Page 31 of The Legend Next Door
“Of course it’s wise.”
“Aren’t you on a serious book ban?”
“Iamon a book ban, but it’sfiiine. I’m not going to buy anything. I’m just going to hold a few books and run my fingers over some embossed titles. You know, for medicinal purposes.”
Vanessa nods sagely and leads the way into the store. She understands where I’m coming from. She should. She’s the one who introduced me to the therapeutic value of stroking brand-new, never-opened books.
As always, we start in the psychology section but quickly move on. The covers are crap in the psychology section. Way too serious. Nary an embossed title to be found. From there, we head to self-help, where I search aimlessly for something along the lines ofHow To Stop Making An Ass Of Yourself By Flirting With Straight Men. When I’m unsuccessful there, I try forSelf-Control, Honey Bunny, Is That You?
I come up empty. There’s nothing close to those available in the entire store. I feel a flare of annoyance. You can’t tell me there isn’t a market for either of those titles. Bitch, please. I can’t be the only one suffering from this affliction.
Ness stalks up and down the aisle, looking at me with concern when she thinks I’m not paying attention. The second time I catch her at it, she pulls out an absolute asshole of a book titledUnavailable Men: How To Avoid Themand pretends to be riveted by the blurb.
It does less than nothing to improve my mood.
The problem isn’t that she’s wrong. The problem is that I’m so delusional that despite all evidence to the contrary, I don’t think of Ben as an unavailable man.
The thing is, when I’m with him, I feel like something is happening between us. I feel like it’s the beginning of something major. Something life-changing. I feel like I’m in the early days of something brand-new. Days when knees and voices shake and uncertainty is the only thing that’s certain. When nothing is known or set in stone, but every breath matters because there’s something in the air. Something magical.
An energy. A chemistry. A chain reaction.
It’s so stupid I can’t bear to hear myself say it aloud, not even to Ness, and that’s saying something.
We move to the fantasy section even though neither of us reads fantasy and we both know it’s just a delay tactic, a pit stop before we end up in contemporary and queer romance, where we belong.
I pick up a book with a dragon on the cover and turn it this way and that. The covers are lit in fantasy. The detail is incredible. The illustration is unreal. Every scale has been hand-drawn. It’s a swirling triumph of blue, green, purple, and gold. It’s so beautiful that just holding it makes my lips quiver.
“I like him so much,” I say so quietly that if I was with anyone but Ness, they probably wouldn’t have heard me.
She’s completely in tune with me, as always, so she doesn’t miss it. Her face falls and palpable empathy softens her features. She throws her arms around me and hugs me like someone who loves me even though my grip on reality is slipping.
“Oh, babes, I’m so sorry. I hate this for you.” When she pulls away, she says, “I’m sorry he’s so nice. And good-looking. And I’m sorry I said he was a soft Dom. I shouldn’t have said that aloud, and…you know, there’s always a chance I was wrong.”
“When have you ever been wrong about anything? Seriously, Ness, name one time you’ve been wrong about something like that.”
“Well, I can’t think of a time offhand, but it must have happened once or twice. It must have. It’s statistically improbable for someone to never, ever be wrong.” I smile weakly, and she picks up a copy of the same book I’m holding and peruses the text on the back. She pauses to look up at me twice as she reads, and when she’s done, she takes pity on me and proves once and for all why she’s the best friend any human being could ever have. “You know, wecouldget through our TBR at some point. I mean, it’s notimpossible. Stranger things have happened.”
“It could happen,” I agree, though I know the statement to be factually false. For both of us, our To Be Read lists already far exceed what an average person could read in a lifetime. For us, the idea of getting through our TBRs is way more fantastical than the book in our hands has any hope of being, even if the author’s imagination proves to be totally unhinged.
Vanessa’s eyes glint and she disappears for a few seconds, returning with a shopping basket in each hand. She hands me one solemnly. As I take it, a tremor of excitement runs through me.
I know this feeling, and I know what it means: therapy is about to deliver a major breakthrough.
19
Ben Stirling
Luca’sbeenwithAmyand the boys for a few hours, and I’m at loose ends. I finally finished unpacking last week, and instead of working on a list of furniture and bits and bobs I need to buy to make the place feel like a home, I’ve been sitting on the porch swing waiting for something.
What that thing is isn’t immediately clear to me because Jeremiah has already been over for the day, and I’m not expecting Amy for a while. Liz’s mom and dad live across town, and I don’t know anyone else in Seattle.
I toy with the idea of calling around for a yard and pool service but manage to convince myself I’ll be in the right mood to do it tomorrow.
A flashy midnight-blue Aston pulls out of the driveway across the road. I shake my head at the personalized plates. Totally Pucked. Those goddamn plates. They have about as much to answer for as the goddamn kitchen tile does. I raise my hand and wave even though I’m not sure Decker and McGuire see me.
Then I wait. Only now, I know what I’m waiting for. Who I’m waiting for. Jeremiah Blake. I saw him leave a little more than an hour ago. He seemed in a rush because he didn’t so much as glance at the porch when he got into the car. He usually does.
Time ticks by slowly. So slowly that as I stare into the space under the arch, I swear I can almost see the tight buds climbing it begin to crack open and reveal their downy yellow petals.
