Page 25 of Just My Type
I stroke my thumb over her cheekbone. “Why would that be a problem? Lots of people in there means lots of people reading romance. More people reading romance is always a good thing.”
Hannah sighs, glancing towards the store again and then back at me. “Okay, we’re coming back to your closet romance reader habits later. But my thing? It’s going to sound really, really stupid.”
I shake my head. “I can promise you it won’t. Nothing yousay could ever sound stupid. If it’s in your head, it’s already important. If you feel comfortable telling me, I’d like to know. I always want to know what you’re thinking.”
“Why?”
I know she’s trying to change the subject, but if she needs a little time to get around to telling me what’s really bothering her, then I’m happy to give it to her. “Because you’re funny and interesting and so damn smart. Because you don’t always share what’s on your mind, so when you do, I know it’s special, and I want to be the one you share the special stuff with. And all the other stuff. And because you have a really pretty voice, and I love listening to you talk.”
Hannah’s eyes widen slightly, like she wasn’t quite expecting me to put it all out there, like she’s not at all sure what to do with me. I grin internally because the idea of Hannah Evans being just a little off balance over me is doing weird things to my insides, and I don’t hate that at all.
She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Okay, but you asked for it.”
This time, I do grin, and I slide my hand off her face and down her arm, linking her hand with mine, doing a little internal victory dance when she doesn’t pull away. “You bet I did. Lay it on me, Han.”
Hannah shrugs as if to say,what the hell. “Being an author who accidentally goes viral is kind of like living in an alternate universe. I wrote a book and expected my sisters to read it. I figured maybe my mom would pick it up at some point, and I had a handful of social media followers who seemed excited about it. That was enough for me. I loved doing the actual writing so much that I never really gave much thought to what happened once the book was actually out in the world. But, after a very lucky combination of the right cover and the right person posting the right thing on the right social media at exactly the right time, my first book shot into the stratosphere, and every release after that got better. It never occurred to me to use a penname, and I had my face all over my social media because I didn’t realize this could happen so fast. I didn’t think it would happen to me at all. In the real world, I’m just a regular person. But the second I take a step into the book world, I’m kind of…famous, I guess?”
She shakes her head, a sheepish expression covering her face. “Like, people recognize me all the time, and I know independent romance bookstores are a thing, because my books are in almost all of them, and bookstore owners ask me to sign the books they have in stock when I walk into the store. And god, it’s so fucking cool, Noah. Like, the coolest, best thing that’s ever happened to me in my life. And I love talking to the people who read my books. I’m a reader before I’m anything else, and talking to other readers about my own books is the best part of all of this. I love it so much that sometimes I can’t even believe it’s real.”
Hannah swallows hard then, tears glossing her eyes, and when she speaks again, her voice is quiet and full of pain. “Except now, I can’t write. I haven’t been able to for months. And if someone in there asks me when my next book is coming out, I won’t be able to tell them, and I hate that. I hate it so much because I’ve never not known before, and…” She trails off, closing her eyes. A single tear slides down her cheek, and it shatters my heart into a million pieces. When I wipe it away with my thumb, Hannah opens her eyes. “It hurts. It just hurts so much, and I don’t know what to do with that.”
“I know, Han.”
She swipes at her eyes with the hand that isn’t laced through my own, letting out an irritated little growl, like the fact that she’s showing this kind of emotion annoys her. “What do you mean, you know?”
I take her hand away from her face gently and wipe her tears myself. “I know it hurts you. I heard it in your voice, saw it all over your face, when you told me on the roof.”
“And yet, you brought me to a bookstore, to…what exactly? To see my books on the shelf when I have no idea when I’ll be able to add the next one in the series? To talk to readers, knowing they’re dying for something I don’t know if I can give them?”
Hannah blows out a breath and hangs her head for a second before bringing her gaze back up to mine. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “You didn’t deserve that. You’re trying to do something nice and I’m being an asshole. This is a me thing, not a you thing.”
I try and resist. I swear I do. But I’ve never been blessed with an abundance of self-control, and my body moves of its own volition. Before I know what’s happening, I’m leaning forward, pressing a kiss to Hannah’s forehead, my lips lingering there for a second, loving the feel of her soft skin and the way her vanilla shampoo invades my senses.
Okay, fine, I didn’t resist that hard.
When I lean back, Hannah’s eyes are full of questions and the slightest touch of heat and god, I just love that for me. “First of all, you don’t ever have to apologize for telling me what you think. I want you to. Second of all, being sad and angry that you can’t do the thing you love doesn’t make you an asshole; it makes you human. And third of all, I promised to help you. Iwantto help you. That makes all of this an us thing. There’s no one in that store.”
Hannah blinks at the abrupt change in subject. “What do you mean there’s no one in that store?”
I smile at her, tipping my head towards the entrance. “You didn’t notice that the entire time we’ve been standing here in front of one of the most beloved bookstores in the Boston area, not one single person has tried to go inside?”
“I was too busy having an existential crisis,” Hannah mutters.
I laugh because she’s fucking adorable and I’m obsessed with her. “Well, thinking an existential crisis may be a possibility, I rented out the bookstore for two hours.”
“You can do that?”
I shrug. “You can if you operated on the owner’s baby to correct the baby’s cleft palate.”
Hannah tilts her head to the side, studying me. “You can get donuts delivered because you made a house call for a wisdom tooth issue, and you can rent out a bookstore because you operated on the owner’s baby. Did you become an oral surgeon just to store up favors you can call in when it suits you? Are you like a Mafia Don in disguise?”
This time I let out a bark of laughter and toss an arm around Hannah’s shoulders, turning us to face the bookstore. She fits perfectly against me, and I love that too. “Nah, I just really, really love teeth. Always have, but more about me another day. I rented out the bookstore because I wanted you to be able to come here without having to be Hannah, the writer. You told me on the roof that you’ve been a romance reader since you were thirteen. Today, you can be Hannah the reader. Go back to your roots and remember all the things you loved about romance before you ever decided to write it.”
“How did you know to do this?” Hannah asks quietly. “How did you know that running into readers would be hard for me?”
I look down and see her studying the bookstore. “Lucky guess. Or maybe I’m psychic like Cece. Probably runs in the family.”
“It might, but that’s not why.” She turns to face me, my arm falling off her shoulders. “Seriously, how did you know?”
