Page 43 of Unlikely You

“I’m telling you, it’ssogood,” Delaney promised. I adored her, but we did not have the exact same taste in books. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed a sweet romance now and then, but more often I wanted something sexy, something dark, or something really gay. Preferably all three.

Delaney was more Cinderella with singing mice making her dress and I was more Beauty and the Beast, but the beast is a woman who’s into BDSM and may or may not be a terrifying monster.

But she was not going to let me get away without buying this incredibly popular hockey romance and if I didn’t read it, she’d be disappointed in me. Delaney was one of the sweetest and most cheerful people I’d ever met and there was a fragility about her that I didn’t want to mess with.

“I keep telling my boyfriend he should be happy I’m reading these because I learn all kinds of things,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

Precious Delaney. From what I’d heard about her boyfriend, he wasn’t anything to write home about. Sure, he was employed, and he didn’t yell at her, but reading between the lines, he didn’t do a whole lot else. There were many stories of him going away with his friends on hunting trips, including on her birthday weekend. His excuse had been that one of his buddies got a moose permit and they were harder to get than a new Birkin bag, but I thought that was bullshit. Not that I knew anything about relationships, but her birthday was important to Delaney, so it should be important to the man who claimed he loved her.

“Mmmm,” I said, pretending I was paying attention as she told me another story about him that was supposed to be funny but was really just kind of sad.

“And then he was like, ‘stop reading those smutty books,’ and I told him that he could thank those books for some of my skills.” She giggled and I didn’t know what to say.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for a book for my daughter and I don’t want to get her anything that isn’t appropriate for her age, but she’s always reading and begging for more books,” a woman said to Delaney and I was free from having to hear about her mediocre boyfriend.

“Are you coming to book club?” Larison asked me. I usually turned her down, but for some reason I found myself asking which book they were reading and being surprised that it was something I would actually enjoy.

“It’s very low-pressure. Some people just come for the free snacks and don’t even say anything. And then some are more enthusiastic. It’s all up to you.” Wondering if I was making a mistake, I added the selection to the stack of other books that I was taking home with me. The meeting was next week, which would give me just enough time to read the book beforehand. I’d have to pause on my other reading, but I could roll with that.

I guess it would be fun. And if it wasn’t, I could always just stuff my mouth with cheese and crackers and mentally check out. Or people watch. That was something I did enjoy. It was one of the reasons I hadn’t rejected the marketplace idea when I’d been building my business plan.

Book lovers were the kinds of people I could tolerate. There was a connection there that I couldn’t put into words, but once you found a reader’s favorite genre or author or trope to talk about, their eyes lit up and you could see the passion in their expression.

Larison said they already had about twenty-five other people signed up for book club, but usually not everyone showed up. That was still enough of a crowd I could lose myself in.

“You’re coming?” Delaney asked as I was attempting to leave.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” Well now I had to go.

Delaney beamed so bright that you would have thought someone announced that Christmas had come early this year.

“It’s going to be so fun! I’m making this really good cannoli dip with chips. Don’t eat before you come because there’s tons of food. And drinks.”

It was probably worth it to come just for that, even without the book discussion.

I agreed that I would be there (again) and forced myself to leave the bookshop and get on with my day.

A message came through on my phone while I was walking to my car. For the past few days, Honey and I had been talking. A lot.

Too much. Way too much. Every response or new message from her was like a hit of every drug combined. Not that I’d ever done that, but that was how it felt. A high that made me want to laugh and giggle and twirl around in a circle in the middle of the grocery store or kick my feet in a gleeful tantrum in bed.

I was officially hooked on Honey Holloway. Desperate for more. Hoping that I wouldn’t get cut off.

Every day I woke up with a start, eager to see if I had a message from her. I’d never been much of a morning person, but she was quickly turning me into one. It seemed that she got up earlier than I did, which made sense since she was busy with farm chores. Sometimes she’d take a video of what she was doing and narrate it for me. Made me feel like I was right there with her. No wonder the farm had so many followers.

She’d worked her magic on me. Her kindness and sweetness were integral to who she was and for some reason I was letting her get to me. Normally I would have run in the other direction and just completely ghosted her. That wasn’t entirely possible given that we were in close proximity to each other four days a week, but I could have given her the coldest shoulder. Made it clear that I didn’t want to be her friend. Didn’t want her light in my life.

But I didn’t.

No. I stretched and reached for her like a struggling plan bending toward the sun.

It was pathetic how much nourishment I got from those messages and videos and attention. I’d hate myself if I wasn’t so…well I wouldn’t go so far to say that I washappy. I was something though. An emotion that made me feel light and bubbly as if I was constantly full of champagne minus the hangover.

Sure, I did lose a little bit of sleep thinking about her and trying to figure out something witty to respond with, but I was willing to sacrifice.

I was quickly becoming someone I didn’t recognize. Someone who smiled a lot more. My cheeks were even a little stiff and sore, as if I hadn’t exercised those muscles in too long.

Honey was just who I thought she’d be, except more so. I kept waiting for a crack, a moment where she’d reveal her true feelings and that she wasn’t just a bubble of joy, but it wasn’t happening. Either she was really good at keeping up a facade, or she was just really like that.

---