: This is an AU Brucas story. Brooke is twenty eight, a celebrated fashion diva, with an ongoing relationship with a Broadway producer. One afternoon, under heavy rain, Brooke steps into a small bookstore, where a young man is reading aloud to a group of children...

Chapter 1

I end the call and give the phone a death stare. My jerk of a boyfriend canceled our plans the second time this week. "Christie!"

"Yes, m'am?"

"Cancel the limo. I'm walking home."

"But, m'am..."

"Just can it, girl. I'll see you tomorrow."

It's a fifteen block walk to my condo, which ordinarily I would avoid doing wearing high heels, but I need to blow off some steam. It's not just Flaky Julian. The whole day had been pretty frustrating, from a little mixup in a fabric shipment from China, to a fifteen minute call with a Hollywood princess, unhappy with the press of her last red carpet appearance. The stupid cow takes home a perfectly fitted dress, and then gains three pounds before wearing it.

Of course, as I leave the building, I find out it's raining. A late September rain, thin, steady and chilling. Go back for the limo, try for a cab or walk? It's walk. The rain is pretty thin, and I'm still needing to move. I pound the pavement, dodging umbrellas, keeping a hard stare ahead. I go two blocks up Third, getting bogged down by the foot traffic, then turn right, deciding to try my luck walking up Second. Halfway through the long block, the drizzle turns into an unmitigated downpour, and I squeeze under an awning. The awning belongs to a small bookstore, of all things. I decide to step inside, to kill some time while waiting on the rain.

I step inside, squeezing my hair, and a blonde teenager walks up to me. "Welcome to Pierce's Bookstore madam." She smiles and hands me a small towel. Impressed by the kind service I look around. It's an old fashioned store, a large central room, with the service desk and a cashier to one side, tall bookcases along the walls, stairs to a second floor and adjoining rooms. Although the place is fairly crowded, it's quiet, as if the books on the walls absorb some of the noise. In the background a clear voice can be heard, reciting something. I follow the voice to a large side room marked Children and Young Adults. In a corner of the room there's a small raised stage, where a young man is reading aloud to a group of children, maybe ten or so, either sitting of the floor or on small beanbags that are scattered around.

"Little Peter walked into the witch's house, trying to be very quiet. He was terrified of the old hag, but he knew, if he couldn't get the stone back, his family would be in a lot of trouble. Unfortunately, as he was walking slowly, looking to this side and that, he didn't notice the large black cat sleeping right in front of him. He didn't notice, of course, until he stepped in his long, scraggly tail... "

The scream of the cat gives me a start, and several of the children scream as well. I can't avoid smiling. The young man is very good, talking slowly in a deep voice, pulling you right into the story. The storyteller briefly lifts his eyes from his book, and gives me a glance, and a little smile. He has intense blue eyes and short blonde hair. He appears to be young, maybe twenty-one or so.

I pull one of the bean bags and sit on it, leaning against a wall. He pulls me right back into the story, with his mesmerizing telling.

"The witch grabs Peter by the arm and drags him next to the fire, so she can see him better. She is old, and her eyes are not what they once were.

"What are you doing here, boy?"

"Uh, uh well madam..."

"Speak! Boy. Speak or I will tan your hide."

Peter is not sure if that means a spanking, which would be more or less fine with him, or actually removing his skin and making a rug with him, which he wouldn't like one bit.

"Well, madam. My mother sent me to ask..."

The witch laughs. "Don't lie to me boy!" Of course, no mother in this neighborhood would send a child to Old Meg's house. They come if they need a spell or a poultice, but they are all terrified of her, the fools.

"All right, m'am. I'm sorry. It's the stone..."

As the story unfolds, I begin to realize this is no ordinary fairy tale. The characters are vivid and quirky, and the story unconventional. The storyteller makes amazing character voices. For the first time in the day, I feel myself begin to relax, and entranced by the story and the storytelling, my eyelids begin to feel heavy...

Madam, madam..."

I open my eyes and look around. The store seems empty. "Madam, we are about to close for the night."

I look I my watch. It's nine. I've slept more than four hours. "I'm sorry. It looks like I fell asleep."

"It's not a problem madam. But we are closing now."

"Thank you." I

I was sleeping on a small beanbag, leaning against a wall, and I feel more rested than I have felt in weeks. All the stress and anger of the day, gone.

"Who was the young storyteller?"

"I don't know, madam. He is a friend of the owner, I think. He comes, almost every Thursday, and reads for a couple of hours. He is wonderful, isn't he? There are kids who come every week, just to hear his stories."

I get home just to be confronted by an angry Julian. He speaks in a strained voice. "Where the fuck have you been?"

I give him a cool stare. "Moderate your tone, buster, or you're leaving." He is not going to spoil my mood.

He speaks again, this time in a more reasoned voice. "Sorry. I was worried. What happened to you?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? I called and texted. Why didn't you answer?"

I pick up my phone from my purse. I'd muted it when I was at the bookstore, and then forgot it. "Oh, I had left it muted. Here you are, six missed calls, four from you, and three texts. Sorry. What happened to your oh-so-important meeting?"

"It got pushed. We could actually have made it to the concert."

I look at him and smile, walking towards my bedroom. He speaks to my back.

"Seriously, what happened to you?"

He is getting tiresome, so I answer sarcastically. "It's none of your business, boyfriend."

I hear the slamming of the front door and smile. I'm not in the mood for his whining anyways.

Not even a little sleepy, I put on my silk nightgown, pick up a glass of wine and my sketch pad. By the time I got sleepy, I had three new, smoking hot designs for my Spring collection.

Next morning, Julian was waiting outside the building, a red rose in his hand. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I don't know what came over me. You know I love you, please forgive me."

I give him a soft smile. "All right, Julian. Forgiven and forgotten." I stretch on tiptoes and give him a sweet kiss on the lips. "But you're gonna have to take me somewhere fancy tonight." He appears to deflate.

"Well. Do you remember my meeting for yesterday? The one that got pushed?"

"Yes."

"It's going to be today, at seven. I'm so sorry, honey."

I make a little face. "Very well, make it tomorrow. But you'll have to bring your A game, handsome."

"You're on."

He does go all out. Show up on time, with a dozen red roses, looking very handsome in a new Brooks Brothers suit. He takes me to one of the more traditional italian restaurants in New York, and he is light, and charming, with little stories of the Broadway backstage, and growing up in Hollywood.. We then go to a Jazz club midtown, where we listen to old songs and dance. Julian is a smooth dancer and a charming companion when he cares to be. It feels like two years ago, in one of our first dates. The night ends at my condo, with some very sweet lovemaking. I enjoyed the evening, and appreciated the effort he put into it, but I couldn't help thinking that there were problems we couldn't just erase with roses, smooth talk or even great sex.

The following week was back to the old routine. During the day, dealing with the day-to-day running a major fashion label. After my burst of inspiration last Thursday, I hit a bit of a dry spell. I still needed at least half a dozen good designs to complete the Spring catalog. But everything I try either looks awkward or last season. Julian spends a couple of nights at my place, and I spend one at his. He is still trying to be his best self, but...

I'm in front of the mirror, applying mascara. We are supposed to go out for dinner with some bigwigs he is courting to fund his latest off-Broadway venture.

"Honey, have you seen my onix cufflinks?"

"I saw them on top of your nightstand."

"Damn. They are not here! Are you sure?"

I sigh, interrupt what I am doing and go to his nightstand, and pick up the cufflinks.

"Here. Next time you might actually try looking."

At least he has the grace of looking a little embarrassed. "Sorry."

I get back to my make-up. A few minutes later he appears behind me. "Hurry up, will you? We are going to be late."

"If you stop interrupting and let me concentrate, this will go faster."

He starts pacing up-and-down. "I need to get these guys on board, Brooke. If this project doesn't fly, I really don't know what I'm going to do."

"You'll move onto the next project."

"You don't realize how important this is to my career, Brooke! I've got to keep the momentum."

I apply the last touches and get up. I'm wearing one of my own models, a deep burgundy strapless number with silver accents that's very flattering to my figure. Add a platinum diamond choker, earrings, a tennis bracelet, silver four inch Blahniks and a creamy silk echarpe, and I'm ready to impress. I get to the living room and he looks at his watch.

"Finally! Let's roll."

At least a couple of our dinner companions aren't quite as oblivious to my appearance, much to the annoyance of their dates. Julian turns up the charm, and I work on dazzling, so we end the night with a couple of firm commitments to his project. As we ride back home, Julian is in the clouds. "We did it, Brooke! Finally I have the money to move forward. Thank you. You were brilliant today."

"I'm glad I could help, boyfriend." He just can't hear the slightly icy tone. We stop in front of my building and I tell the driver. "Please hold for a bit." I step outside with Julian on my heels, a puzzled expression on his face. "What?"

I give him a tired look. "I'm tired, Julian. You'd better go home."

"Why, Brooke? What did I do?"

"Nothing. I just want to rest. Call me tomorrow."

"All right, I'll call you tomorrow. I love you, bye."

"Bye."

I'm very annoyed with him, and I know this is not exactly fair. He's always been a little whiny and self-centered, but he compensates by being smart, charming, oh-so-handsome and an overall good guy. I'm far from perfect too, as my inner bitch is never far from the surface. I've always thought we make a good couple, but recently he seems to be getting too much on my nerves. Maybe it will pass.

Thursday morning begins with a call from Julian. I dismiss the call, as well as the two subsequent ones. Work starts crazy, and soon gets very crazy, as one crisis follows another. One of our signature models is found passed out in the VIP lounge of a fashionable club. She is going to spend a season in rehab, and the tabloids have their field day.

During lunch time, I get a text from Julian. "What did I do wrong? I'm sorry, love. Please call me. xox" I don't bother replying.

There's a fire in one of our warehouses, which backs up orders and messes up our logistics. Some designer from the midwest is suing us for intellectual property theft, alleging we stole a couple of her designs for our Fall collection. We have a long discussion with our lawyers and decide to settle, much to my annoyance. Time moves on, one meeting after the other, as I get increasingly frazzled and frustrated. It's a quarter to eight when I finally manage to get out of the office.

It's a crisp night, with unusually clear skies. I walk by the bookstore and get in. The same blonde teen that received me last week comes to me with a smile. "Welcome to Pierce's bookstore, madam." I look towards the children and young adults section.

"Was he here today?"

"Yes he was, madam. We had a full house today. He left about an hour ago."

My shoulders sag. "Thank you."

"He should be back next week around five, madam."

I can't believe my inappropriate dismay, the tears that threaten to spill, as I walk back home. What's wrong with me? As I approach the entrance to my building, there is Julian waiting for me, a single white rose in his hand and a slightly desperate look in his face.

He can see that something is wrong. "Brooke, my love, what's wrong? I'm so sorry."

I give him a narrowed eye stare. "Go home, Julian. I can't deal with you right now."

He steps in front of me. "Please don't shut me out, Brooke. I love you. Please tell me what is wrong."

"Just get out of my way."

"No. I need you to tell me what is wrong."

I scream at him. "I don't give a fuck about what you need! Get out of my way, or else..."

"Or else what?"

"You know what."

His body deflates in defeat, and he steps aside. He whispers. "Please, Brooke..."

I relent a bit. "I'll call you later."

"Bye, Brooke."

"Bye."

I toss myself on my bed, fully clothed, and cry non-stop for about half an hour. I'm not entirely clear why I am crying. Next I grab a tub of chunky monkey from the freezer, a spoon, and I watch old episodes of Sex and the City until I fall asleep in the couch.

I wake up at four in the morning, a crick in my neck for sleeping in the couch. I change into exercise clothes and go for a run. Manhattan is never really quiet, but at that time, it's just delivery trucks, sweepers, and the distant sound of emergency vehicles in the background. I end up running along the East River. After about an hour, I begin to feel like myself again. At home I take a long, hot shower, eat some breakfast and walk to the office.

At half past six the office is empty, and I have about two hours of quiet time. I manage three complete designs, pretty decent, if I may say so, before Christie walks in. "Miss Davis!"

I greet her with a smile. "Good morning Christie."

"You're here early."

"Yes. Please, send these to prototyping. I want to see them early next week. Also, get me a caramel macchiato. How's my day looking?"

"There's a meeting at ten with Macy's and the general staff meeting at three."

"Get the staff here at nine and clear my afternoon. Call Franz and book me for a full treatment."

The staff meeting happens with just a couple of department heads subbed by their assistants. It's the usual complaints, but no fires to be put out. The meeting with Macy's goes better than fine, as they report stronger than expected third quarter sales, and request a twenty percent increase in their inventory beginning next month. This is something we can actually accommodate, barely. At lunch, I call an old friend.

"Brooke, old slut. What's up?"

"Nothing much. Too much work. Drinks at Scotty's?"

"If it's early. Hot date tonight. Make it at six?"

"That's fine. See you then."

"Bye."

After an afternoon of pampering at Franz, I run home and get my act together and meet Rachel. Scotty's is a noisy bar midtown, catering to a young professional crowd. Rachel is sitting at the bar when I arrive, sipping white wine. She is a sculptural redhead with an acid wit, working as an account manager for a big ad agency. We've been best friends since high school.

We move to a table in a quieter corner, and I order a glass of red.

"What's up, fat ass? It's been a long time."

"You know, the usual. Too much work, not enough play..."

She cuts me off. "Don't bullshit me, slut. Something's up." She could always read me like a book.

I stare at my glass of wine. "Yeah, something is up."

"Julian?"

"In part. Something happened last week. Something crazy, and I can't get it out of my head."

"Did you cheat on Julian?"

"Hell, no! You know I don't do this shit. It's crazier than that, and all in my head. But my thing with Julian was already in a bit of trouble, an now it looks like it's about to crash."

"I can't say I'm sorry to hear that. I know you could do better."

"You always say that."

"It's always true. So, did you develop a crush on somebody?"

"That's closer to the mark, but it's not that either. Trouble is, I'm all but ready to dump Julian, and he didn't do anything wrong. It's all on me." I can feel my eyes becoming wet. "He's in love, Rach. It's going to hurt him like the bitch, and I can't even really explain why."

"It's easy. You're not in love with him." She throws her hands in the air. "You act and talk all tough, but you're such a softie. What do you care if he's hurt? You're Brooke Davis. He's already had two years with you. He should feel privileged."

I sigh. "I wish I was like you, sometimes."

"Then don't dump him, bitch. Wait a little. Maybe whatever is bothering you will pass, and you'll be all cozy with your boy toy again."

"Maybe."

As I step out of the bar, I send Julian a text. "Brunch at the Plaza. Sunday noon. xx"

Five minutes later I get a reply. "I'll be there. xox"

I go home, watch some dumb reality TV, eat and drink more wine. Then it's bed. I toss and turn. Finally, I resort to an ambien, and manage to slip away.

Saturday it's gym, a long soak, retail therapy and more sketching. I buy a wonderful Kors and some nice underwear. I also manage to get three halfway decent sketches made, so I'm done with the Spring collection. I'm going to put together a little private show for my in-house experts. Later, it's chinese take out and a long phone call with my lifelong bff, Peyton, who runs an art gallery in Atlanta and manages a household with three small kids. She married right out of college, a sweet, boring man who makes her very happy. I go to bed still without knowing what I'm going to do about Julian. At least I manage to sleep without alcohol or pills, but I end up dreaming again of the nameless storyteller.

I get to the Plaza fifteen minutes late, and Julian is already seated, looking uncomfortable. I give him a breezy smile and a quick peck in the lips. "Hi Julian."

"Good morning, Brooke."

We order, and, still not knowing what to do, I try a bit of avoidance. "So, how have you been?"

"Really, Brooke? We're pretending nothing is wrong?"

Well, no luck on the avoidance. It's onward, then. "I know, Julian. We have to talk."

"Did I do something wrong?" Straight to the point.

"No."

"Is there someone else?"

"No!"

He raises his voice a little. "Then what, Brooke? What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure I feel about you the same way you feel about me."

"I love you, Brooke. Are you saying you don't love me anymore?"

"No! I love you too. I'm not sure I am still in love with you."

"Do you want to break up?"

Moment of truth. I think a bit. "No. I want to keep trying it. I mean, trying us. Just take it easy."

"What do you mean?"

"Just that. Try to enjoy each other. See if things get back in shape."

He grabs my hand. "I'm all for that, Brooke. You know you're it for me."

I make a little grimace. "That's the problem right there. Please, avoid the heavy commitment stuff. Let's just take it a day at a time."

"What about a walk in the park after brunch? Check out the monkeys at the zoo? Make out a bit under a tree?"

"That's right. Now you're talking, boyfriend."

It's a very nice afternoon. We finish our brunch, and take our long afternoon in the park. The park is crowded, mostly people with children, enjoying the unseasonable sunny afternoon. A few hours later, Julian drops me off at my building, and with a brief kiss. I'm feeling good about my decision.

We meet again on Tuesday night, for pizza and a movie at my condo. Again, light fun. We make out during the movie, and end up having sex in front of the TV. After, he leaves to his apartment, as we both have early morning work. We arrange to have a formal dinner date on Friday.

Thursday morning I find myself in pins and needles already in the morning. I take a lot of time choosing my work outfit, which ends up on the conservative side, a cream cashmere pullover over a knee-length dark green skirt and short black boots with three inch heels. I make sure there's no appointment after three, and we have our little in-house show. I take note of several criticisms and suggestions for possible improvement of the collection, and, at four, I leave.

I'm sitting in a bean bag at the back corner of the room when he walks in. There's already a dozen or so children there. He is wearing tan slacks, a white cotton button shirt with rolled sleeves and sneakers. He is tall, a little over six feet, on the skinny side and young, maybe a little older than I originally thought. He takes his seat and looks at the audience. We exchange a brief mutual glance and I get the impression of a faint smile directed at me. He opens his book and starts weaving his magic.

"... after so many fights, so many disputes, the Lion is tired. For many years, the animals have brought him their disagreements, and he ponders, decides, and sometimes punishes, just as his father, and his father before that. So finally he brings the animals together and says. Enough! I will no longer be your King. Choose another...

... some animals talk about a competition. The cheetah proposes a race. The elephant, weightlifting, the Hippo suggests choosing the animal with the biggest mouth, the giraffe, the biggest legs. But how to choose a new king? Perhaps a vote? One vote per animal, which surely the ants would like, if they could speak, or by species. Finally, an ancient turtle has the best proposal. A storytelling competition...

... the Lion accepts to judge the competition. As a final kingly act, he would decide on the best story... "

I close my eyes and let myself drift in his story. As before, it's not a conventional fable, the animals are as individually quirky as their voices. I imagine a beloved parent reading this story to his little girl, and I feel like I am again a little girl. I open my eyes and I see I'm not the only one under his spell. The children and even their parents all have this dreamy look, all transported to his world, by the measured cadence of his voice, and the twists and turns of his tale. This time I don't sleep. I follow the story to it's conclusion and I quietly applaud with the others when he is done.

As people leave, I stand up and wait, in the hope of exchanging a few words with him. After everyone left, he approaches me, book under one arm, one hand in his pocket.

"Hi. I've seen you here before."

"I was here a couple of weeks ago. I'm surprised you remember."

He smiles. "You're not easy to forget."

His words and his stare fluster me a bit. "I'm a little embarrassed, a grown woman coming here to hear stories, without a child as an excuse..."

"I assume the child is hidden inside you." He pauses. "My name is Lucas."

"I'm Brooke."

"Can I buy you a cup of coffee?"