—2—
Perched safely back behind the counter with her nose buried in her book, Frankie studied the beautiful man as he strolled through the store. Broad, yet unimposing in a casual white T-shirt and blue jeans, he moved with a quiet confidence, his shoulders rotating as he squeezed through the shelves. Reaching down to the bowl of M&Ms stashed next to the computer, Frankie popped one in her mouth with a smile. Let the games begin!
He approached the classics. A promising start. Yes, caress those antique dust jackets. No, hold on. Movement on the horizon!
He pressed on, making his way towards the travel section. He paused, looking around as he gathered his bearings. Her breath caught as she spied him eyeing off the non-fiction section. A well-read historian? An economist? This, she could work with. But alas, he powered past the biographies and essays. Picking up his pace, the chestnut-haired man walked with decisive strides as Frankie, barely concealed by her paperback, devoured M&M after M&M and gawked at the stranger as he made his way to the back of the store.
No. No. No! Anything but that shelf. The Young Adult section? He must be disoriented. Frankie dropped her book, deciding enough was enough; this customer was obviously confused. Just as she was about to leave the safety of the counter, the man pulled out a hot-orange-spined book without a hint of hesitation.
‘This has to be some kind of sick joke,’ Frankie muttered under her breath. ‘He’s got to be at least thirty years old! Far too mature – and good-looking – to be reading—’ Now Frankie really was confused. ‘Is that Twilight he just picked up? Ach. I mean—’
The man looked up from his book and peered curiously at Frankie.
‘Shit.’ Frankie quickly turned her back to the shelves, leaning up against the front counter. I knew he was too good to be true, she said to herself – silently this time – and picked up her phone to dial Cat’s number.
‘Why isn’t she picking up?’ Frankie tapped her foot impatiently.
‘Ahem.’
At the sound of this low, rhythmic grumble, Frankie swivelled around, almost taking out what remained of the precariously placed bowl of M&Ms.
‘Sorry about that. How can I help?’ Composure regained, she brushed a stray hair from her face.
‘Just this one today, please,’ the man said with a smile, two dimples creasing his cheeks.
Frankie assessed the book before her, squinting with dissatisfaction at the garish movie tie-in edition. She checked his left hand discreetly. No ring.
‘Would you like it wrapped? This must be for your niece? Nephew? Child?’ she asked hopefully.
‘No, no. This one’s all mine. I’ve been itching to know what happens next!’
‘Mmm, sure.’ She forced a thin smile.
Frankie scanned the book and placed it into a bag. Looking up from her work, she found the man looking almost longingly back at her. There was an unmistakable warmth about him. His blue eyes seemed to say, There’s simply no other person in this world I’d rather be gazing at right now. As Frankie tumbled into his eyes, he appeared to move closer. Was that his hand she saw moving towards her? He couldn’t be! Is he— The man’s head was now a complete blur as he leaned over the counter, closing the distance between them. Without thinking, Frankie mirrored his movements and quickly edged towards him. Barely inches away, Frankie was overcome by the earthy scent of his cologne. Surely that isn’t his hand softly grazing my face? She leaned in and so did he, her eyes drifting shut. They were now just centimetres apart. Reflexively, she pursed her lips. And kissed him. Smack-bang on the nose. The nose! As she hung there before him, lips still pressed together, she felt his fingers lightly pinch her left cheek. They both pulled back abruptly.
‘Sorry, you had a bit of chocolate on your cheek.’ He held up the offending morsel apologetically.
‘Oh God. I’m so sorry, that was totally inappropriate. I just kissed you. On the nose!’ she spluttered. ‘I don’t know what got into me. I just received terrible news and my head’s not screwed on right.’ Frankie stumbled over her words. ‘That will be twenty dollars, thanks.’
With her eyes averted, she finalised the transaction and shoved the bag towards him. She shuffled out from behind the counter, placed an arm behind the man’s back and quickly ushered him to the door. He seemed to be trying to say something, but Frankie mumbled her gratitude and apologies over the top of him, and within an instant he was pushed out onto the street, the door closing tightly behind him. Taking a deep breath, Frankie leaned up against the door, letting the heat of the glass seep through her dress, superficially soothing her. When did I get so goddamn ridiculous?
Frankie: Cat, please tell me where you are. Let’s talk this through. PS I just molested a customer. I need back-up. Stat.
After staring at the screen for a minute, willing Cat to reply, Frankie exited Messages and, in an attempt to distract herself, began to scroll through Instagram.
Cute puppy.
Flat lay.
Engagement announcement.
Smashed avocado.
Perfectly posed photographs flashed before her eyes. Then, flicking to Facebook, a particular image caught her attention. She smiled.
Cat Cooper: Thank you God for this heavenly creation! Lune Croissanterie, marry me.
#cruffin #foodporn at Lune Croissanterie
There was Cat, revealed to the world, devouring what could only be described as pastry paradise. Frankie placed the ‘Back in 10! Buying painkillers for book hangover’ sign on the front door and locked up behind her. She zoomed down the footpath, mentally kicking herself. How could she have allowed herself to get so rattled by a couple of medium-sized biceps and a dazzling smile? And besides, his taste in books really ought to have sobered her up. No adult man who reads books featuring lovesick werewolves and angsty teenagers could be that much of a catch. But why was she surprised that a man had left her feeling disappointed? Underwhelmed?
Frankie flashed through her recent dating history.
Exhibit A – her last Tinder experience:
Michael: Hi there, Frankie. Whereabouts do you live in Melbourne?
Michael: I just got out of prison and my ex changed the locks. I could really use a place to stay?
Exhibit B – her last blind date: ‘It’s real silverware, touch it!’ he said as he stashed the fancy restaurant cutlery in his pockets.
Exhibit C – her last random hook-up: ‘Frankie, your vagina is like a velvet taco.’
And then there was Adam. It had been eighteen months since Ads had broken up with her after two and a half years together. Their relationship had been hot and heavy, until it wasn’t. They’d fallen hard and fast, but external stresses weighed heavily on their young, blinded-by-love shoulders.
When reviews for Frankie’s second book slammed everything from her characters to her use of semi-colons – ‘Hilary’ rated Something About Jane 0 stars, stating she would ‘rather have severe, week-long diarrhoea than have to read this book again’ – an intense bout of writer’s block settled over her.
Ads got promoted to junior partner at his top-tier law firm and was too preoccupied to notice Frankie’s devastation over her career falling apart.
Ads: Hey Franks. It seems like you’re in a bit of a transition phase, and I don’t think I can help you with what you’re looking for. I think it would be better for both of us if we were just friends. See you around. Ads x
Frankie: I hope you fucking die.
Frankie: Sorry, I didn’t mean that.
Frankie: Fuck you.
Frankie: I miss you …
Frankie: I’m deleting your number.
After surviving a tumultuous grieving period, Frankie was at an all time low. She lost not only all confidence in her ability to write, but also her part-time role as a primary school library assistant following a breakdown complete with expletives during Year 1 book club after discovering, via Facebook, that Ads had a new girlfriend. Months of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream and The Notebook viewing sessions later, Frankie braved the dating world again, only to be assailed by failed date after failed ego-bruising date. Had these sexless and waking-up-spoonless months finally led her to lose her mind? Not to mention made her so self-absorbed that she no longer knew what was going on with her best friend?
Arriving at Lune Croissanterie, Frankie inched her way through the waiting crowd, scanning the tables. There, hidden in the back corner, she spotted Cat. In front of her lay an assortment of partially eaten croissants. With a final shudder, Frankie pushed aside the visual of the bookstore nose kiss, and slid into the chair next to her best friend. Startled, Cat looked up, and Frankie’s heart broke at the sight of her friend’s teary, croissant-crumbed face. She pulled Cat towards her, rubbing her back and consoling her with soothing whispers.
‘How did this happen, Catty?’
‘It’s these baby hormones! They’ve invaded my body and have me doing all kinds of crazy things,’ blubbered Cat, dabbing her eyes with a crumpled serviette. ‘And the worst part is, I’ve literally never felt hornier. And Claud insists on being super cautious in the bedroom. He’s worried he’s going to dent the baby or something! But all I want to do is have loud, inappropriate, break-the-bed-in-three-places sex!’
‘Well, it’s certainly no pickles-and-peanut-butter at 3am,’ Frankie said. ‘So, you’re high on hormones and, what, you just fell on his penis after class?’
Cat smiled guiltily, blushing. ‘It just sort of happened. I was all pent up after the K-Pop session. He was just so dreamy. It was almost magnetic,’ Cat gushed. ‘After the class, he came over to help me stretch. You know that stretch when you lie on the floor and you have somebody push against your hip bone and leg? He was practically straddling me and, I don’t know, I was just overcome with desire. I’ve never felt such a pull like that before! And the next thing I know, we’re doing it in the bathroom squashed between the toilet and a Dyson Airblade.’
She sighed and buried her face in her sticky hands. ‘Oh Frank, I’ve been racked with guilt ever since. Especially because Claud’s been extra attentive since we found out about the baby. He tries so hard to make sure I’m comfortable and happy. And then there’s you, Frankie! We just don’t keep secrets from each other.’
Frankie squeezed Cat’s leg. ‘Does he have any idea?’ Frankie asked as evenly as she could manage.
‘God no!’ she hissed, looking up. ‘You know how he’d get. He’d be completely devastated.’
Frankie had always known that Claud adored Cat, but he was sensitive and, at times, unforgiving. It wasn’t unusual for Frankie to arrive at The Little Brunswick Street Bookshop and find the two of them still simmering over the previous night’s argument. They were two strong-minded individuals who lived together and worked together three days a week. They were bound by love and bookkeeping, and after many intertwining years their relationship had become less passionate and more practical. But still, Frankie was having a hard time believing what she was hearing. ‘Do you still love Claud? You want to be with him, right?’
At that, Cat’s whole body seemed to cave in on itself. She hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘Yes, of course. We’re having a baby.’
Frankie sighed again, now at a complete loss for words. She wanted to protect her friend and keep her calm; Cat had precarious blood-sugar levels at the best of times. And was she really expected to throw away a twelve-year relationship after a moment of hormone-induced insanity? Even though they didn’t always see eye-to-eye exactly, Frankie felt a sense of loyalty to Claud, and wanted to protect him from this newly discovered infidelity. Cat had always been a little addicted to life, moving from one infatuation to the next. This has to be another one of her fads, Frankie told herself, a momentary lapse in judgement.
‘And it’s over with this guy?’ she gently prodded.
Cat’s bottom lip quivered. ‘It’s over with this guy.’
‘Have you read Esther Perel’s new book? The State of Affairs?’
Cat shook her head. ‘But with an accent like hers, I’d believe just about anything she said.’
‘She wrote about how sometimes people stray not because they don’t love their partner, or because they are looking for somebody better, but because they are searching for another part of themselves, a part which has become lost in the folds of a safe and comfortable relationship.’ Frankie rubbed Cat’s arm and picked up a half-eaten pain au chocolat. ‘Sweet Jesus, this is heaven in my mouth!’
And there they sat, arms resting against each other, quickly sampling the treats before them. Cat checked her watch, deciding they could spare another few minutes, then turned the interrogation around. ‘So, you sexually assaulted a customer?’
It was Frankie’s turn to bury her face in her hands, cringing and laughing in equal measure as she recounted the incident in all its excruciating glory, periodically blurting out, ‘On the nose, Cat! On the fucking nose!’ Cat was beside herself with laughter, regularly spraying the table with crumbs and bits of custard.
‘And I thought I had problems,’ Cat said between gasps for air.
‘It was hands down the most embarrassing moment of my life.’
‘Was he at least easy on the eyes? Or nose?’ Cat winked at Frankie, who rolled her eyes in return.
‘You have no idea.’ They both broke into a fit of giggles. ‘Oh, but you won’t believe which book he bought.’
‘High Fidelity? Wuthering Heights? Rosemary’s Baby?’ Cat inquired.
‘Worse.’
‘Fifty Shades of Grey?’
Frankie raised her eyebrows, egging Cat on.
‘Fifty Shades Darker?’
‘New Moon!’ Frankie guffawed.
‘No! I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m partial to hot vampires seeking to avenge death and the odd sexy werewolf, but New Moon? Are you sure this was an adult-sized man whose nose you pashed?’
‘I know. Why are all the good-looking ones such terrible readers?’ Frankie despaired as she attempted to make I’ll-have-a-strong-cappuccino eyes at the nearest waiter.
‘So, what are we going to do about it?’ Cat said to the back of Frankie’s head.
‘Do about what?’
‘This horrible man-drought that’s doing weird things to your fine-motor reflexes.’
‘Nothing. I’m not fit to date!’
A young waitress in distressed jeans and a black tank top finally approached their table, and they ordered a cappuccino and peppermint tea to go.
‘Frank, did you ever consider that you need to be more open-minded? We’ve talked about your “gap”,’ Cat said. ‘Even with Ads, you kept him at arm’s length. Maybe you’re not being open enough, not willing to let anyone in. You know, romance isn’t all Mr Bingley and Atticus Finch!’
‘Well, at least they were well-read.’
Back on the street, Cat clung dramatically to Frankie. ‘I’m too exhausted to walk!’ She fluttered her eyelashes. ‘Can we catch the next tram back? Please?’ Frankie couldn’t help but laugh as they meandered over to the nearest tram stop and collapsed on the bench.
‘You know, Frankenstein,’ Cat said as Frankie bent forward, peering down the street in search of an approaching tram, ‘we’re brought up being told not to judge a book by its cover. Maybe you should start applying the same logic to men.’
‘That’s rich coming from you, Cat Cooper. You just about deck anyone who comes into the store asking for Nicholas Sparks.’
‘Mr Sparks needs to diversify!’ Cat retorted. ‘Fine, you have a point.’
‘See, you can tell a lot from what a person reads.’
At the familiar clang of the approaching tram, the two friends rose from the bench and began their furious hunt for their travel cards. As they tapped on to the packed vehicle, Cat took one look at the teenagers lounging across the priority seat and powered towards them. She stood directly in front of them, legs apart, hands on hips and coughed unsubtly. Looking terrified, they skittered away and Cat sat down with a satisfied grin. Even though she wasn’t showing yet, pregnancy had given Cat a whole new appreciation for the concept of power posing. Frankie sheepishly followed and hung onto the rail next to her smug friend.
‘So,’ Cat said, suddenly sitting up straighter, as if an idea had been beamed into her, ‘use books to find a man!’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Boooooks!’ Cat cooed, as if it were obvious.
‘What are you on about, woman?’
‘Seriously, Frank. If you think you can tell so much from a person’s bookshelf, why not put it to the test? Get your mates John Willoughby and Jo March to veto your men.’
Frankie scoffed. ‘So, I should force my way into men’s homes and peruse their bedside tables to decide whether they’re marriage material? If I’ve learned one thing today, it’s to not invade people’s personal space.’
‘I didn’t say anything about a break-and-enter. Frankie, think about it. Literature is your life. You’ve been trawling Tinder looking for well-read intellectuals, but it’s not working. Let’s shake things up! Just use your favourite books to find a man.’
‘Just use your favourite books to find a man? You’re losing your mind.’ Frankie stared absently out the window, allowing her eyes to relax and move back and forth with the tram’s movement.
‘Yes, start a book club. You can put a sign on the front door saying, “Hot men with a grasp of classic and contemporary fiction wanted!” You can lead it, write notes, test them on their analytical skills … At least it would get you writing again.’
Frankie rolled her eyes, but then, as the rhythm of the tram lulled her into a gentle daze, an idea flashed before them.