sipped her beer.
“Hmm . . . I still love it. But maybe you’re right. Maybe it is the myth of it. Did you know that Gertrude and Alice worked during World War I, making friends with American GIs and supplying them with food and goodies?”
She went on to recount the stories of the women’s lives with the artists. Daniel seemed to take as much pleasure in hearing about the stories as she did from reading them. He encouraged more than just the surface, and Lily kept talking. Usually she was the listener, absorbing the rants and complaints of her bookish customers. As he went to the bar to get another round, she had a moment of doubt: was he really interested in what she was saying or was he just trying to please her? But when he came back with their beers, the way he looked into her eyes made her believe his sincerity.
They talked and drank for a few hours, exchanging favorite book titles and making lists of each other’s recommendations. Lily was more buzzed than she had been in a long time. She’d never met someone like this at the bookstore, and it felt good to talk with someone her age about books she liked. At the end of the night, Daniel walked Lily to her bike parked in front of the bookstore. Cars whizzed by on Grant Street while she fumbled with the lock. She extracted the coil from the frame and stood, the bike in between them. Daniel watched her, his hands in his pockets.
“I had a good time tonight,” he said.
“I did, too. Thanks for the beers.” She held her helmet in one hand while shrugging on her backpack. A man crossing Colfax stopped in the crosswalk, shouting and gesturing at a car that had ignored the pedestrian signal, cutting him off in the middle of the street.
“It’s not too cool around here at night,” Lily said.
“Yeah, you better get home before the real weirdos come out.” They laughed. Lily’s palms began to sweat. He took her number and they made plans to go out again.
“Okay, then,” she said, moving to strap her helmet on. Daniel stepped closer, putting his hand on her arm. He leaned in and kissed her. She kissed him back and for a moment she forgot they were on the street. He tasted like beer and she liked that.
A man stepped out of the Newhouse Hotel next to the bookstore, pausing on the sidewalk to light a cigarette. He blew out his smoke and whistled. “Get a room!” he shouted. “Right here at the Newhouse!” He chortled. Lily and Daniel drew apart.
“Yeah. Right. Okay . . .” Lily stammered.
“Right, mm-hmm,” said Daniel, and bent toward Lily for one more kiss. They kissed for another minute, then Lily drew away.
“We’re going to attract a crowd this way. A very seedy crowd,” she added. She pulled her helmet on and Daniel stepped back and watched her get on her bike.
“Ride safe,” he said. She rang her bell and pedaled away, her legs wobbly. She zoomed home along the bike path on 16th Street, buoyed by Daniel and the potential for another date with him.
The next morning she relished the details of the date in her notebook with a cup of coffee from her French press and her cat, Mr. Petey, curling around her legs. Lily was playing out different Daniel scenarios: he’d come into the bookstore that afternoon and they’d make another date; he’d make her wait several days and she’d have to call him, showing him that she was assertive; or their date was a fluke and she’d never see him again.
The phone rang, saving her from her fantasies. It was her father calling from his home in Chicago. After the usual Chicago/Denver weather report, he announced that he had a surprise. A wave of fear shook Lily out of her romantic stupor. He was probably going to tell her that he and his girlfriend, Monique, were getting married. Lily knew it was inevitable, but it was still too soon for her. Her father went on to give her the good news: he was gifting her with a trip to Paris. Lily was shocked. He explained.
“There’s a literary festival next month
“Hmm . . . I still love it. But maybe you’re right. Maybe it is the myth of it. Did you know that Gertrude and Alice worked during World War I, making friends with American GIs and supplying them with food and goodies?”
She went on to recount the stories of the women’s lives with the artists. Daniel seemed to take as much pleasure in hearing about the stories as she did from reading them. He encouraged more than just the surface, and Lily kept talking. Usually she was the listener, absorbing the rants and complaints of her bookish customers. As he went to the bar to get another round, she had a moment of doubt: was he really interested in what she was saying or was he just trying to please her? But when he came back with their beers, the way he looked into her eyes made her believe his sincerity.
They talked and drank for a few hours, exchanging favorite book titles and making lists of each other’s recommendations. Lily was more buzzed than she had been in a long time. She’d never met someone like this at the bookstore, and it felt good to talk with someone her age about books she liked. At the end of the night, Daniel walked Lily to her bike parked in front of the bookstore. Cars whizzed by on Grant Street while she fumbled with the lock. She extracted the coil from the frame and stood, the bike in between them. Daniel watched her, his hands in his pockets.
“I had a good time tonight,” he said.
“I did, too. Thanks for the beers.” She held her helmet in one hand while shrugging on her backpack. A man crossing Colfax stopped in the crosswalk, shouting and gesturing at a car that had ignored the pedestrian signal, cutting him off in the middle of the street.
“It’s not too cool around here at night,” Lily said.
“Yeah, you better get home before the real weirdos come out.” They laughed. Lily’s palms began to sweat. He took her number and they made plans to go out again.
“Okay, then,” she said, moving to strap her helmet on. Daniel stepped closer, putting his hand on her arm. He leaned in and kissed her. She kissed him back and for a moment she forgot they were on the street. He tasted like beer and she liked that.
A man stepped out of the Newhouse Hotel next to the bookstore, pausing on the sidewalk to light a cigarette. He blew out his smoke and whistled. “Get a room!” he shouted. “Right here at the Newhouse!” He chortled. Lily and Daniel drew apart.
“Yeah. Right. Okay . . .” Lily stammered.
“Right, mm-hmm,” said Daniel, and bent toward Lily for one more kiss. They kissed for another minute, then Lily drew away.
“We’re going to attract a crowd this way. A very seedy crowd,” she added. She pulled her helmet on and Daniel stepped back and watched her get on her bike.
“Ride safe,” he said. She rang her bell and pedaled away, her legs wobbly. She zoomed home along the bike path on 16th Street, buoyed by Daniel and the potential for another date with him.
The next morning she relished the details of the date in her notebook with a cup of coffee from her French press and her cat, Mr. Petey, curling around her legs. Lily was playing out different Daniel scenarios: he’d come into the bookstore that afternoon and they’d make another date; he’d make her wait several days and she’d have to call him, showing him that she was assertive; or their date was a fluke and she’d never see him again.
The phone rang, saving her from her fantasies. It was her father calling from his home in Chicago. After the usual Chicago/Denver weather report, he announced that he had a surprise. A wave of fear shook Lily out of her romantic stupor. He was probably going to tell her that he and his girlfriend, Monique, were getting married. Lily knew it was inevitable, but it was still too soon for her. Her father went on to give her the good news: he was gifting her with a trip to Paris. Lily was shocked. He explained.
“There’s a literary festival next month
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