Page 44 of Falling for You Again

“Where are we going?” I tag along. He turns down an aisle, and almost at the end, he stops, counts the books on the shelf, and grabs one. He presents the book like a prize. “Don’t freak out, Meli, but you’re a romantic.”

“Susanna Kearsley’sThe Winter Sea?”

“You’re going to love it.”

“How do you know?”

“You picked it.”

“I did not pick this.”

“Yes, you did. Third aisle, fifth bookcase, second shelf, thirty-sixth book.”

My numbers. “Very ingenious of you,husband.”

“Works every time,wife.”

“And how many times have you used this process?” How many women has he selected books for? I hate that I’m even asking myself that.

“Once.”

I give him a lingering sideways look, admiring his technique. I tap the paperback against my palm. “Let’s see if it works.”

All the chairs in the store are taken, so we settle on the floor in the same aisle he found my book with our legs pressed together and noses in our novels. Two pages in and I’m hooked. Before I know it, an hour passes. When I look up, Aaron is already a quarter through Weir’s book.

I nudge his leg. “What do you think?”

His head jerks up and he blinks. “It’s good. Yours?”

“It’s not something I would have chosen for myself, but I’m enjoying it.”

He glances at his watch. “We’ve been here awhile.”

“We should go. I have to feed Blueberry.” And bookstores aren’t libraries.

I insist on purchasing Aaron’s books when I buy mine, and when we make it to my apartment, it’s a little after 5:00 p.m. Blueberry is vocal, clearly displeased over my being gone. Aaron, who hasn’t had a cat since he was a kid, takes to him immediately. The feeling is mutual. Blueberry rubs against his legs, his motor kicking into overdrive whenAaron picks him up. They watch while I prepare Blueberry’s dinner, Blueberry nuzzling Aaron’s chin.

“You two get along well,” I remark. Blueberry is friendly with visitors but rarely lets anyone pick him up.

“He’s a good judge of character.”

I have to agree.

Aaron puts Blueberry down when I set out his bowl. Blueberry runs to his food, and Aaron follows me into my room while I pack more clothes, tossing shirts and shorts into a laundry basket since I already took my suitcase to Aaron’s. I know he’s as curious about my personal space as I was about his when I first visited his house, so I let him poke around. He picks up a photo of me and Uncle Bear from my dresser. The picture was taken aboard the USSConstitutionduring a class field trip. Uncle Bear had to fill in as chaperone since my parents were too hungover to attend.

“You were cute,” Aaron says.

“Were?”

He grins. “When was this? Your uncle looks young.”

“Twenty years ago. He chaperoned a class field trip.” Aaron looks at me. “My parents were unavailable, which wasn’t new,” I explain before he can ask.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I was used to it.”

“You shouldn’t have had to be.” The corners of his mouth turn up slightly in a subtle show of support. He returns the photo to its spot on the dresser. He picks up a photo of me and Emi from last summer. We’re sitting on a blanket at a concert in the park, toasting our wine tumblers to the camera. Aaron smiles. “Whatever happened to the photo of us on the roller coaster?” The one I couldn’t resist buying after we rode the coaster at the New York-New York resort. We spotted the camera at the same time and threw up our arms. We both looked truly frightened. “I’m shocked you don’t have a photo of your husband.”

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