Chapter Two
Astrid
Present Day...
I set the alarm and exited my shop, locking the door behind me before closing and locking the gate . You could never be too careful, after all. Though a bookstore wasn't the likeliest of targets for would-be thieves, you just never knew.
My bookstore – The Attic – had been open for a little over a year now, and it was doing pretty well. It encouraged me – and made me happier than I could say – that people still seemed to love the written word. Books were my life. Always had been. Within the pages of a good book, I could lose myself for hours, traveling to faraway worlds, meeting brave and dashing strangers, and having grand adventures.
Basically, within the pages of a book, I found lives that were everything my own life was not.
But that was okay. I was fine with it, actually. I preferred my quiet little life. I had my bookstore, an apartment I loved, and a small circle of good friends. That was all I really needed to be happy. Some found me cold or aloof, but the truth of the matter was that I just didn't care to be around people all that much. I never had, really.
“Hey, Astrid,” Pete called as I stepped into the shop.
“Hey yourself,” I said, giving him a smile.
Pete's shop was part of my regular routine. On Friday nights, I always popped into Pete's deli to grab a sandwich and some supplies before I hunkered down at home for the night with a movie or a good book – oftentimes both, as I read late into the night.
Pete made the most amazing subs I'd ever had and I always look forward to Friday nights.
“The usual Friday night special?” Pete asked.
“You know it.”
“Comin' right up.”
Pete was a tall, gregarious Italian man with salt and pepper colored hair and a midsection as big as his heart. He was a good man who routinely fed the homeless when they stopped in and made all his customers feel welcome, more like family than customers. It was no wonder he'd been in business in this neighborhood for more than twenty-five years.
My Friday night special was Pete's special toasted meatball sub. The bread he used was perfect – a little crusty on the outside, yet soft in the middle. His sauce – oh, the sauce on his meatballs was magical – a near orgasmic experience, truth be told. Besides he topped it off with some wonderfully ooey-gooey, mozzarella cheese.
I could feel my mouth watering while I waited for him to finish up with my sandwich. I could hardly wait to get home so I could tear into it.
While he worked on my dinner, I grabbed a bag of Cheeto Puffs – because I was apparently, still a child who enjoyed such things – and a few bottles of soda to get me through the night. Yeah, not the healthiest of meals, but what did I care? I wasn't trying to impress anybody.
Pete finished assembling the sandwich and popped it into the oven to be toasted. After that, he came over and leaned on the counter in front of me, smiling broadly.
“Can I ask you something, Astrid?”
“Fire away.”
“Don't take this the wrong way or nothin', but why don't you have a boyfriend?” he asked. “You're young, successful, beautiful. You should be out on the town on a Friday night instead of sittin' here lookin' at my old, ugly mug.”
I leaned over the counter and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. “Your mug is just fine,” I said. “And you're not that old.”
“Old enough to be your old man.”
I shrugged. “Fifty is the new thirty, they say.”
Pete laughed. “They say a lot,” he said. “But stop changing the subject. You deserve to be happy, Astrid.”
“I am happy,” I replied. “You have no idea just how crazy happy your meatball sub makes me.”
“Woman cannot live by meatball sub alone, you know.”
“That's very true,” I said. “Which is why I only get one on Friday nights.”
Pete laughed and shook his head. In truth, he was something of a father figure to me. The trouble with that was, he sometimes acted like a father. Over the last year, I'd gotten to know him pretty well and liked him enormously. With having my own parents long dead and no other family that I knew of, I had pretty much been on my own for quite a while.
Which could help explain my avoidance of people, relationships and general social awkwardness.
Pete continued to look at me, his question still hanging in the air between us. I knew he wasn't going to give me a pass and would probably withhold my sub until I answered him.
I sighed. “I don't know why I don't have a boyfriend,” I said. “I guess guys just aren't that into me.”
“I see you every day, Astrid,” he said. “You come to work, stay there all day, then go home. You never go out. How is a boy supposed to meet you when you never put yourself out there?”
He had a point – not that I was going to give him the satisfaction of telling him so.
“I've just had a lot going on, I guess,” I said. “I mean, I'm still trying to get my bookstore off the ground and –”
Pete chuckled. “You do a good business over there,” he said. “Try again.”
I giggled. “Why is it so important to you that I have a boyfriend?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Because you're like a daughter to me, Astrid,” he said, his voice taking on an uncharacteristically solemn tone. “You really are. And sometimes, I can see that you're sad or lonely – I can see it in your eyes. It's not often, and never for long, but sometimes, I see it all the same.”
I sighed and looked away. Pete was a kind, friendly man who was quick with a joke and a smile. I'd seen him play armchair psychiatrist with any number of his regulars. He was a keen observer of human nature, and though he was a gregarious man, quick with a joke and a smile, he was also a shoulder to cry on and somebody who dispensed good advice.
Pete just cared about people and never liked to see anybody hurting.
Still, it was uncomfortable to have him put his powers of observation on me. To have him carve up my emotional defenses and tear down walls I'd spent so long building was as unexpected as it was discomforting. I knew it was because he cared for me and wanted the best for me, but it was still unnerving for me to be on his proverbial therapy couch – especially since I'd never asked to be there to begin with.
“I've just never really been very good with people, Pete.”
“Because you never give 'em a chance.”
“Probably because I'm not very good and don't know how,” I said and grinned. “It's a vicious cycle.”
“Why don't you do what kids your age these days do and meet somebody online?”
I laughed. “With my luck, I'd meet the lovechild of Charles Manson and Ted Bundy.”
He shrugged. “My oldest girl, Carla, met somebody online and they worked out,” he said. “They been married a few years now.”
Honestly, the only thing that scared me more than meeting somebody in person was meeting them online. You just never knew for sure, who was on the other side of that computer screen. But it seemed important to Pete that I try, so I nodded my agreement.
“Maybe I'll give it a shot,” I said.
He looked at me and arched his eyebrow. “You mean that? Or are you telling me that just to get me off your back?”
I laughed – mostly because he was right about me agreeing just to get him of my back. But at the same time, I didn't want to lie to him.
“I'll try, Pete,” I said. “I can't promise anything other than that. But I'll try.”
“That's all I can ask,” he said, smiling broadly.
He turned and pulled my sub out of the oven, wrapping it up tight to preserve the warmth. Throwing all of my things into a bag, he pushed it across the counter to me. I pulled out some money, waiting for him to ring me up, but he looked at me and shook his head.
“It's on the house tonight, Astrid.”
I smiled back. “That's sweet, but I can't do that, Pete. I can't accept that.”
“You're gonna have to,” he said and shrugged. “I'll take you signing up for one of those computer dating sites as payment for your sub tonight.”
“You really don't have to –”
“No, but I want to,” he said. “So, take your food and get on outta here.”
I looked at him for a long moment before giving him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Pete,” I said. “You're the best.”
“Yeah, don't I know it,” he laughed.
I laughed as I slipped a twenty out of my wallet and threw it into his tip jar. Quickly grabbing my bag, I moved quickly to the door before he could stop me and make me take it back.
“Thanks, Pete,” I called over my shoulder. “I'll see you soon!”