Page 52 of Not in My Book

“Is that what they call it in romance novels? Doing stuff?” He laughed, and despite the rowdy park, it cut through all the noise and landed so beautifully in my mind that I wished it was a physical item that I could hold forever.

“Shut up, you know what I mean. It’ll be a display of intense love for our characters. All the tension between them will finally pay off.” Aiden’s dark brows furrowed, skepticism flitting across his face. “Don’t worry, I think we’re a little while away from writing their sex scene. But even though we’re writing a slow burn, I still think they should kiss before we turn in what we have.”

He raised a brow. “A slow burn?”

I smiled. “A slow burn is when it takes a really long time for the couple to get together. When you build up so much tension andyearning between them, that it makes the reader burn and die for them to finally kiss.”

He thought about that for a moment, then nodded once. “Well then, where do we go from here?”

“I’m not sure.” I bit my lip. “Do you want to grab some coffee? I’m freaking out just a little about getting everything done in time. Maybe we can sketch out the next bit together?”

He stiffened. “Okay.”

“We don’t have to if you’re busy.” I frowned.

“No! I’m definitely not busy. Not busy at all.” He shifted back and forth on his feet, his cheeks reddening. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply like he was collecting his thoughts. “Yes, I want to go get coffee with you.”

I eyed him. “Okay, weirdo. Think Coffee?”

“Lead the way.”

After we had ordered our coffee, we sat at a small table in the back corner. As I unpacked my laptop and notebook, Aiden rolled up his sleeves, revealing his forearms. He was wearing a black shirt, which made his green eyes look brighter and his hair look even darker. In romance novels, there was always such a focus on body parts that had rarely seemed attractive to me in real life. I’d never cared much for jawlines or clavicles or forearms. But around Aiden, I couldn’t help but always notice how his shirt would tighten around his biceps and make his forearms look sostrong.I loved making him mad for plenty of reasons, but my new favorite one was the way his jaw would tick when he was particularly irked.

“Let’s outline,” I said before I went into cardiac arrest at the sight of Aiden running a hand through his hair.

For the next few hours, we entertained a few different story ideas. Mine romantic, his morbid.

“But! If we kill one of them off now, it gives the realistic ending that we need,” he reasoned. His shoulders were squared as he laid his hands on the table to speak.

“We can’t call it a romance if they don’t even kiss before one of them dies! They’re just friends right now, they’re not even lovers.”

“It’ll surprise the reader.”

“They’ll throw the book away!”

I pulled my hair away from my shoulders into a low ponytail. I had learned to dress in layers during the winter. Today I was wearing my puffer, a sweater, and a white V-neck with my jeans.

Aiden was looking up toward the ceiling as I arranged my hair, his jaw tense.

“I think there’s enough tension,” he said. “Let’s just cut it off—”

“And have them kiss! Perfect!” I clasped my hands in front of my chest joyfully. He suppressed a smile, his cheekbones lifting but the lines of his lips pressed together.

The sight of his unwanted smile made my chest warm because I knew I’d put it there. I was finally getting to know the real Aiden. Not the version of himself he hid behind his iron mask, but the one who relished in sad moments and awarded people with smiles, even if he didn’t want to. “Opposites attract” wasn’t just a romanticized idea in my head, it was a scientific fact, right?

Aiden cleared his throat, pulling at the collar of his shirt just a little. “Hey, would you ever want to grab—”

“Piel Canela” by Los Panchos, a song my mom and I always danced to in the kitchen, started blaring from my phone, my mom’s face flashing on the screen. Blood rushed to my cheeks as I snatched it from the table.

“Sorry, I should take this.” I turned away from Aiden and said in a low whisper, “Mami? Is everything okay?”

We usually had our weekly calls on Sunday nights. When she called during the week it was usually an emergency. Albeit they were always stupid emergencies like “Where did you get the blackberry jam from again?” or “Do you know where your father keeps the weed eater?”

“Mi vida, estoy pleaneando la cena de Navidad y necesito saber si vienes o no.”

“I don’t know right now, Mami,” I said through clenched teeth. I glanced over at Aiden who was staring intently down at his notebook, very obviously listening but trying not to.

“Hijita, your tía and I want to start cooking before the grocery stores turn crazy. We need to figure out how many potatoes, eggs—”

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