Boyfriend by the Book: A feel good romantic comedy Read online

  “I’m sure they appreciate it,” I said. Imaging the trees and flowers I had seen at the nursery being used to beautify a blank space somewhere. There were endless possibilities for the results.

  “Besides,” Levi continued, “I couldn’t do most of it without a volunteer crew. Friends, neighbors, even virtual strangers. There’s a lot of people who pitch in to make these projects possible. And they’re not even trying to launch a landscaping business of their own,” he chuckled, easing to a stop for the traffic light.

  “Sounds like fun,” I told him. A wistful note in my voice as I remembered the last time I had taken the time to volunteer for something. A fundraiser for the animal shelter where I had adopted Basil. That was over three years ago, though.

  “You’d be welcome to join in next Saturday,” Levi said, glancing my way for a moment. “It’s a very laid-back environment. People get to plant or water or spread mulch— pretty much whatever they feel comfortable doing. Everyone has a place. You probably have to work, though,” he added. “Or …have something else going on.” A hint of disappointment in his voice that took me by surprise.

  “Actually, I’m free next Saturday.”

  Did I just say ‘yes’ to this? I realized I wanted to participate, to see what made him so passionate about this kind of work. And it would be for a good cause. I was long overdue to help someone outside of my role as a concierge.

  So what if it meant spending more time with Levi? I had done that already today and survived it just fine. This would be good practice for seeing him as just a friend. Something I really did want to do, if I could manage it.

  “Great,” Levi told me, his smile reappearing. “I’ll get you the details.”

  ~18~

  Your Inner Juliet is:

  a) ruled by impulse

  b) defiant to authority

  c) willing to do anything for her true love

  “The rapids are supposed to be really tame through here, so it’s perfect for a beginner’s river rafting.”

  Connor’s words did nothing to reassure me as we donned our helmets and vests. He had promised a surprise for our next date, telling me only that I needed to dress comfortable and casual. I pictured a hike or maybe a picnic on the beach. This was not at all my idea of a romantic outing, but Connor was insistent I would love it. “You’ll discover a whole new side of yourself,” he promised. “It’s exhilarating stuff. Not as much as parachuting, but I thought we’d start small.”

  I was glad this had been his pick then. At least there was a boat between me and the water, whereas parachuting left nothing but air between you and the ground.

  Try to be more adventurous, I told myself. I was the type who hyperventilated on carnival rides, though. It was hard to think I would embrace something in the extreme sports department, even at the beginner’s level. Connor had meant this to be fun, I knew. It would be rude to turn it down, and really, I didn’t want to seem like too much of a stick in the mud. He might decide our reunion was a bad idea if I didn’t share any of his tastes or interests.

  I followed Connor’s lead, and really, it wasn’t too bad. The rapids were a little rougher than I expected—I might’ve screamed a few times when the boat started to tip. But all in all, I was proud of myself for surviving it. Connor said I was excellent for a beginner and he saw a lot of potential in me for athleticism. I decided not to argue about it.

  “It was probably good for you,” Stephanie told me afterwards, digging into her frozen yogurt with relish. We were eating at the mall, the scent of perfume clinging to her from the samples she’d given out that morning. This time, an overly-sugary strawberry scent that reminded me of the yogurt I had ordered. It didn’t do much for my appetite.

  “I don’t know,” I told her. “I’m just hoping next time is a dinner and movie or something normal like that.”

  “So there’s a next time?” She quirked an eyebrow, her meaning undeniable.

  I shrugged, glancing away. “There might be. He said he would call—and he always does.” Mostly he texted me, though. Setting up dates through a text wasn’t the stuff of classic romance, exactly. But this was the real world and not a Shakespeare play. I took another bite of yogurt, trying not to grimace as I pictured it swimming in Steph's perfume.

  “What about Darcy?” she asked.

  “You mean Gareth? That’s his real name.”

  She grinned. “You know what I mean. Is he falling behind?”

  “Stephanie, this isn’t a competition. I’m just expanding my horizons, like you said.”

  “But he’s not as dashing as Connor,” she suggested. “Just admit it. Darcy doesn’t stand a chance against Romeo.”

  “I’m not having this conversation,” I told her. But I had to admit, things were not going as well with Gareth, who was more like a friend who wanted to improve my mind with good books. Whereas Connor had seemed manly and capable guiding me through the river rafting experience the other day. He was definitely a gallant figure, more so than any man I had encountered outside of fiction.

  It wasn’t quite enough to sweep me away, though—or put a certain deliveryman out of my thoughts for more than a few hours at a time — but it was closer than anything I'd known up to this point. Maybe that was enough for now.

  This was a problem I hadn’t exactly helped by agreeing to join Levi’s volunteer crew for a day, I knew. It turned out to be the exact opposite of my day on the river: relaxed and pleasant, a stray breeze moving in to cool us off from the sun. I got there early, the building site cordoned off with construction zone tape. Levi’s pickup was parked along the avenue, along with several other trucks, their owners unloading bags of mulch and crates of flowers.

  I felt a little out of place in my compact car, which I parallel parked after great efforts of concentration. I hadn’t known exactly what to wear for a landscaping day, so I had gone with Capri pants and a tank top beneath a somewhat faded blouse. This was close enough, it seemed, the other women sporting shorts and cut-off denim pants with t-shirts. I didn’t see Heather anywhere, the seven or so people assembled all unfamiliar to me. Except for Levi, of course.

  “You made it,” he said, spotting me with a grin from beneath his baseball cap. He reached as if to touch my arm in greeting, but seemed to think better of it. I pretended not to notice, glancing around at the busy surroundings.

  “Where should I start?” I asked.

  “With introductions,” he answered.

  Levi’s volunteer crew consisted of six people besides himself and me. These were Danny, a Voc-Tech student and his girlfriend, Pamela; Danny’s older brother Mitch, a construction work supervisor and his wife, Bridget; Cole, an employee from Petal Pushers, and Meredith, a middle-aged administrator for the new nursing home facility.

  “I can’t tell you how excited we are for this project,” she told me, her face lighting up with the prospect. “The garden at our old location was so small, just a gravel bed with some shrubs in it, basically. This is going to be such an improvement.”

  “I’m sure it is,” I said, taking in the L-shaped design surrounding the brick building. One of the beds had already been planted, its pink and red mix of begonias backed with a rose bush hedge in brighter shades of both colors. It made for a cheerful display that faced a big set of glassed-in patio doors in what I assumed would be the facility’s dining room. There was a bird bath as well, and different kinds of herbs surrounding it in big, ornate terracotta pots.

  I ended up working on the same flower bed as Mitch and his wife, Bridget. They had met Levi through Mitch’s work as a construction supervisor. Apparently, Levi had put in a fish pond for a battered women’s shelter where Mitch’s crew was building an addition.

  “He wanted it to be a really peaceful space, with something their kids might enjoy too. I remember being pretty impressed he would do all that work for free. It kind of made me think about the places I do construction for that can’t raise the funds for more than just the bare essentials," said Mitch.
"Even when something like this can bring a lot of comfort to the people they’re trying to help.”

  Bridget was a fifth-grade English teacher, her love for gardening postponed by her move to an apartment building. “I was born with a green thumb, but I can’t plant more than a window box at where we live now,” she explained, decanting a plant from its pot. “Now I’m finding all these creative ways to grow stuff indoors, letting vine plants climb up the wall. It’s kind of liberating.”

  “Yeah, and it’s driving me nuts,” Mitch grinned, shaking his head in mock despair. I had finally realized that both Mitch and his brother Danny had been at the pub the night I saw Levi. The two guys who looked so similar, Danny being the one who ordered the cider. This must be what Levi had meant about having so much in common with his friends. They were all lending their free time to pitch in on the same worthwhile causes.

  Levi was doing a lot of the heavy work, I noticed, unloading the bags of potting soil and mulch with the help of Danny. Meredith and Pamela were handling the watering, the rest of us on plant crew. I realized after a while that I was getting a little thirsty, my part of the bed in direct sunlight for the moment. I was about to ask if there were any refreshments available when a shadow fell across my work space.

  “Everything going okay here?” Levi had crouched beside me, his hazel eyes scanning my face before glancing at the others. “Any complaints, suggestions, that kind of thing?”

  I shook my head. “No complaints. Though I could use a little reassurance that I’m doing this right,” I added, with a nod to the big elephant ears I had been planting along the back of the bed.

  “Those look great,” he said, without hesitation. “Your spacing looks perfect.”

  “Good. I was afraid of messing it up, since I’ve never planted anything before. Not even a houseplant.”

  “You can’t mess this up,” he promised. “Well, maybe if you planted them upside down or tore their roots off or something.” He grinned, dodging a small clump of dirt I tossed in his direction. “Hey, don’t waste that. Every little bit counts.”

  He was kidding, though, his grin still in place as he offered, “Care to take a break? I was about to grab a bottled water from the ice cooler over there. I’m happy to make it two.”

  “Sure,” I said, pulling off my gardening gloves. I followed him to a spot in the shade, where the cooler was perched on top of a stone wall that ran along the side entrance to the building. We each took a bottle, sitting on the wall to rest our legs.

  Levi took a long drink from his, noticing that mine was rapidly disappearing. “Sure you didn’t get too warm?” he asked, concern appearing in his face.

  “Pretty sure,” I said, capping my bottle again. “It’s been awhile since I did this kind of thing. Being in the outdoors for me is pretty much the rose garden at the hotel, or my apartment building’s rooftop. Although, I did go river rafting for the first time the other day.”

  “Nice,” he said. “Did you like it?”

  “Mmm…sort of. I’m not sure I would do it again.”

  He laughed. “I’m more of a camping and fishing kind of guy myself.” He paused, a guilty look crossing his face. “You know, I didn’t even ask if you were a fan of the outdoors when I invited you to do this. That was kind of thoughtless of me, wasn’t it?”

  “No, it’s okay. I like being outside. Especially when it’s beautiful weather like this.”

  He took another drink from his water. I studied him, seeing a dirt smudge along his jaw line. The urge to wipe it away checked by the memory of him helping me from the truck. I needed to be careful about little things like that. It wouldn’t do to send the wrong message.

  “So what made you decide to become a landscape artist?” I asked. “I wasn’t even sure you could major in that kind of thing,” I added, feeling a tad ignorant for the confession.

  “You might not believe me if I told you,” he said.

  I shrugged. “Try me.”

  “Well,” he began, “when I was twelve or so, I went on a school fieldtrip to a plant exhibition. They had this incredibly rare flower that grows as big as ten or twelve feet—or even bigger sometimes—and blooms just once every few years.

  “You’re pulling my leg,” I said, forgetting he’d already warned me it was hard to believe.

  “I promise you I’m not. Look it up. Its nickname is the corpse flower.”

  Now I was sure he was teasing me. But he wasn’t. A quick internet search via my phone pulled up a picture of the biggest plant I had ever seen. “Oh, my gosh. You weren’t kidding. This is amazing,” I told him, scrolling through an article on the rare flower that bloomed its gigantic—and apparently very smelly blossom—once every several years. The pictures were like something out of Little Shop of Horrors, but I could see why a twelve year-old kid would be impressed by something that weird and wonderful.

  “This really is incredible,” I said, staring at the image on the screen. “Bizarre but incredible.”

  “When you’re twelve it makes a big impression,” he answered. “And then, later in high school, I started liking science and math a lot. Since the outdoors is pretty much my favorite place to be, it made sense to find a job that combines all of those things. I might not ever make a living from it, but I know it’ll always be part of my life. And so will events like this,” he said, with a nod to the crew still hard at work.

  “You know,” I told him, “sometimes working at a place as glamorous as the Regent makes me forget that most people aren’t that lucky. There’s a whole other world outside those doors and I don’t participate in it as much as I should. Not ever, really.”

  “I think most of us are like that,” he answered. “Caught up in our own world, or a certain mindset or routine. It takes a lot to break out of that sometimes and notice someone else’s problems. I might not have done it if I had another choice at first. Now I’m glad I didn’t.”

  “Well, I think it’s great what you’re doing. All of you. And I’m glad you invited me to be a part of it.”

  “Me too,” said Levi.

  His hazel eyes finding mine, his hand next to mine on the stone wall. Not touching but close to each other in a different sense. It felt peaceful sitting there, just the two of us. Tired and happy and comfortably silent. I closed my eyes and drank in the feeling, letting my worried thoughts drift away for awhile.

  ~19~

  “I think we should go to the book fair on Saturday. The crowds will be heavier, but we risk all the best deals being gone if we wait until Sunday.”

  Gareth waited a moment for my reply. When it didn’t come, he asked me, “Jodi? Did you hear what I said?”

  “Hmm? Oh, yes, the book fair. When is that again?”

  “Saturday,” he said, an edge of impatience in his tone. “Can you make it?”

  I nodded. “I think so. Let me check.” I rooted through my bag for my digital planner. The café was crowded today, so Gareth and I were sitting at the counter instead of our usual booth. His notebook was open in front of him, a few lines jotted inside. I had forgotten to ask how his manuscript was going. For some reason, I didn’t feel that curious about his work, despite enjoying his novels.

  “Here we are,” I said, pulling out my planner. “Looks like Saturday is appointment free for me. What time does the book fair start?”

  Now Gareth was the one not paying attention, scribbling something new on the pages of his notebook. He glanced up, an absent-minded look on his face. “Did you say something?”

  I repeated the question.

  “Nine o’clock,” he said. “We can ride together if you want. I can pick you up at your apartment.”

  “Fine.” I stirred my coffee, the spoon clanking against the ceramic cup. Gareth frowned, and I immediately stopped. He was probably trying to recall something for his notes. We both seemed distracted today, lost in our thoughts instead of focused on this meeting. It was overcast outside, and rain had begun to fall, tapping gently against the windows of the ca
fé.

  “Rats,” I told him. “I forgot my umbrella.”

  Gareth glanced up. “It’s hardly umbrella weather. Just a few scattered showers.”

  “I suppose so.” I stared out the window, an idea coming to me. “You should write a scene in the rain. Something romantic for your hero and heroine. Your readers would love it.”

  “It’s a little cliché, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, Gareth, everything is cliché,” I answered, a little weary of this argument. “Everything’s been done before. It’s just a matter of doing it better than someone else.”

  “That’s easier said than done,” he pointed out. “Besides, imagine how difficult it would be, making a heartfelt confession with rain pelting down on top of you. All muddy and dripping wet—that’s not very romantic is it?”

  “Have you tried it?” I wondered. Seeing exasperation on his face instead of amusement for the joke.

  “No one does that sort of thing in real life,” he argued. “Just like no one interrupts wedding vows or chases someone halfway across the country to declare their feelings. It’s impractical. ”

  “It’s exciting in fiction, though. Who doesn’t remember the kiss in the rain in Spider-Man, or better yet, The Notebook?”

  “All the more reason not to include one in my book,” Gareth said. “It’s been done more than enough. Perhaps non-writers shouldn’t try to advise bestselling authors on their work,” he added, taking a drink of his tea. I sensed he was only half-kidding with this remark.

  “What about reader feedback?” I challenged.

  “It’s not something I take in to account much,” he admitted. “The publisher gives me enough trouble when it comes to plot and character details. If I tried to please everyone, I would never get a manuscript into print.”