I got to the bookstore just in time to get a cup of coffee with Rhea before she left for her date.
“It’s not a date, Ani!” she yelled over her shoulder as she walked out. “And don’t forget to tally the stocklist.”
I groaned. Inventory was my least favourite part of this job. (Yes, I know I am studying to be a lawyer. Shut up.) I leafed lazily through the pages of the inventory register for a few minutes until the lines and numbers blurred into nothingness. I slapped it shut and threw it inside the drawer for next-week Avani to deal with, and headed over to two giggling young girls huddled over a book in the Romance aisle. It was HD Carlton’s latest dark romance. Needless to say, I’d already read it and knew exactly what the pair was giggling about. I smiled and started talking to them about other romance books that might be a bit more suited to young reading. The girls seemed bewildered but warmed up to my suggestions after a bit. This must have gone on for about half an hour when I heard the doorbell ding. A familiar whiff of aftershave hit me.
“Hello …” the voice called out.
I ducked.
Again?! WTF! He can’t even see you from where he’s standing! But the girls now staring at you sure can.
“Is anyone at the counter?”
Stand back up. Words. Use your words.
“Excuse me? Is anyone …”
“She’ll be right with you, sir,” I heard Martin’s voice. “Sorry, she’s a little shy and awkward. Avani! Someone is looking for youuuu …”
Fucking Martin. Remind me to buy eclairs from the neighbouring bakery tomorrow and tell him they were better than his.
Use. Legs. Walk. Now.
“Sorry, I was at the back. Didn’t hear you. Hi!” I said cheerily. Maybe a little too cheerily.
Why were the words coming out all squeaky?
“Hi.” He was smiling.
“How can I help you?”
“I’m looking for a present for my niece.”
“Oh, how sweet. How old is she?”
“She’s about to be four and already loves books. I’m worried that when she grows up, she’s going to turn into a nerd who works at a bookstore or something.”
Wow. This man is suddenly five per cent less hot.
“I mean … not like that’s a bad thing …” His face changed. He cleared his throat.
Was he nervous? I forced a smile and directed him to the Children’s section.
“Lemme know if you need help.”
I walked back to the register. What an ass. Speaking of … No, I hadn’t checked him out. Broad shoulders. Sharp nose. Clean shave this time, no stubble. Whatever. I don’t mind being The Nerd Who Works at a Bookstore. That’s going to be the title of my autobiography, where a certain hot man mysteriously trips and falls and breaks his perfect nose in chapter twelve.
It was his tone. He had said it like it was a joke. Like it wasn’t enough. Not good enough anyway, because you can’t wear expensive suits and shoes and fancy watches to go to work at a bookstore.
I took my seat at the counter, opened the drawer and took out the inventory register. Might as well ruin my mood all the way since it was already halfway there.
A few minutes later, I caught a whiff of his aftershave again.
“Do you like rock music?” Rude Hot Guy was making small talk as he stood at the counter with the books he’d picked up.
“You don’t have to make small talk to cover up the opinion you’ve already formed of me. I’m a nerd who works at a bookstore. There obviously can’t be more to me than just that. And that will be 1,499 total. You can add an extra picture book on my behalf. Happy birthday to your niece.”
“That’s not what I meant. You’re –”
“Is that all?” I cut him off mid-sentence.
“Er … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
He waited for me to respond.
I glared at him.
“I just like your –”
“Here’s your change. Unless you want to walk away without collecting it this time too.”
Mid-sentence again. Boom. And I didn’t stop there. I left the change on the counter and walked to the café.
Fuck inventory, I raged within. And I’m so glad I didn’t waste my Black Chikankari Kurta on this guy. He barely even deserved the Guns N’ Roses tee …
Oh … My tee … That’s what …
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” I jumped as Martin leaned over the coffee counter and whispered conspiratorially into my ear.
“Tell anyone what, Martin?” I asked sharply.
“That you’re working very hard to make sure the store makes zero sales and people never come back.”
“Shut up. He’s bought books both times he’s walked in.”
“I see we’re tracking someone’s visits. Have a li’l crush on the hot-suited guy, do we?”
“Nonsense.” I looked around the store, but Rude Hot Guy had left. I turned towards Martin and said, ‘I’m just hoping he comes back so I can apologise to him for being an ass today.”
“My, my … Look at Avani feeling remorse for snapping. You’re mean to me all the time, bitch.”
“Takes one to know one.”
Rarely did Martin laugh the way he did just then. The foundation of our friendship was built on uninhibitedly roasting each other – and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I spoilt him with Shanta Tai’s famous puran polis and he spoilt me with the world’s best croissants and cappuccinos. If I was being honest, everything baked and roasted and brewed by Martin was the best in the world. And snapping – that was my love language for my people. The people I loved.
As to why I was skulking around the store wrapped in my Guns N’ Roses tee and guilt? Because I might not be the friendliest face in most rooms, but I generally wasn’t mean to people I didn’t know either. Especially to customers.
Now, how was I to find this guy and apologise to him? Was it that big a deal? Why did I even care?
Excerpted with permission from Too Good To Be True, Prajakta Koli, HarperCollins India.
