Chapter 4 The New Girl

The only reason Beatrice Muller met Marvin Donovan is that someone nearly pushed her into the train tracks.

Bea was in the subway station, waiting for the train that would take her uptown to her job as a salesgirl at Gimbels. As was a habit with her, Bea had been carrying a novel within her overstuffed purse that she'd gotten from the Gimbels bargain rack at the beginning of the summer. When the train showed no signs of arriving, Bea pulled the dog-eared paperback from her handbag and started to read, squinting in the dim light of the underground station.

When someone jostled her, the paperback flew out of her skinny fingers. To hear Bea tell the story years later, that paperback traveled twenty feet into the air to land on the tracks below. (In reality, it was probably more like two or three feet—tops.)

Nineteen-year-old Bea let out an anguished cry. The book was irretrievable on the train tracks. Not only that, but it was her favorite book. Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. The greatest love story of all time, in Bea's opinion.

Bea stepped to the edge, hovering over the tracks, which were littered with food wrappers, coffee cups, and now her beloved paperback. She contemplated lowering herself down there to rescue it.

Then she felt a hand on her arm. She looked up and saw a young man in a white dress shirt. She had always appreciated a well-dressed man, and she also appreciated the way his black hair was combed neatly on his scalp and his green tie matched the exact vivid shade of his eyes. "Excuse me, Miss," the young man said to Bea. "I'd like to replace that book for you."

The man led Bea to a bookstore, which was a short two-block walk from the subway station. They chattered brightly as they walked, and Bea learned that the man's name was Marvin Donovan and that his family owned a used bookstore, where he had worked since coming back from serving in the army.

When Bea walked into Bookland, she fell instantly and hopelessly in love. With the store and with the young man who had brought her there. She gazed dazedly at the rows and rows of books, wanting to sweep them all into her arms. Marv plucked a copy of Wuthering Heights from the Classics section of the bookstore, which then filled an entire bookcase and was not nearly as dusty. Marv later told Bea he knew exactly where it was because it was his favorite book as well. She tried to pay him the ten-cent price of the book, but he refused .

Bea was very late to work that day and it was her third tardy in as many weeks, so Gimbels told her not to come back. But it didn't matter because when Bea and Marv got married six months later, she went to work at Bookland. It was her dream job. And Marv was her dream husband.

They kept that bookstore going through thick and thin. There were times when the books were flying off the shelves and other times when they went a whole day without a sale. More than once, they had to do things they weren't proud of to keep the doors from closing.

But that's a different story.

Over fifty years after Marv gave Bea her copy of Wuthering Heights —the one she kept in her nightstand at all times—Marv was shelving books in the sports section of Bookland when he felt a crushing pain in his mid-sternum. He fell to the ground and was cold by the time Bea got back from having lunch with their daughter.

Soon after, their granddaughter Cassie Donovan started working at the bookstore, to help Grandma Bea out. Of all the children and grandchildren, Cassie was the only one who loved Bookland the way Bea and Marv did. Cassie tried to comfort newly widowed Bea during her shifts at the store, but Bea didn't need to be comforted.

"Marv is still here," she insisted. "His ghost is here with me. Just like Catherine's ghost came back to be with Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights ."

And so Bea continued to insist the ghost of Marvin Donovan haunted Bookland. Whenever a pen rolled to the ground, Bea would pipe up, "Stop making trouble, Marv!" On one occasion, Cassie saw with her own eyes a child's backpack knock a book off the shelf, but Bea persisted in scolding Marv about "messing with the inventory" for a good five minutes.

It was sweet. Bea thought Wuthering Heights was the greatest love story of all time, but Cassie knew the greatest love story of all time was between Beatrice Muller and Marvin Donovan. And when Bea suffered a cardiac arrest five years after Marv died, in nearly the exact same spot where they'd found him, it only cemented in Cassie's head that there would never be a love as strong as the one between her grandparents.

The romance between Bea and Marv is a lot to live up to. That's why Cassie hasn't been on a date in so damn long.

But tonight she's going out with Joel, and it's going to be great. Except Cassie hasn't been on a date in so long, she's not sure what the conventions are anymore. Are jeans and a nice blouse appropriate? Must she wear a dress? How much makeup is the right amount of makeup? And why is she obsessing over this?

"You need more makeup," Zoe tells her in no uncertain terms when they're getting close to the time when Joel will arrive to pick her up. Zoe has agreed to close the bookstore. It's been a busy evening, for some reason, and they can't afford to close early. She needs the money desperately if there's any chance of the store not going under.

Cassie frowns at Zoe. Zoe is the definition of "too much makeup." Her inky mascara is lined with several extra millimeters of black, giving way to purple. The effect makes her eyes pop, but also sort of makes her look like she got beat up.

"Maybe just a little," Cassie concedes. She hates that she cares. She hates that she tugged one of her few sexy dresses out of her closet and slid into it for the purpose of her date. She's supposed to be focusing her energy on Bookland, not on some hot doctor.

"Definitely."

Cassie's purse hangs off the back of the chair behind the desk. She digs through it and retrieves a tube of lipstick.

"No, not that ." Zoe's nose crinkles like Cassie just tried to paint her lips with excrement. "Please don't use that color."

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's lip-colored lipstick. What's the point?"

"It's natural."

"Oh, God ." Zoe rolls her eyes. "Look, do you want me to make you look hot or not?"

Not. Cassie wants to tell her coworker that she's going to go on this date as herself, and not jump through hoops to look like someone she's not. After all, Joel isn't putting on makeup right now. But then she remembers the tingle that went through her when his fingers brushed against hers. "Okay, fine."

Fortunately, there's a lull in customers during which time Zoe is able to quickly fix her makeup. It takes fifteen minutes, and when she holds up Zoe's compact, she's scared of what she'll see. But it turns out, Zoe did a brilliant job. She looks entirely different in the best possible way. Like herself, but a prettier version of herself.

Zoe beams at the sight of her handiwork. "Didn't I do a great job?"

"You did," Cassie admits.

She taps her tube of mascara against her chin. "We should offer this as a service to people who buy books. Like, have a makeup counter."

Cassie stares at her friend. "A makeup counter ?"

"Sure." Zoe grins. "It's not like women are buying books because men are knocking down their doors. I bet lots of our customers would love to get a little makeover. A makeover and a book."

Cassie just shakes her head.

Joel shows up at precisely seven o'clock. Cassie almost doesn't recognize him out of his scrubs, but he looks just as tempting in khaki slacks and a white dress shirt. He's even wearing a dark blue tie that brings out the color in his eyes. He put on a tie for her. She can't remember ever going out on a date with a man who wore a tie to the date. She's relieved she went with the dress this morning.

"Cassie," Joel says, a grin spreading across his face when he sees her. "Are you ready?"

And then he pulls a rose out from behind his back. An honest-to-God rose. That's a new one—none of the guys in their mid-twenties would ever show up with a rose. "Oh," she gasps.

He hands it to her, and again, their fingers brush against each other. And again, she gets that tingle. "I wasn't sure what kind of flowers you like, so…"

"I like roses," she says. Grandpa Marv used to present fresh flowers to Grandma Bea every single week for the duration of their marriage, and she used to put them in the window of the store. But after Grandpa Marv died, there were never flowers in the store again. "Thank you. And you're right on time."

He nods. "I got here a little early, but I figured you were still working so I've been… uh, circling the block." He rubs at the back of his neck. "And now I wish I hadn't told you that."

She laughs. "I'll forget I heard it."

"Would you?"

Cassie glances at Zoe who is rolling her eyes. "Thanks again for locking up, Zoe. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Have fun, you two." Zoe leans back in her seat and flashes her teeth at them. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do. And I mean that, because if I wouldn't do it, it's got to be some really bad shit."

Cassie has no doubt that's true.

The sun is just starting to set when they get outside the bookstore. Cassie loves this time in the fall, when the oppressive heat and humidity of the summer has finally let up, but it's still warm enough to get away with a dress and no jacket in the evening. A gentle breeze lifts the dark strands of hair from her neck. They stroll down the block, and she's unsure of the destination. They texted a few times, and he mentioned the possibility of Indian food, but now she thinks the heavy, creamy Indian dishes she usually likes would make her feel bloated and unattractive.

"Where are we going?" she asks him.

"Punjab Café is just down the block," he says.

"Actually," she says, "what about Giotto's? That Italian place two blocks uptown? "

His eyes darken, almost imperceptibly. "I don't like Italian food."

"Oh." Cassie wants to be agreeable, but in her head, a red flag goes up. Who doesn't like Italian food? American cuisine is so entangled with Italian that he may as well say he doesn't like food . "What about sushi?"

His shoulders sag in relief. "That sounds good."

"But we can't get anything with peanuts," she says. "I'm allergic."

He raises an eyebrow. "Itchy rash allergic? Or bells and whistles to the hospital allergic?"

"Used to be bells and whistles," she says. "It's not as bad anymore. If it's a tiny amount of peanut, I'm fine, but my throat closes if it's too much."

"Do you carry an epi-pen?"

"Yes, of course," she says, although as she says the words, she's not entirely sure. Is it still in her purse? It's been so long since she's had an anaphylactic reaction that she's almost forgotten about it. Maybe she's not even allergic anymore.

As they walk to the sushi bar, Cassie worries about the price tag on this meal. She can't afford a sushi dinner. She can barely afford ramen noodles. On dates in the past, she's always insisted on covering her half of the check—it's a pride thing. But God knows what the check will amount to in a decent sushi restaurant.

But when Joel smiles at her, she decides not to worry about it.

As soon as Cassie walks into the small Japanese restaurant, she sees a conveyor belt carrying small plates of food past customers sitting in cozy booths and larger tables. Zoe had mentioned there was a conveyor belt sushi place nearby, but this is the first time she's ever tried it. She and Joel snag a booth where a train of sushi plates travels past them, tantalizing them with California rolls and sashimi hidden under glass covers. Cassie watches the plates go by as they wait for their waters.

"I love the concept of conveyer belt food," she says.

"I agree," Joel says. "All food should be available this way."

"Little cheeseburgers, traveling by on a conveyer belt," she muses.

"Four little buffalo wings."

"A handful of French fries."

"Six onion rings."

"I think I should close the bookstore," Cassie says, "and open up a Conveyer Belt Everything restaurant."

He grins at her and she swoons a bit. "Brilliant."

She's only partially kidding. She suspects she'd make more money if she did so.

"The salmon plates are discounted." She studies the menu. "Only three dollars a plate! That's a great deal."

A waiter comes by to deposit two glasses of water on the table. Cassie notices his glass has a suspicious smudge on it, which makes her worry about the quality of the raw fish, but she decides to live dangerously. She's yet to have food poisoning during her time living in Manhattan, which makes her think she may have developed a tolerance to the particular bacteria that inhabit the restaurants and food carts sprinkling the city .

As soon as the waiter leaves, Joel's brows knit together. "Don't get what's discounted. Get what you like."

"Hmm." Cassie takes a sip of her water. "You don't know what the finances of a bookstore owner look like."

"Right, but…" His fingers play with the napkin in front of him. "This dinner… it's on me. I'm paying. So you should get whatever you want."

She allows her eyes to meet his. "Usually I pay for half."

"Not tonight." He shakes his head. "I asked you out, so I'm paying. Also, I'm not the kind of jerk who would make his date pay for half the dinner."

"But—"

"Not negotiable." A smile touches his lips. "Don't worry about it. I'm the hot doctor, remember? I can afford to treat you to dinner."

She leans back against the cushion of the booth, knowing she won't win this argument and not sure why she's even trying. "Okay."

"So like I said, get whatever you want. Order their best wine."

Without meaning to, she giggles. "Conveyer belt wine?"

He laughs. "Now that is a great idea."

She suspects if she opened up a conveyer belt wine store, she could retire early.

Cassie knows she should be scoping out the sushi, but instead, she finds herself staring across the table at Joel. God, he's sexy. She gets that tingle again, this time through her whole body. He's staring at her too, a smile on his lips that she suspects mirrors her own. She wonders if he'll kiss her at the end of the night.

She hopes he does.

Actually, she wishes he would kiss her now. Who came up with that rule about a kiss at the end of a date? What a stupid rule. Because now she just has to sit here, thinking about kissing him. How can she digest her food with those thoughts circling her brain? No, the kiss should be first .

She should tell him about her brilliant idea. This seems like something he ought to know about.

"Joel!"

Cassie jerks her head up. A stocky man in baggy jeans and a T-shirt with a shaved skull is approaching their table, a big grin on his face. He doesn't stop until he gets right up in front of them, and the guy claps Joel on the back.

"How're you doing, Broder?" the guy says. "It's been… shit, how long? A year? Two years?"

Joel smiles, although his jaw visibly tightens. "Hi, Rob. Good to see you."

"You still at the hospital?" the man, Rob, asks.

"Same old, same old." Joel shrugs. "You still working at the clinic?"

"Yeah, but I hate it. Looking for other stuff." Rob's eyes stray to where I'm sitting. A smile spreads across his lips. "And I bet I know who this is. It's great to finally meet you. I swear, sometimes I felt like Joel wouldn't shut up about how wonderful you are. The perfect woman. I know he's in love with you, but give it a rest, right?"

The color drains out of Joel's face. "Rob…"

"You two must be getting married soon, huh?" Rob lets out a cackle. "Sorry, I'm probably speaking out of turn, but Joel needs to know with a girl as beautiful as you, he's going to have to give you a ring sooner rather than later. And he's already kept you waiting long enough, from what I've heard. Am I right, Francesca?"

Francesca.

Who the hell is Francesca?