Books, Merlot and Blood

I was quietly sitting behind the counter at my little bookstore reading reviews on the latest releases.

James was idly picking up books from the top ten section, as he had done every Friday afternoon for the last three years.

“Hi, Sally. Just this one today,” he said, putting the new Jack Reacher novel on the counter.

“Nice choice! I really liked this one,” I said putting it in a bag and ringing it up.

“What are you up to this weekend?” James asked, going through our regular routine.

“Not much, just putting books away,” I laughed. “Have a great afternoon.”

“Actually Sally, um…” James stumbled.

I looked up feeling a bit confused about why the conversation was extending more than our typical superficial pleasantries.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go out to dinner with me?” His usual calm demeanour was replaced with a shy, awkward teenager.

I was taken aback for a moment but a little voice in my mind said Go out and do something!

“Sure,” I said with a smile.

“How’s tonight?” he asked.

“Wow. Um. Well.” I couldn’t come up with an excuse. “Tonight’s fine. I close at five.”

“I’ll pick you up at six then?”

“Sure.”

I wasn’t looking for an excuse to not go out with James but, as an introvert and being in the store all week, my Friday nights were typically spent in my small apartment upstairs with a glass of wine and watching TV and winding down.

I stepped outside the store right on six to see James get out of his car. He opened the passenger door and I sat down on the leather seat of his black sports car.

“How was your afternoon?” He asked as we pulled out.

“Yeah good. A few mums came in with their kids after school and bought a heap of books,” I replied. “Yours?”

“Just normal but I got an early mark.”

He parked on a street in a nice part town with grand buildings featuring bridal stores and high-end brands in the shop windows.

I started to open the car door, but James was there opening it before I got it fully open.

“Thanks,” I said as he took my hand, helping me out of the very low seat.

“I hope you like this restaurant. A friend owns it and I come here much more than I should, but the food is great,” he said excitedly.

It was a French restaurant with candle lit tables and maroon and wood décor.

He nodded his head to the chef in the open kitchen as we walked in the door and walked up the stairs to a mezzanine level with a large booth.

As we sat down a waiter asked if we’d like a drink.

“A bottle of Merlot, please,” James said. “Is that ok with you?” he asked me.

“Yeah, that’s great,” I said, suddenly feeling not fancy enough for the restaurant.

Luckily, the conversation came easily as we chatted about books, and life.

We were on our second bottle of Merlot and halfway through our main meals when the why are you still single question was broached.

“You’ve been coming in for years, so this does seem a bit out of the blue,” I said.

“I was married but we split up over a year ago. It was a bit messy and painful, but reading has always helped me escape and seeing you was a nice little escape, too.” He sounded embarrassed. “What’s your story?”

“It’s not very exciting. I haven’t met anyone that I’ve clicked with and most of my relationships haven’t lasted longer than six months. I guess over the last few years I’ve given up and just been happy to do my own thing,” I said with a shrug.

“The book shop would keep you pretty busy?” he asked.

“Yeah, it does ok but not well enough to have a lot of staff. What do you do for work?” I asked, wanting to move the focus from myself.

“I work across the road from your store. I own a small architecture firm.”

“The architecture firm across the road is not a small firm,” I said with a laugh. The firm owned the entire block with hundreds of people coming and going through the big glass doors.

“It’s doing ok,” he said humbly.

After a beautiful dinner and too much wine James ordered a taxi and we walked downstairs.

“What about your car?” I asked.

“I live in the apartment building next door to the restaurant. It’ll be fine,” he said.

As I took a step towards the taxi my high heel caught on the edge between the restaurant and the footpath sending me sprawling on the cement.

I pulled my skirt down over my knickers in embarrassment and James helped me back up to my feet. My high heel had snapped off and blood was trickling down my leg from a gash on my knee.

I wanted to cry. Not due to the pain but I felt so stupid. I wanted to disappear.

I rushed into the taxi trying to escape the situation, but James hopped in beside me.

We got out of the taxi and he helped me unlock my door and through the store.

As I started to hobble up the stairs out the back, he swooped his arm under my legs and carried me up the stairs.

Gently sitting me on my lounge he asked, “Do you have a first aid kit?”

“The kitchen cupboard,” I said.

He cleaned off the cut, that turned out to not be very deep, and patched it up with a plaster.

“I had fun tonight,” he said, looking up from the floor with my foot in his lap.

“So did I,” I replied.

“I’m going to go.” He stood up and added with a sly smile, “I’ll pop in and check on your knee tomorrow.”

He leaned down and kissed me on the lips, his tongue lightly flicking mine, giving me butterflies in my belly.

I was now the one feeling like a teenager.

He did come in the next day and the next day after that. He came in everyday, bringing lunch or just to say hi but what we had blossomed into a relationship. It was the best first date I’d ever had and James, now my husband, and I still often have a glass of Merlot and talk about books on a Friday night.

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