Page 5 of Years in the Making

“Historical fiction and fantasy, mostly.”

“Those do not seem like two genres that go together.”

“I don’t know. They both kind of take the reader out of the real world. I mean, historical fiction is the real world, I guess, but I tend to read books set before the end of World War Two. So it seems otherworldly sometimes.”

“I don’t read much, but I do like it when I do. My dad’s a big spy novel guy and is always recommending his latest to me. They don’t really appeal to me, though.”

“What about them don’t you like?”

“I don’t know.” His forehead scrunches up in thought. “It’s like someone gave an author a checklist of manly things and said, ‘Include all this stuff, and men will read the book.’ It feels so forced.”

“You could say the same thing for some romance. But it’s definitely not all the books, so maybe there is one out there you’d enjoy. I mean, the nice thing about books is that there is something for everyone. Some people want a very formulaic story, and there’s nothing wrong with that. While others, like yourself it would seem, need something a bit more out of left field.”

“Look at you with the baseball term,” he says proudly.

“Hard to avoid when it’s part of everyday vernacular.”

His eyes widen and that crooked grin appears. “Vernacular, nice word. Okay, question. If you were to recommend two authors for me to check out, one in each genre, who would you suggest?”

I think for a minute. “Kate Culliver for historical fiction. And… Maira Sahni’s series The Forest of Despair. You can’t go wrong with either.”

He pulls out his phone and taps away, probably typing “This girl is a nerd.”

The next stop is announced, and I feel myself panic as he stands. “You know, I don’t think my boyfriend would mind if I gave you my number to talk about books.” He looks down at me in a way that makes me think he sees through my lie.

“I’ll only use it for book purposes, scout’s honor.” He holds up his fingers in a salute and hands me his phone.

“I think that’s the Girl Guide’s salute.” I laugh as I type out my number and add “Library Girl” into the name field before handing it back.

He looks down at me, and for a minute I don’t think he’s going to say anything. But then his lips tilt to the side in a crooked grin. “It was nice to meet you, Library Girl.”

“You too, Enviro Guy.” And then I watch as he steps off the train and waves back. I have the sudden urge to stick my head out the door and yell that I’m single, but instead I watch as he disappears down the platform, barely noticing the jerk of the train as it starts towards its final stop.

Five minutes later my phone pings with an unknown number.

Unknown

Thanks for the book recs, LG.

I can feel the heat of the blush as it spreads across my face, and I add him as a contact under Enviro Guy.

Anytime, EG.

TWO

TEDDY

The minute my stop was announced, I wanted to conveniently forget it was mine and stay on with her. But I also didn’t want to be that guy, the guy who doesn’t seem to hear the “I’ve got a boyfriend” part of the conversation. My older brother would have stayed on. Will likes to say that anyone is fair game if they don’t have a ring on their finger. That’s how Will has gotten himself punched in the face more than once. Unfortunately, no one has knocked any sense into him yet.

I’m fine with another friend. I’m good at making friends. Making someone more than a friend on the other hand? That I’m not so good at. My twin sister Zoe says it’s because I’m too nice and no woman wants a nice guy at my age. It’s not like I’m out there looking for the one—I just graduated from university, and I kind of want to sort my shit out before I begin the search for love or have it fall into my lap…or sit across from me on a busy train. Tonight, I was just trying to show her there was at least one person who saw her. She didn’t strike me as timid, more so unable to put herself before others. Something admirable in some areas of life and a hindrance in others. Like getting onto a train before it leaves, for instance.

I wasn’t going to send her a text so quickly, but I didn’t even make it to my car before I fired one off. Just so she can have my number, I told myself. Now I’m sitting here staring at her reply wondering what it was about her that drew me in in the first place. Her dark auburn hair was piled up on her head, held back with a pair of glasses—not sunglasses, glasses-glasses. Like she’d pushed them up and then forgot about them. Dark blue eyes, full lips, and a smile that made me not want to be such a nice guy, or maybe just not any nice guy, buthernice guy. But then she said she had a boyfriend. I enjoyed talking to her, though, and I genuinely wanted her book recommendations. And hey, in the end, I did get her number.

When I get home my sister is in the living room, watching one of her reality shows while her girlfriend, Gaby, is sound asleep with her head in her lap. Our old lab, Morris, is curled up at her feet. None of this is an uncommon sight.

“Good game?” Zoe whispers when she sees me.

“Yeah, it was alright,” I say, slipping my shoes off and walking to the kitchen. I’m taking down a glass when I hear her slippers sliding on the tile.

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