Page 66 of The Boyfriend Goal

22

IT’S A THING

Josie

Thalia was right. The Great Grimaldi is worth it. A week later, on Friday afternoon, I work with the former magician to help digitize his stage shows from the eighties full of close-up magic. By the time we’ve worked through a few VHS tapes, I’m convinced I can turn a glass of water into a deck of cards.

“Does sharing this with me violate a magician’s code or something?” I ask him.

“Not if you don’t tell a soul,” he says, then brings his finger to his mouth. He still sports an old school magician’s mustache and an air of elegant mystery.

“I’ll protect your secrets,” I say.

“Very good,” he says, then whips his cape around him and vanishes. Okay, he doesn’t vanish. But he’s just like a character in a fantasy novel so I like to think he does.

As soon as I join Thalia at the reference desk, she tips her chin toward a group of teenagers spread out at a table in the study room. “Save me. There are some high school students working on a research project on the use of artificial intelligence in healthcare, and they have no clue where to go besides social media,” she says, adopting a this is making me batty smile. “Please help before I melt into a puddle of dismay?”

Way to speak to my soul. Plus, this is why they have me. Why the foundation made this grant.

“On it,” I say and if I can impart any wisdom in this lifetime, it’s that there are many, many better resources than social media. I help the group of teens find reputable resources online, and I barely even look at the clock.

Fine, I check it a few times. I’m looking forward to shopping with Everly after work today, more than I usually look forward to grocery shopping. I took her up on her grocery store offer—we’re going to hit her favorite hidden gem store in the city. I can get supplies for my project with Wes, and I kind of can’t wait to tackle the fourth item on my list. Maybe because I like baking? Or possibly because I like our blossoming friendship? Spending time with him makes me feel…seen. I haven’t felt that often. Not growing up at least, so it’s a little thrilling.

His messages are too. We’ve been trading recipe ideas all week for number four, even when he flew to Vancouver for a quick away game a few days ago. He returned yesterday though.

As the day winds down, a new message lands on my phone from him, and seeing his name makes my pulse spike. Since it’s quiet at the desk, I read his text right away, feeling a little bubbly.

Wesley: Take that back. What you said last week about my video game skills. I’ve been killing it today.

Josie: Really? You got shot forty-two times by the undead in the abandoned warehouse the second you started the game last night.

Wesley: That was an improvement!

Josie: All I can say is don’t quit your day job.

Wesley: Damn, woman. Way to hit a man when he’s down.

Josie: Need a Band-Aid for your wounded ego?

Wesley: Evidently. Will you put it on me?

Josie: If I can find one big enough.

Wesley: If I’m ever roasted, remind me that you should be the emcee.

Josie: I hate roasts but deeply appreciate the compliment.

Wesley: Agree. Roasts are evil. Like, you’re my friends, and you want to tell me why I’m awful?

Josie: And make fun of me in public?

Wesley: But pranks on teammates are another story.

Josie: That is such a guy thing to say.

Wesley: I am a guy.

Josie: I know, Wes. I know.

---