Page 10 of A Novel Love Story

Anders pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I am not a wizard, sadly.”

“But …”

“I’m sure I have some duct tape …”

She gasped in alarm and quickly returned her damaged book to her tote. “Never mind! I’ll deal with it. I’ll just read it … gently.”

“Or,” he ventured, “you could try a new book?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah,okay. Sure.”

“Hey, your favorite book could be one you haven’t read yet.”

“Or it could be the oneyouwant to duct-tape. I’ll take my chances elsewhere, with someone moretactful,” she quipped, and moved over to the corner of the counter, where a blond-and-orange cat snoozed on a well-loved cat bed, and scrubbed it behind the ears. “See you around, Mr. Butterscotch.”

“No goodbye for me?” Anders asked.

“You don’t deserve it,” she replied severely, turned on her heel, and marched out of the bookstore without another word. The bell above the door jingled as she left.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from laughing. Whatever ill will I had toward Anders from yesterday went out the door with that little girl. I hadn’t seen someone so thoroughly annihilated by a child since I made the mistake of subbing for a middle school art class before I realized I was better off teaching college.

Anders sighed, having not yet noticed me, and studied the cat in the pool of sunlight. The cat returned his bored look and yawned. He muttered something to it, and poked it in the side. The cat turned over and showed his belly, and went back to sleep.

“You couldn’t just order her another one from Amazon or something?” I asked, stepping up to the register.

He jumped, startled, and then turned a glare at me. The sunlight lit his minty eyes, making them almost glow. “Really, you suggestthatin a bookstore?”

“Two-day shipping,” I replied with a shrug, trying to ignore the weird twist in my stomach. Not butterflies, surely. I barely knew this man. “You can’t beat it.”

“I hope all your bacon burns,” he muttered. “Who hurt you?”

“How much time do you have?”

He gave me a lingering look. “Not enough to ask. Did you sleep well?”

“Like the dead. Well, with the exception of the starlings.”

“I warned you.”

“I thought they’d tweet. Not …”

“Sound like chain saws?”

I scoffed. “That’d bebetter. They sang this creepy song. Have you heard it?” I hummed a few bars.

“Can’t say I have,” he replied, and glanced over at the orange cat. “Butterscotch is very bad at catching birds. At catching anything besides sleep, actually.”

“Oh, I think Mr. Butterscotch is doing a great job,” I said, and went over to pet the cat.

Anders gave a start. “Wait, he doesn’t like—”

Too late. I rubbed Butterscotch behind the ears, and he started to purr. “Oh, who’s a good kitty? You’re a good kitty. What doesn’t he like?” I added as the cat tilted his head up so I could scratch under his chin.

Anders looked like he’d just been betrayed. If I knew him better, I’d have said he almostpouted. “People, usually.”

“Ah, see, there’s the difference. I’m not people. I’m Elsy,” I pointed out.

“Indeed,” he replied, clearly not impressed.

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