Arriving at the front of the store again, I stood behind the register, ready to help customers.
Snapping at me to leave, Rachel ordered, “I want Josh at the register. Customers like him better.”
Why did I still work here again? Oh right, books. “Okay,” I said and stepped away from the register, reaching for the cart on wheels full of books that needed to be returned to the shelves.
“Put those away later. I need you to help keep the Z.T. fans organized so people can shop as well as get their books signed,” Rachel barked, looking at me as if I should be psychic and know all of this already.
I walked over to Rachel, my stomach churning yet again.
“You’re not going to vomit, are you? Because if you are, please try to make it to the toilet this time. I know you just think of this as the place you work, but I live upstairs. It’s my home, and the last time you puked, it smelled for a week.”
Now I really needed to throw up.
“I won’t puke. I promise.” Probably one I couldn’t keep if I was being honest.
“Uh-huh. Try to stay out of the way. I don’t want you blowing this. This is our first booking of an author that has a real following. If this goes well, maybe we can attract more writers to come here.” Rachel seemed nervous herself.
I tried to reassure her. “I won’t. I mean, I will stay out of the way, and I won’t blow this.”
Rachel placed her hands on her hips, obviously exasperated. “You’ve been working here three years, and you still act like a new employee. No one is going to attack you. Relax, you make everyone nervous.”
I wanted to say No one is going to attack me except you, but I kept my mouth shut.
Saved by the love of my life, Josh unlocked the front door and let himself in the store.
He smiled at me, and I nearly choked on my own spit.
I’m a winner.
Rachel’s eyes glanced at the empty spot where Josh’s Employee of the Month picture used to hang. “I’m so sorry someone stole your picture, Josh. You worked so hard.”
She knew.
But I’d never admit it.
“We’ll get another one of you up there, I promise. I’m really proud of you.” Rachel smiled gently.
One thing I’d noticed in the few months that Josh worked here: Rachel treated him as if he were family. It made me wonder if she had kids. In her late-forties, they’d most likely be grown by now, but maybe she was so mean they hated her, so she had to pretend Josh was her boy because her own kids never wanted to see her again.
Okay. I should stop.
But I wouldn’t be surprised.
Josh answered, embarrassed at the attention. “I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve the title. I’ve only been here three months, but I appreciate it.”
That was easy: not throw up. Or more accurately, not be me. There were only two of us anyway. It wasn’t difficult to guess who’d be Employee of the Month. Besides, I didn’t want to bring down Rachel’s wrath if I told Josh I was pretty sure she made the whole title up for him. I’d been working here three years and saw countless employees come and go, and we’d never, ever had an Employee of the Month award. It started a month after Josh began working here. I couldn’t complain though, it was how I got my hands on that beautiful photo.
Because yeah.
Big old loser.
Rachel looked up at the clock. “We ready for this?”
Josh and Z.T. smiled at her, both excited, while I shrugged in terror.
Turning to me, Rachel said, “Open the doors.”
Walking to the front entrance, I unlocked the glass doors and pulled them wide open. “Could you guys line up against the wall? It’s so people can still get inside the shop.”
Thank goodness they all listened to me and very politely backed up against the wall as they entered the store one at a time, approaching Z.T.
I noticed a young girl, who couldn’t be more than ten years old, holding a pile of Z.T.’s paperback books. She stood fifth in line and looked about as scared as I would have been at her age (let’s be honest, at my age too). Before my brain fully comprehended her obvious fear, she broke for the door in a panic run.
I rushed to her side and stopped her, gently touching her arm, making sure she didn’t drop her books. “Hey, don’t leave. I can see by your books that you’re a big fan of Z.T.’s.”
“I’m such an idiot. Everyone here has hardcover books, and all I have are paperbacks. He’s going to think I’m stupid. My parents are waiting in the car outside. I’m just going to go.” Her head hung low in defeat.
“What’s your name?” I asked. It was like staring at a past version of myself. I knew that fear of embarrassment well.
“Sarah,” she replied meekly.
“Sarah, he’s not going to think you’re stupid. He’s going to appreciate how amazing you are for coming here and bringing every book he’s ever written. Especially . . .” I pointed to the well-used spines of all her books, much like my copy of The Gateway to Winterbrook. “. . . When it’s obvious you’ve read them quite a bit.”
“Fifteen times each,” Sarah confessed.
“See? That’s incredible. You’re what? Ten? Eleven?”
“Ten,” she answered.
“Ten freaking years old and you’ve read all of Z.T. Morgan’s books fifteen times? He’ll be so impressed. He’ll be the one who’s nervous.”
Sarah’s bunched shoulders un-bunched slightly as she began to relax, and it made me
