the second-hand section, and one older white woman – either a tourist or maybe new faculty – reading something she’d picked up from the battered oak shelves that held the history books, her eyebrows climbing as she turned the pages. There was a definite theme to everything in Andy and Quỳnh’s store, and it matched the rainbow trim on the sandwich-board sign Nile had put out when she’d opened this morning. Nile was pretty sure it was fifty-fifty whether the woman ended up buying the book, or whether she stalked out. Some people couldn’t read signs.
“So, what?” she replied.
“If you’re going to betray me like this, I expect some intel in return,” Joe said, pointing at the Starbucks cup she had stashed under the counter. He put his other hand on his heart while he said it, affecting a truly mournful look. Anybody who hadn’t been buying breakfast at his café three times a week for the last two years would think he was legitimately feeling betrayed.
“I don’t know, man, it’s a Starbucks,” Nile said. “They’re all the same, that’s the point.”
“Yeah, but there’s got to be a crack in the veneer. Something we can use to take it down.”
“Look, you don’t have to worry about losing me as a customer, but I’m not going to war for you against some poor asshole being paid minimum wage to sell shitty coffee.”
“Who said anything about war?”
“I was there when you found out who’d got the lease on the old hardware store,” Nile reminded him. She waved over his shoulder, through the main window, at Booker, who was walking past with his usual crew – oh, no, only six today, one of his Wednesday dogs must be out of town with its owners. Booker had been there too when they’d all found out, and he and Joe had got halfway into a fantasy about planting something foul-smelling under the floorboards until Andy had managed to change the topic. “Relax, Joe. A bunch of the college kids are going to go there for their frappuccinos, but nobody’s giving up your pastries for Starbucks. And don’t you have a store to run?”
Joe eyed her meaningfully, and then the spot where she’d stashed the cup. “Celeste’s going to be fine until the after-school rush.”
“I told you about pumpkin spice,” Nile said, only a little guiltily, following his gaze. Then the conversation paused as the browsing woman made up her mind and came up to buy the book; it was a history of queer domesticity. She did ask for a paper bag for it, though. Small steps.
“At least tell me who’s running it,” Joe said once she’d gone. “A college kid? Someone who knows what they’re doing?”
“Some Italian guy. I guess he could be a graduate student?” Joe had gone very still all of a sudden. Nile squinted at him. “Something wrong?”
“No,” Joe said defensively. “What did he look like?”
“He – you know what, there he is right now.” Nile nodded to the window, where Italian Starbucks Guy (distinguishing features: big blue-green eyes, a Nose) was ambling past. Two years ago she would have found this a really unnerving coincidence, but it turned out small college towns were just like that. Joe turned to look, and then, in a sudden and surprisingly graceful motion, vaulted the counter. Nile drew in breath to say “What the fuck, Joe,” but then the door jingled because Italian Starbucks Guy was entering the store, and customer service mode took over: she smiled at him instead. He looked around like he hadn’t realised he was entering a bookstore before he made eye contact.
“Hello,” he said, coming right up to the counter. It took everything Nile had to not look down at where Joe was definitely crouched next to her legs. Italian Guy did a slight double-take which convinced her for a horrified second – she didn’t know why she was horrified, she wasn’t doing anything weird – that he’d seen Joe, but what he said was “I think I saw you this morning?”
“Uh – yeah! Yeah, yeah you did, you definitely did,” Nile said, aware she was talking too fast. “Can I help you? Are you looking for something?”
“Actually…” he said, looking thoughtful. “Do you carry anything on philosophy? Or religion?”
“Well, let me show you,” Nile said, coming around the counter, and mentally crossed her fingers that Joe would do the smart thing and leave out the side door which opened onto the arcade instead of the street. She could go by the bakery after her shift and find out what the hell that had been about.
In service of this very sensible plan, she made determined conversation in the furthest corner of the store from the counter, where the humanities books were helpfully located. She found out that Italian Guy’s name was Nicky (short for something, but Nile figured what people told you their name was, was what they wanted you to know their name was), that like Nile he was a graduate student (but in philosophy, not art history), and that they definitely didn’t have the book he was looking for but that Nile could order it for him.
“You know, it’ll probably take a week to come in,” she told him reluctantly as she came back around the counter, hoping Joe was gone. “People think sometimes it’s going to be like ordering online…”
“It’s no problem,” Nicky said, smiling. “I would rather give you my business than Amazon.”
Nile failed to stop herself saying “Oh, hmmmm,” in a decidedly skeptical tone of voice. It was probably due to the fact that her toe had bounced off something with the texture of, say, a human leg, because Joe hadn’t left yet.
“You find that surprising?”
“It’s just that, uh…” she squinted at her screen. “The author’s name was G-e-a-r-i –”
“Two Es.”
“G-e-e-r-i-n-g, got it, here we go. It’s just that, uh, I don’t know if you’re aware, a lot of people were upset about Starbucks opening up in town. Doesn’t really fit the vibe, you know?”
“Oh, I see.” There was almost a hint of embarrassment in Nicky’s eyes, but his jaw firmed up. “Well, I don’t really want to get into an argument with you about it, but you said you are also a graduate student, and here you are, so I am sure you understand about stipends, and –”
“And needing to work, yeah, I do.” Nile hit enter on the order. “But also a friend of my runs the bakery on Plumtree Street, full disclosure.”
“I see,” said Nicky, and had the grace to let it drop there. “Thank you for ordering the book. A week, you said?”
“About that. Do you want us to email, or call?”
Nicky gave her his phone number, and turned to go – then turned back. “There was – when I came in here, I thought I saw someone else in the store. A man about my height –”
“Oh, he went out the other door,” Nile lied blithely, hyper-aware of Joe’s absolute silence in the proximity of her thigh. “That was my friend who runs the bakery, actually. Joe. You should drop by sometime, see how good your competition is.”
This seemed to flummox Nicky beyond anything Nile would have expected; his jaw worked for a second or two before he said, very weakly, “I’m sure it’s very good,” and then left at a speed so fast you could fairly call it fleeing. He shot right past Quỳnh, who was striding in the main door, red coat swirling about her ankles. Nile had learned that you knew it was fall in this town when Quỳnh got out her red coat.
“It’s a lovely day for you to go and do your marking,” she greeted Nile. “Or are you done? Do you get the evening off?”
Nile groaned. “I am so not done. There are three hundred and fifty students in the intro course this semester.”
“Is he gone?” Joe’s voice floated up, followed by the man himself unfolding to his normal height.
Quỳnh, to her credit, didn’t turn a hair. “Why are you hiding behind my shop counter?”
“The guy managing the Starbucks came in here and he lost his mind,” Nile explained helpfully.
Joe scratched his head. “I didn’t lose my mind, I just…uh…”
“What, thought he was going to challenge you to a duel?” Quỳnh suggested, her eyes dancing.
“We hooked up,” Joe said, very fast. “Last week – I thought he said he was a new grad student, I didn’t get his name.”
Quỳnh cackled unashamedly. So did Nile, but when she was done, she said “He is a new grad student. He just has a second job. He came in here because he thought he saw you.”
Joe scrubbed a hand over his face. “Did you tell him I run the bakery?”
“Yeah,” Nile admitted. “Which I guess is why he ran out like someone was chasing him.”
Quỳnh was still laughing, breathless little snorts of amusement. “You hid, Joe? What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Apparently that the first hot and interesting man I’ve met in about two years who was also interested in me is now my mortal enemy!”
Nile and Quỳnh made eye contact, a wordless glance that said: this is going to be extremely dramatic. And probably very funny.
“Well, good luck with that.” Nile patted him on the shoulder. “Like Quỳnh said: my shift is over, and I have marking to do.”
“I’m not going to throw you out of the store,” Quỳnh said, taking off her coat, “but don’t you have your own store to get back to?”
“He left Celeste in charge.”
“On her own? For the after-school rush?”
“It’s not the –” Joe looked at the grandfather clock against the far wall Andy had spent half of last year restoring, swore in Arabic, and made his own rapid exit.
“Poor Joe,” Quỳnh said, not unsympathetically, as the door closed behind him.
“I told Nicky – Starbucks guy – I told him he really had to check out the bakery,” Nile said, gathering her own things. “Guess we’ll see how brave he is.”
“Tell me anything you hear,” Quỳnh instructed her.
“The same at you,” Nile agreed, sharing one last only slightly gleeful grin, and then let all thoughts of mortal enmity over coffee fall from her mind: if she got on her bike right now, she might get to enjoy a fall sunset once her marking was done. Which would make today, all in all, a pretty good one.
Well, for her, anyway.