Page 13 of Five
No worries…I’ll just hang out for a while until the crowd thins.
Idly, I wonder which author they’ve managed to snag for a reading. Whoever it is must be someone good—there’s hardly room to maneuver in here. I think for a moment of trying to get closer so I can see, but I dismiss the idea as soon as it crosses my mind.
I’m not a fan of crowds.
I mosey to the other side of the store and start skimming. Psychology, Business, Graphic Novels… ah. Cookbooks.
I have a thing for cookbooks. Stupid, I know, when you can find any recipe you like online, but I like them all the same. The smell of the paper, the pretty, glossy images of food I’ll probably never make.
They’re the best.
I turn the corner of the aisle and start to enter the cooking section when I notice that I’m not alone. A guy is already here, perusing a volume with self-contained absorption. I hesitate, taking a moment to take him in, becauseholy hotty, he’s cute. He’s average height, but has anything but an average build. His body is lean and muscular in its cargo shorts and tee shirt, the arms peeking out tattooed and corded with veins.
I’ve never understood my own obsession with veins on forearms, but they do something to my lady bits.
He has streaky, longish blonde hair with a good bit of stubble, and as his eyes lift to mine, I can see that they’re a perfect, beautiful green.
“Hello,” he says quietly.
I’m not sure what it is that makes me linger…maybe it’s the quiet confidence he possesses or the simple fact that he’s a handsome man surrounded by books. Whatever the reason, when he looks up and speaks his soft greeting, I find myself moving forward, into the aisle.
“Hi.”
I start to scan the shelves, looking for something to justify my presence.
“Are you looking for anything in particular?” he inquires.
“Ah… a cookbook?” I offer, my brain going blank.
He hides a smile. “There’s fortunately an excellent selection, right at your fingertips.”
“Oh, yes.” I look frantically at the shelf in front of me and pull out a book at random. “This one. This is what I was looking for.”
He leans over to take a look. “Southern Cuisine at Its Finest. Looks good.”
“I love southern food,” I offer, finding my voice. “I grew up in Texas after we moved from here… fried chicken and mashed potatoes were a staple in our house.”
“Were they now?” He tucks the book he was looking at beneath his arm and leans back, into the shelving unit. I flush at the steady interest he focuses on me, as if there’s nothing else around that matters. “I think fried chicken and mashed potatoes sound like comfort food, personally.”
“Aren’t they the same?”
“Oh, no, not at all.” The corners of his lip tick up with good-humor. “There’s a very fine line between southern cuisine and comfort food. Comfort food, for example, can span all different cultures and regions.”
I force my brain to think about what he’s saying. “That makes sense.” I glance down at the book in my hands. “I guess I need this book, then.”
“What’s your favorite southern dish?”
“Um…”
I don’t know! I have no words! I am mute!
Another man joins us, saving me. “Hey,” I offer with a little wave.
“Hey, yourself.” He holds out his big hand and I place mine in it for him to shake gently. “I’m Cope.”
“Neve.”
My eyes widen as I take him in. He’s taller than the first guy, solid with muscles. He has tattoos, too, I can see, ones that trail up his neck from beneath his collar. After his curious greeting, he transfers his attention to his friend. “You about ready, Rem? They’re ready to begin and we need to move it.”
