The Moonlight Cafe - Isaac

Chapter Thirty

One Month Later

"I think everything's as perfect as it's going to be, Isaac," Quinn said as I tweaked the book display yet again.

I stacked the books another way. "I just think they'd look better if they were arranged like this..."

"Isaac," Jill said. "You've done all you can do. Now relax."

I couldn't relax. It was the night of the inagural Moonlight Café Book Club. We were reading Al's book, River of Gold. It was due to start in half an hour and I was a mess. I had rearranged the display by the counter dozens of times over the past month, and it felt like I had doubled that number just tonight. We had sold thirty copies in the past month—thirty!—but now the chickens would come home to roost. How many of the people who had bought it, taken a flyer advertising the book club discussion, and promised to come, would actually come?

My phone buzzed with a text.

August: Good luck babe!!! I'll be there as soon as I can, just got to wrap up this meeting. Shouldn't be late but don't wait for me to start.

The theatre company gig had really ramped up. August was working with them almost full-time. Luckily, he had gotten The Barkeep's Beau published just before things ramped up. Even weeks after the launch, it was still selling hundreds of copies per day. It was on track to be August's most successful book yet. Of course, he was in another crunch with the next one, but at least he was actually starting to make some money.

Isaac: No need to come if you need to go home and write :) I'll just tell you about it tomorrow.

August: No I want to come! I'll be there soon.

Soon. Things would be starting soon. I had already set up a bunch of our tables into a big square, with enough room for about fifteen people. Me, Al, August, and a dozen others... I figured we'd be luck to get that turnout. I arranged my copy of the book and the notebook I had used to jot down potential discussion questions at my place, and went to brew a pot of coffee and grab cups, cream, and sugar for book club attendees. Florence and I had gone back and forth over whether to offer just coffee to attendees who had purchased a book or a few baked goods as well, but I had made the final decision—no, we'd offer plain drip coffee and that's it. They could buy more if they wanted more. We were trying to make more money, here, not lose it.

Now, of course, I was second guessing myself. Twenty minutes before book club start time, no one was here yet. Regular customers sat in seats far away from my little book club nook. Did they sense the desperation radiating from my little sign that read "Book Club meeting tonight! Meet Al Rogers, Local Author of River of Gold!"? Maybe if it said "free snacks!" all the seats would be full right now.

I broke out in a sweat. There was nothing left to busy myself with, though—all I could do was sit and wait.

Al opened the front door, peering inside like a mouse checking for cats before creeping into the kitchen at night. He was wearing a button-down shirt, khaki pants, and loafers. His gray hair was combed and pomaded, and his beard was freshly trimmed. My hearted thudded—he had dressed up for this! Oh God, that would make tonight even worse if it was a failure. What if the whole thing was just me, him, and August sitting with this huge cluster of empty seats? What if it made him sad?

I waved to Al and he came over, looking apprehensively at my little sign and the sea of empty chairs.

"Oh, you've really set up for this," he said. I could hear the nerves in his tone.

"Well, we sold thirty copies," I said. "We've got to be prepared, here."

Silence. Al looked pale. He tried to smile but it didn't quite blossom.