Page 112 of Not in My Book

“You’re a handful and a half, Maxine, you know that?”

“Annndd we’re back to Maxine.”

—Excerpt fromUntitledby Rosie Maxwell and Aiden Huntington

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Grad students could teach an Intro to Creative Writing Class at the undergraduate school for some extra credits and cash. Aiden taught one in the evening and often read his students’ work—muttering to himself and shaking his head—while we sat together on the couch.

We had plans after his class tonight so I thought I would surprise him outside his classroom door. He taught in the Silver Arts and Science building in the world’s tiniest classroom. The classrooms in that building could hold maybe fifteen people max.I imagined Aiden as a strict, no-nonsense kind of teacher. He’d be strict on grammar and formatting, his critiques harsh as always. I feared for any romance writer in that class.

I was waiting in the lounge right outside the classroom, reading a romance novel on one of the couches, a little nervous to see his students walk out of the classroom. It’d be any minute now, and I expected to see a few tears.

When the door creaked open, I braced myself for the sobs, but heard …laughterinstead. My brows furrowed in confusion. Just as I was about to check to make sure I had the right room, Aiden’s voice floated out into the lounge.

“Jake, you’d better write the next chapter for next week now that you’ve left us on a cliffhanger.” Aiden’s voice hadjoyin it? He was beingkind? “I’ll see you all next week, have a nice weekend. Do something fun out in the city, don’t stress so much.”

Each student walked out with a smile on their face, looking through their papershappily.There must’ve been some sort of mix up; there was no way Aiden wasniceto these undergrads.

I couldn’t take it anymore and walked into his classroom. He was sitting behind a small desk at the front of the room, a student standing next to him.

“I think your dialogue is great, Henry, but I really would love to see you dig deeper.” Henry was hanging onto Aiden’s every word, scribbling down notes. “You know this is a safe space to experiment with your writing, so don’t be afraid to get vulnerable. Write what you really feel, and if you hate it, scrap it. There’s no pressure here from anyone in workshop, okay?”

“Thanks so much.” Henry looked up at me, and I gave him a small smile and wave. “I think you have another student waiting for office hours.”

Aiden turned to look at me, his face lighting up. He smiled kindly and said, “She’s my next appointment, but if you have any questions email, okay?”

Once Henry walked past me, I closed the door and turned to Aiden.

“Ms. Maxwell, are you here for your appointment?” he said teasingly, walking over to gather me into a hug. “I missed you today.”

I looked up at him, not able to keep the confusion off my face and out of my voice. “Since when are you sonice? Those kids were practicallyglowing.”

His chest rumbled with laughter. “And?”

I pulled back. “And the man I know isruthless.I expected those kids to have nightmares about workshop. Not for it to be their favorite class.”

Aiden’s eyes were full of amusement. His hands ran down my arms until his fingers intertwined with mine. “They’re undergrads, Rosie. They’re just learning how to write, and they’re figuring out if they love it or not. It’s whereIgot the courage to write. Their writing isn’t supposed to be good or perfect, they aren’t grad students. My job right now is just to get them to take another creative writing class.”

I had hearts in my eyes as I beamed up at him. He took one look at me and rolled his eyes before moving back to grab his bag. “Are we going or—”

“Aiden, that may be the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Okay, so are we—”

“Aiden.” I stepped forward, grabbed his hands, and got on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I never knew you had such a soft side.”

He was frowning now, all amusement gone from his eyes. But over these past few months, I’d learned enough about him to know he was just embarrassed. He waved me off and said, “Let’s never talk about this again. Are we going to your place or what?”

“Fine. But I want to see your staff picture first. Are you smiling in it?”

He gave me a withering glare and walked out of the classroom with me trailing behind.

Aiden hadn’t been to my apartment since Christmas. I never invited him over because he had the comfiest bed in the entire world with the softest blankets in the entire world in the nicest home in the entire world. And my place was … a little embarrassing.

Sure, sure, I was proud that I was paying for it all on my own blah blah blah, but I couldn’t help but be alittleself-conscious, especially when my boyfriend lived in a fucking brownstone. But when I’d mentioned to Aiden that I wished I knew how to make alfajores, he suggested that we try tonight to make up for our failed Christmas cookies. I told him I could grab the dulce de leche from my place then come over to his, but he frowned.

“Let’s go to yours,” he said, pressing a kiss to the side of my head. “Can I?”

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