Page 49 of My Book Boyfriend
“I’m off to meet Mrs. Potter and a whole group of senior citizens and moms to picket Strive Developers.” I rinse my bowl and put it in the drying rack. It sits alone, upside down—kind of the way I feel right now. I’m conflicted. I don’t want to picket Rupert.
But I will. Because saving the garden means everything to me.
And I don’t know what I’ll feel if I see a wrecking ball demolish the garden.
Although he is sweet and smart—and crazy good in bed.
And all that is not something to dismiss.
I’m so fricking conflicted.
Was that his plan?
No. Couldn’t be.
He doesn’t seem that devious.
That picture.The chemistry is so palpable that it’s evident in a photo. You can’t fake that. But movie stars fake it.
“Good luck,” Maddie says. “I’ll see you there.”
I hang up the phone. I try calling my dad via WhatsApp. No answer.
Bella puts her hand on my arm. “But it was more than hot chocolate. I ran into Rupert in the middle of the night on my way to the bathroom. And I was half-asleep and not wearing my glasses, but he looked pretty rumpled to me.”
I blush. “We did fool around. It was spine-tingling and every other adjective inA Devilish Dare. But we stopped. We’re both trying to limit the depth of possible heartbreak.” I pick up the stack of posters. I decide not to go as a carrot in case I talk to reporters. “Now, let’s go protest his company.”
StriveDevelopersislocatedon Sixth Avenue in one of the glass-fronted office buildings that command midtown.
As soon as I see Mrs. Potter waiting there, I rush up to her. I kiss her cheek, and she hugs me. I breathe in her comforting smell of shea butter moisturizer.
I can’t help but feel I’ve betrayed the cause by falling for the enemy.
And so I blurt it all out: “I actually ended up kissing Rupert Evans last night—the potential CEO heir. We met at the library, and then he came to the book club, and then we met again last night when Aiden dumped me, and things turned pretty serious.”
Mrs. Potter’s wise, brown eyes study me. “Do you think his intentions are good … that he likes you?”
I nod. “I thought so at the time. He didn’t say he could save the garden. He said he would try, but he couldn’t promise anything. And he said that I should fight as hard as I can for the garden. He saw the picket posters.”
Mrs. Potter pats me on the back. “I hope he doesn’t hurt you.”
I nod.That’s not reassuring.
Mrs. Potter takes out her bullhorn and leads our group of volunteers in a chant. About thirty of us mill around with huge signs and hand out flyers protesting Strive Developers and their proposed destruction of the community garden. It’s a better turnout than I expected for a cold, wintry day. And then an access bus pulls up and lowers the ramp. Three of our most loyal patrons roll out in their wheelchairs, all bundled up.
I rush over. “Oh. You shouldn’t have come. It’s too cold.”
They wave their protest posters vigorously as they form a line.
“These capitalist scoundrels. How dare they take our park after all our efforts to make it what it is today?” one says. “Nobody wanted it when it was an abandoned, rat-infested lot.”
“A little protesting warms the blood and keeps us young,” Mrs. Smith says, hobbling over to greet her friend.
“Can you wheel me over next to Mr. Devi? He always makes me laugh,” another says.
Maddie is the first reporter to arrive on the scene. But she’s followed by a few others. Our senior citizens are huge hits with the press, garnering interviews with reporters from multiple outlets.
“It’s very hard for me to walk to either Central Park or Riverside Park. The Oasis Garden is right in the middle and serves the senior citizen population who need that green space.” Mrs. Smith leans heavily on her cane. As the photographer snaps a picture, she asks, “Did you get the cane? And make sure you add that it’s freezing today, but we’re all committed and we’re still out here.”
