Page 47 of Not in My Book

“I’m her critique partner.” Aiden cleared his throat. “I need to look over her work before she turns in her midterm.”

“Fine.” He stood up and began to tug on his jacket. “This conversation isn’t over, son.”

“Thanks for coming to the Hideout,” I called after him as he stalked off. I turned to Aiden, whose head was cradled in his hands on the table. His eyes were clasped shut, tension residing over him like a disease. Carefully, I set a hand on his shoulder, feeling the hard lines of his body beneath his suit, hoping I was being comforting at the very least. “Are you okay?”

At the sound of my voice, he sat up straight, like he’d just remembered I was standing there. He shook his head, wiping any signs of distress away as he faced me and said, “Thank you. For all of that. You didn’t have to do that.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Aiden exhaled, short and quick. “I’ll let you finish your shift.”

I rubbed the edges of my apron between my fingers. “Oh, uh, I actually finished my shift a while ago. I was just …” I trailed off, heat rising to my cheeks.

Aiden blinked slowly. “You stayed for me?”

“It’s not a big deal.” The words fumbled out of my mouth, tripping over each other. “Bless his heart, but your dad’s kind of a dick. No offense.”

Aiden Huntington had the audacity to smile at that. Arealsmile, the smile that I’d spent months secretly craving was here now, in full force. Crooked nose, crooked smile. Aiden Huntington was every romance reader’s favorite daydream.

“None taken.” He stood from the table, and I followed his gaze until he did so. He was looming over me and a pressure formed in mystomach at the intensity of his eyes. My mouth turned dry, but I couldn’t force myself to look away. He hesitated only slightly before saying, “Let me buy you dinner.”

My eyes widened. I started to shake my head, but he held his hand up.

“I owe you that. I promise, no candlelit Italian places.”

A shy smile spread across my face and I shook my head. “I won’t make you do that. It’s okay. Besides, you just ate, and I’d feel weird sitting there the whole time while you ate nothing.”

He squinted at me and it was almost …playful.“You look like the kind of girl who can’t refuse ice cream.”

I groaned. “Am I that easy to read?”

“My treat,” he insisted. “I owe you.”

I hesitated but caught Alexa’s eye over his shoulder. She was nodding aggressively and basically shooing me out of the store. “Okay,” I said finally. “Meet you out front?”

It was a known fact that New York in the winter was intolerable. The piercing wind caught between the skyscrapers, and the people, just as cold and calculated, didn’t care. I’d developed a thick skin and braced myself against the city, knowing that when it came down to it, I was truly by myself.

But walking around with Maxine, the city felt different. The sidewalks and concrete buildings grew warmer with every step, like someone had lit the fireplace in my heart and she was tending to it. Carefully adding logs every so often to stoke the flame. Walking side by side with her, ignoring every blaring car and streetlight, I knew I was far gone.

—Excerpt fromUntitledby Rosie Maxwell and Aiden Huntington

CHAPTER TWELVE

Van Leeuwen, a popular ice cream shop, was around the corner from the Hideout. I told Aiden he didn’t have to walk me home after he paid for our ice cream because the walk from Flatiron to the East Village was always long, but longer in the winter.

But Aiden only said, “You’d probably find some way to hurt yourself, and then I’d spend the rest of my life feeling guilty.”

It wasn’t necessarily the words of a romantic hero, but it made me smile.

December was just beginning, and although New Yorkers tended to hibernate in the winter, the city came to life during the holidays. We couldn’t walk a block without seeing some sort of holiday window display with poinsettias and red ribbon.

We hadn’t realized what a mistake we’d made until we ambled under streetlights, holding our ice cream. Aiden had been sensible enough to get a cup, but I got a waffle cone and the ice cream slid down my fingers, numbing them even more, especially since I forgot my gloves in my mad dash to the restaurant.

“I think you can tell a lot about a person by the ice cream flavor that they choose,” I said between licks.

“Oh really? What’s mine say about me?” He stuck his spoon in his mouth.

I scrunched my nose at the cup of vanilla in his hand. “Predictable. Plays it safe.”

---