How to Get Ainsley Bishop to Fall in Love With You (6 page)

I leaned in. “You need to—”

“Don’t tell me,” she said, holding up a finger as she punched numbers on her calculator. She let out a frustrated groan and started over.

“You need a new calculator,” I said, glancing distastefully at the antiquated machine she was working on.

“Trust me, it’s not the calculator,” Ainsley said, still focused on the problem.

“You’re only as good as your tools.”

“Yeah, well, my tools are going to have to do the job for now.” She chewed on her lip as she wrote and finally held the paper up with a victorious smile. “I did it!” Her smile fell, and she shoved the paper toward me. “Didn’t I?”

I scanned the problem and grinned. “Yeah. You did. Good job.”

“Couldn’t have done it without your help. Thanks so much, Oliver.” Her eyes widened. “Oh no. I’ve taken up your whole free period. You probably had homework of your own.”

I shrugged. “Nothing major.”

“I’m so sorry. You’ve got all those AP classes, too.”

“It’s really no big deal.”

“What am I saying?” she said. “You’re so smart, you probably never have homework.”

Okay, I’m not above admitting I preened a little bit at that. “Well, I wouldn’t say never—” I caught myself. This was about getting to know Ainsley. I needed to keep my head in the game. “Besides, you’re pretty smart yourself.”

“Well, you wouldn’t know it from my algebra skills.”

“Not everybody gets algebra right away. You just need to keep at it, and it’ll click at some point.”

“Sooner rather than later, I hope.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why we need it anyway. It’s not like I’ll ever
use
algebra.”

I sat up at that. “Oh, it’s actually very useful.”

“Well yeah, for you,” she said, gathering up her papers. “You need it for college and whatever.”

I faltered for a moment, surprised. “Wait. Are you saying you’re not going to college?”

She shrugged. “Probably not. If I do, maybe Benson Community or something. Just until Ian gets established at the dealership.”

I was at a loss for words, something rare and altogether unpleasant for me, make no mistake. “Is that what you want?”

Her eyes narrowed. “There’s nothing wrong with community college.”

“No . . . no, I’m not saying there is,” I said hastily. “But you . . . you’re so smart. And you get such good grades. You could do whatever you want.”

Ainsley flushed and looked away. “No point really, though. I mean, my dad needs me around and then there’s Ian. I can’t really go anywhere far away.”

“Seattle’s not that far.”

Ainsley opened her mouth to respond, but the bell rang before she could. “I’ve got to go,” she said. “Thanks again for your help, Oliver. Really.” She was halfway down the aisle before I could answer.

“No problem,” I murmured.

Late that night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, still thinking about Ainsley. I couldn’t get over my surprise at her saying she was probably going to BCC, if she went to college at all.

If
.

I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. College had always been a given for me. It had never even occurred to me that I might not go. And although I knew some people—a lot of people—didn’t go to college, and I didn’t really have a problem with that, I just couldn’t imagine
Ainsley
not going.

I figured she’d be a doctor or a lawyer . . . or the governor or something. Something big. Something amazing.

But it wasn’t even really about college, to be honest. It was the
way
she said there was no reason for it. The
way
she said she couldn’t go far away.

Like it wasn’t her idea. Like it wasn’t her
choice
.

It didn’t sit well with me, and I couldn’t figure out what to do about it.

After tossing and turning for another few minutes, I got out of bed and made my way to the kitchen to rummage around for a snack. Settling on some kind of stale oatmeal cookies and the last of the milk, I sat at the kitchen table, jumping a little when the door rattled then opened. My dad came through, shaking rainwater out of his hair, and stopped in surprise when he spotted me.

“What are you doing up at this hour?” he asked, slipping out of his coat and hanging it on one of the hooks by the door.

I shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”

My dad nodded and grabbed a cookie out of the bag. “Want to talk about it?” He sat down across from me and winced as he chewed on the cookie but took another bite.

I considered that question and all the things running through my head. “There’s this girl . . .”

His eyebrows shot up. “Oh yeah?”

I could see the
Way to go, son
coming and nipped it in the bud. “It’s not like that,” I mumbled, crumbling a cookie onto my napkin.

My dad eyed me carefully. “But you’d like it to be?”

I shrugged again and swept the crumbs into a pile, not meeting his eyes. “How’d you get Mom to fall in love with you?”

He frowned a little. “Well, it’s not like I set out to do it.”

“She said you make her feel important.”

“She did?” He really seemed surprised for a moment. Then his eyes fell to the table, and he pressed his finger into a wayward crumb and brushed it onto my napkin. “Well, she was. She
is
.”

“But how did you let her
know
that?”

My dad took another cookie and rolled it along the table as he thought. He seemed tired, dark circles under his eyes, lines curving around his mouth. He’d been working so much lately, and I hadn’t noticed how it had taken its toll.

“You have to think about what’s special about her,” he said, a quiet smile on his face. “And let her know you find it special, too. Compliment her. Listen when she talks.”

This was good. I could do that.

“I was thinking I might give her a birthday present,” I said hesitantly.

He looked up, surprised. “Really?”

“Nothing big.” I could tell he was already worried I was thinking about digging into my college fund. “But I want it to be perfect, you know?”

“You have something in mind?”

I sighed. “Not yet.”

My dad stood up and patted me on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something. But remember what they say—it’s the thought that counts.”

“Not really all that helpful, Dad.”

He laughed. “I know it sounds trite, but it’s true. If she realizes that you really put time and effort into picking it out, she’ll appreciate it all the more.” He leaned against the doorway to the living room. “I remember when your mom and I were first dating. She saw this little teacup in the window at this antique store. She mentioned that it was the same pattern her grandma had when she was little. She and her sisters would have tea parties when they’d visit her, with those little thumbprint cookies your mom makes?” He glanced at me, and I nodded. I loved those cookies.

“Anyway, she told me the cups were all broken when her grandma moved into a nursing home. She said it offhand. No big deal, just a story—we shared a lot of stories back then.” He looked off in the distance, a smile on his face. “But I went back to that store and got her that chipped teacup. Then I came home and made her a pot of tea and some of those thumbprint cookies. We didn’t have any raspberry jam. Closest thing was some maple syrup.” He winced. I had to agree. Gross.

“She didn’t even care, though. When she saw that chipped teacup and those horrible syrup-filled cookies . . .” He shook his head. “Well, I’ve never seen her so happy.”

He blinked and focused back on me. “All those sayings—it’s the thought that counts, and it’s the little things that matter—they become sayings because they’re true,” he said. “So if you want to give her something meaningful, you’ll have to find out what’s meaningful to
her
.”

I nodded, a little overwhelmed. “Okay. Thanks, Dad.”

He smiled and turned to head up to bed. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“Okay. Night, Dad.”

“Night, son.”

He left the room, and I stared into my milk for a few minutes. I was beginning to realize that this whole Ainsley proposition was a little more difficult than I’d anticipated.

But as I sat there in the dark, I knew that I was up for the challenge. After all, Ainsley was worth it.

4.
Make Her Feel Secure and Important

Let her know you’re there for her. She can talk to you about anything, and you’ll listen to what she has to say.

The Madison Falls Senior Center was conveniently located around the corner and two blocks down from my house. Convenient, because it was where I worked Saturday mornings, updating the website and blog as well as dealing with any computer-related problems that popped up during the week. The manager, Elaine, also had my home number, in case of emergency, although she rarely used it.

I knew I was lucky to have the job. Elaine used to work with my mom at the hospital before she left for the manager’s job. She knew I had a flair for computers and begged my mom to let me take a look at the system when I was fourteen. She kept me on and paid me under the table until I was old enough to be an official employee. It wasn’t bad, as part-time jobs went—better than slaving over a hot fryer or a push lawn mower.

Yeah, I wasn’t one for physical labor, to be honest. It wasn’t something I thought people should hold against me. It wasn’t that I was lazy or anything. I just generally preferred to use my brain rather than brawn. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Not that I had much brawn in the first place, but whatever.

I pulled into the parking lot a little before ten in the morning and nodded at Janice where she sat in her customary spot by the front door.

“Morning,” I said with a smile, sliding the oxygen tank next to her wheelchair a little farther away with a nervous look at her lit cigarette. “You really should quit, you know?”

Janice grinned, smoke pouring out through the spot where a tooth was missing. “You need to learn to respect your elders, boy.”

“I respect them plenty,” I replied, taking the cigarette and stubbing it out in the half-full ashtray balanced on the arm of her wheelchair. “Enough that I like them to stick around for a bit.”

Janice laughed and reached down to pull another cigarette from her bag. “Best get to work. Don’t want to be late.”

It was a familiar exchange. I just shook my head at her as I yanked open the heavy wooden door. “One of these days, I’m going to take those and hide them.”

Janice’s raspy laughter followed me down the entry hall, the familiar scent of disinfectant and mustiness assailing me as I made my way to the main office. I nodded at a few of the residents as they called out greetings. Some lived in the Center, some only visited for meals or leisure activities, but over the two years I’d worked there, I’d gotten to know most of them.

I settled behind the ancient desktop computer in Elaine’s office and punched the power button, blowing out a breath of air as I waited for it to boot up. It took forever. I’d tried to talk her into upgrading, but funds were tight and care of the residents took precedence over improving technology. Elaine had left the usual list of changes to make to the website, along with a blog post to upload. I’d tried to teach her numerous times how to do it herself, but without much success. I sometimes wasn’t sure if Elaine really hated technology as much as she claimed, or if she simply liked to keep me around.

I’d been at it about an hour when the woman in question popped her head through the doorway with a wide smile, her bright yellow hair a giant poof around her head. “Morning, Oliver,” she said. “How’s it going?”

“Morning,” I replied, tapping a few keys on the computer. “About done, actually. You have anything else for me today?”

She grimaced. “I don’t suppose you have time to check on the computer lab?” Elaine had a way of asking me to do things like it was an apology. Like she wasn’t actually
paying
me for the privilege.

“ ’Course,” I said, finishing up the blog post and turning to her with a smile. “Is there a problem?”

“Some of the residents have been trying to download . . .
inappropriate . . .
material again,” she said, her cheeks flushing hotly. “Looks like they’ve found a way around the firewall.”