Page 63 of Not in My Book

“Like the Maggie Frantel who basically had her own shelf in the Strand?”

His eyebrows flew up smiling. “I didn’t know you were such a fan.”

I shot him a look. “Everyone’s read at leastoneof her books in their life … Sothat’swhere you got all this money?”

He sighed heavily, running a hand down his face. “It’s complicated. She left meeverythingwhen she passed instead of her sistersbecause the only way I could inherit the trust fund from my dad was if I followed in his footsteps as the ‘heir’ to his company. I’ve been surviving off her money for years.”

I was quiet for a moment. “I didn’t know your mom passed.”

“Almost seven years ago. My freshman year of college.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’ve learned to live with it. It’s why I enrolled in the MFA program. She was depressed for a really long time after she left my dad, but writing saved her. She filled my childhood with literature and words flying around the house. All I’ve ever wanted was to follow in her footsteps so I took some classes in college, but then my dad started breathing down my neck about taking some finance position at his company. This program felt like the only way I could say ‘I’m doing this, whether you like it or not.’ ”

“You’re a great writer. I’m sure she’d be so proud of you, Aiden,” I whispered.

He smiled slightly and said, “Thank you, Rosie.” We held each other’s gaze for a second. I wanted to climb into his mind and dig out everything he was hiding. I wanted to assure him that we were okay—that he could tell me these things without judgment and I’d be a friend, not the adversary I was in August.

His eyes didn’t leave mine as he whispered, “We should probably …”

“Right! Right. Yes. The chapter.” I snatched the laptop from him and skimmed through the ending of the last chapter. “You left them at a good place. They’re at the company retreat, right?”

“In separate hotel rooms,” he reminded me.

“If there’s anything you can learn from being friends with me,” I said, turning to him seriously, “it’s that any moment can become a romantic moment.”

“Bullshit.”

I lifted my chin. “Try me.”

He rubbed his hands together. “Alright, walking your dog.”

I scoffed. “Oh, c’mon, give me a hard one at least. Picture this, you’re walking your dog in the park—it runs off and what happens? You find it sniffing another dog’s butt, but that dog’s owner is the love of your life.”

“Dinner with your mom.” He held my gaze, raising his brows in a challenge.

“She sets you up with the server,” I said with an easy shrug.

“Jury duty.”

“He may be a murderer, but he has a really nice smile.”

At that, Aiden burst out in laughter, his head tipping back. “I stand corrected.”

“Let me get them together then I’ll give the laptop back. I’ll work my magic.” I tried to crack my fingers, but nothing happened.

“Intimidating,” Aiden muttered. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Ooh, do you have hot chocolate?”

He shook his head as he stood. “How does tea sound?”

“Not as good, but doable.”

For the next few minutes, as Aiden clattered around in the kitchen and I typed, things felt … normal. I straightened at the idea. Could this ever be normal for us? A life where he’s making tea and I’m sitting in the living room writing?

Snap out of it.

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