Page 36 of Not in My Book

It was true. I had a tote bag decorated with pins, and, pinned right next to the Tennessee flag, was a small Peruvian flag. I hadn’t known Aiden had even noticed it.

“Half-Peruvian,” I said. “My dad’s from good ol’ Rocky Top and my mom’s from Peru. It’s made for some weird family reunions.”

He laughed softly. “I’ll bet.”

“What about you?” I snatched a roll from the breadbasket between us. “Were family gatherings also unbearable for you?”

Hunter paused, not meeting my eyes. He cleared his throat and said, “I didn’t really have a lot of those.”

“What about for the holidays? Thanksgiving was always confusing—we’d have sweet potato pie on one end of the table and ceviche on the other.”

He paused again. “I didn’t really have holidays either.” Just as I was about to press for details, he said, “I’m sure your family has some Christmas traditions.”

It was obvious that Aiden was staying away from the topic of his own family. Not everyone was as lucky as I was to have such a loving support system. But this was the kind of conversation I’d been hoping to have at dinner, and he knew me well enough to know Ididwant to press for details. I wanted to know more about his lonely Thanksgivings and why it had been so hard to call his father for a reservation today. And why he was avoiding a dinner with him. But how could I be certain this was all true? Aiden crafted his words so carefully that there was no reason to believe this was all real, but I still knew it was.

“We have a few Christmas Eve traditions,” I said. “My mom usually makes a big feast andeveryonefrom my mom’s side comes. We open presents right when midnight hits, and we dance until everyone gets tired and goes home. Afterward, my dad makes us watchIt’s a Wonderful Life.On New Year’s, though, we have a big party.” I couldn’t stop the joy from radiating from me as I remembered those cold December nights. “There’s a small Peruvian community in my hometown, and for New Year’s they always came to our house, and we do all the traditions we can.”

“Like what?”

“Well, the color you wear represents what you want for the New Year. Yellow for luck, green for money, red for love …” I trailed off.

“Ah.” He leaned back, his head nodding in understanding. “And you always wear red?”

“Not at our last party,” I confessed. “I wore yellow. I just … really needed some luck. I figured I’d start with that then move onto red when I felt like I was ready.”

The conversation fell so easily between us throughout the meal that I forgot that only a few hours earlier, I’d hated him.

In these few pages, I was learning more about Aiden than I had in the past year of workshop. He was funny and sometimes even flirty. I had to keep my head on straight and remember that he was creating a romance hero, not charming me.

“Tell me what it was like growing up in New York,” I begged. “Just one thing.”

Hunter sighed, as if he didn’t really want to answer.

“Wow, okay, message received,” I murmured. I waited anxiously for the words to appear before me on the doc. I’d given up memories, real ones, to Aiden. All I wanted was one of his own.

When he saw the hope in my eyes, he relented.

“There,” I said triumphantly, and waited.

Finally, after what felt like an endless moment, Aiden typed,“I did go to a prep school on the Upper West Side, but I lived with my mom in Alphabet City after she and my dad split. So, as a nine-year-old, I took a forty-minute subway ride by myself to school and back every day.”

My jaw dropped slightly. “I’m not too proud to admit that at twenty-six I get a little nervous taking my ten-minute train ride.”

He shrugged and picked his fork back up, moving his food around. “You get used to it. You know which train cars will be safe and which ones won’t be. I always got on one with a mom and her kids so I knew she’d look out for me.”

My heart broke a little for Aiden. I had always dreamed of growing up in New York, but the image of Aiden in his little prep uniform and backpack, sitting alone, nearly brought tears to my eyes.

He gulped down his water, avoiding my eyes. “It’s no big deal. By the time high school started, my mom and I had moved to the West Village, and I transferred to a school around there.”

“So you didn’t see your dad at all?”

“Not really, no.”

“Your mom must be the best.”

Suddenly, our words started to erase from the doc. I sat up, panicked there was some glitch, before I realized it wasAidenremoving our last few lines of dialogue.

I quickly moved to the chat box to the side:

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