Page 17 of Expensive

“You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings.”

9

Andrew

Timber rubs salve on my ass before we go to sleep, then holds me in his arms all night. In the morning I ask him if we can order room service for breakfast because I don’t want to get out of bed yet. I just want to stay here with Timber and my bear, Frankie, all day.

But Timber asks me to put on my clothes, and we go down to the hotel restaurant for breakfast. I do my best to hide my disappointment. I’m sure it would be boring for him to listen to me read again. And I do want him to enjoy himself.

After breakfast, we walk along Main Street, where there are lots of small local shops that sell everything from beach towels to tarot cards. Timber opens the door to a used bookshop.

“What do you think? Want to go in?” he asks.

What kind of question is that? Of course I do. I slip inside.

“It’s good to see you smile,” he says.

Have I not been smiling enough? Is that what he wants from me?

“I’m sorry—”

He glares at me, and I know immediately that I’ve said something I shouldn’t.

“I’ll get to see your smiles when I deserve them. Now, go find a book for yourself. I’d like to buy you something.”

Maybe I should remind him that I’m paying him to be here—that we’re only here to get to know each other so the sex we have later at my home won’t be as awkward. But I want Timber to buy me something. It could be a twenty-five-cent paperback that’s falling apart, and I’d still treasure it forever.

The bookshop has mostly mysteries with a very small section for romance and classics. None of them are rare, but some of them are very pretty. There’s a lovelyAlice’s Adventures in Wonderlandwith gold edges, and a copy ofWuthering Heightswith a beautiful illustration of the English Moors on the cover. As I deliberate between the two of them, Timber mills about the store, until he finds a few Westerns mixed in with the mysteries. He picks out a few by Zane Grey and plants himself in an armchair in the corner, completely content to let me browse for a while.

The bookshop has that dust and old paper smell you can’t really pick up anywhere else. In the weeks following my intended mate’s death, I spent a lot of time in bookshops. I spent a lot of my time traveling too. I liked to remind myself of the things money could buy. I went to Scotland, where there are libraries so old the books are chained to the walls, and to Washington DC, where I had to lie to an old librarian about a fake research project I was doing to be allowed inside the reading room at the Library of Congress. I traveled near and far to every destination I’d ever wanted to see, but it didn’t fill the emptiness inside.

The owner of the bookshop sorts through inventory behind her desk. Other than that, there isn’t another soul in the shop. A lot of the bookshops I’ve been to are empty like this. I wonder if eventually they’ll become a relic.

I walk over to Timber’s corner. He looks up at me and opens his arms as if to sayCome sit in my lap.

Here? Does he mean it?

He gives me that glare I’m starting to grow fond of.

I glance back at the register. I can’t see the cashier from this part of the shop, so I perch myself on Timber’s knee. He gathers me into his arms until I can rest my head on his shoulder.

“Did you find a book for yourself?” he asks.

“Yes. This copy ofWuthering Heightsis nice, don’t you think?”

He kisses the top of my head. I close my eyes, savoring the feeling. This has become so much more than just getting to know each other. He’s so affectionate, so tender.

“It looks very quaint. Would you like to read here for a while? I wouldn’t mind hanging out for a bit before we buy our books.”

Does he mean like this? While sitting in his lap?

As if to answer my question, he lifts his book up again and starts reading. I open to the first page ofWuthering Heightsand read for a while too. Before long, I realize we’ve been reading together for over an hour, but Timber doesn’t seem to mind. He’s content to just sit here with me.

Eventually, we purchase our books and head back into the sunshine. A block farther down we find an ice cream shop. Timber probably doesn’t want ice cream. It’s more of an ice dragon shifter thing. Whenever there’s warm weather, my dragon wants popsicles, ice cream, and shakes. When I was little, my omega dad used to take me to this ice cream shop that had something called “playdough” ice cream. It was this yellow, red, and blue mixture, that got its name for its resemblance to playdough. That shop closed a long time ago, but I like searching for playdough ice cream in my travels.

Timber smiles. “You want ice cream.”

“I didn’t say—”

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