Page 6 of Marginally Yours
I settle in for the night and start reading, but I notice that some of the pages have writing in the margins. It looks like a purple fountain pen, scrolling across the page in neat, curly handwriting. There are tiny dots in some places that definitely look like accidental ink drips. I flip through a bit more and realize it's not on justsomeof the pages. It'smostof the pages. There are notes about the characters, definitions of words, some underlined quotes, and even some ideas on what the author could have done differently.
Did Callie do this? Her number was written in purplepen, but it was glittery and a brighter shade of purple. I pull out my phone to text her and remember that she's busy tonight. I'll ask her later. I slip the first book back into my backpack and start on this one, making sure to read all of the annotations as well.
An hour or so later, I'm a quarter of the way in and I'm already obsessed. The book is great, but the comments are even better. Some of them are funny, others insightful.
There's a point early on in the book where the main character has to make a choice, and the annotator took up every spare inch of the margins on both pages to write out what they think would have happened if they made the opposite choice. Don't get me wrong, the author's choice was logical and well-written, but it was an interesting take. The annotator's idea would have taken the story in a much more intense direction, and this book is meant to be lighthearted, but it was definitely something to think about.
The darker path gave me an idea of my own, though. I abandon the book for a bit and pull a notebook out of my bag, jotting down some ideas. Once I've got my thoughts down on paper, I sit back and finish the book.
I don't think I want to dive into the other book just yet, so I review my handwritten notes from earlier and add on to them, fleshing out the idea a little more while I’m still inspired. I think back on the dream I had the other day. A group of adventurers coming down a mountain to a little village hidden between the peaks. Then the idea that I got when I was talking to Callie, about a woman who has to learn that she's strong.
As soon as my pen hits the paper, it's like opening a floodgate. I fall into the familiarity of writing and, before I know it, my replacement is here to relieve me for the morning. I stuff my notebook back into my backpack and clock out, but my brain is still running through the outline that I have almost finished. This is further than I've ever made it without droppingmy focus, and I can't lose momentum now. I get home and pull my notebook back out.
It's almost 6 in the morning when I finish my outline. It's basic and definitely needs some research before I start actually writing, but it's a finished outline. It's something I've never done before, and all it took was someone else's comments scribbled in the margins of an old book.
I was so engrossed in writing last night that I never even took my uniform off before I sat down. I strip everything off and lay down. It dawns on me as I'm plugging my phone in that I never texted Callie at all last night.Fuck. I send her a message now, so she doesn't think I completely ditched her.
Hey, I'm sorry I didn't give you any live updates last night. I actually spent the night writing instead of reading. Going to bed now. I'll tell you more later. Goodnight!
Hopefully she's not mad. She seems like someone who would understand getting lost in inspiration when it strikes. I set an alarm before I roll over and fall asleep. I dream of a girl with pale blonde hair dragging me by the hand through a mountain pass, and I've never slept better.
Chapter Four
I'm so used to working the night shift that I usually don’t even bother with an alarm, but today I slept in so long that I almost don’t have time to stop at the bookstore.
Tomorrow is our date. Is it a date? So far, every conversation we’ve had has screamed “friend zone”, so it’s entirely possible that I’m imagining any real connection beyond friendship. If itwasmeant to be a date, it's probably not anymore.
I only had one text when I woke up, and it was just a vague 'okay, goodnight!', so now I'm itchy all over and worried that she's upset with me. I'm aware that it's illogical and that she's probably not mad, but unfortunately the little gremlin in my brain only knows the words "you", "fucked", and "up", so I need to lay eyes on her to confirm she doesn't hate my guts now.
I rub at the center of my chest as I walk toward the front door, trying in vain to relieve the tightness there. Callie is working the register, so she's the first thing I see when I walk through the door. Her face lights up when she looks up at me, and suddenly the tightness vanishes.
"Hey," she calls, giving me a little wave from behind the counter. "How'd your writing session go?" She's smiling, and literally nothing about her demeanor indicates that she's annoyed with me in any way, but my stupid brain is still not convinced. She curls an eyebrow at me, and I realize that I've just been standing here staring at her like an idiot, reveling in the fact that she didn’t spit in my face when I walked in.
"Oh, uh..." I shake my head lightly, running my fingers through my beard. "Sorry, I had a late night. Writing was actually really good. That other book you set aside for me was actually..." I pause as Eddie barges through the office door and takes a seat on the stool next to her. I don't feel like explaining the annotated book to him, so I switch directions. "...really good. You got any other suggestions for me for tonight? I woke up late, so I don't have much time to browse."
The words fall out of my mouth before I remember that I still have a whole book to read from yesterday, but she doesn’t seem to notice the mistake.
"Oh, yeah!" She gives Eddie a questioning look and he nods solemnly. As soon as she turns, he shoots me a wry smirk as if he's doing me a favor by allowing her to step away, despite the fact that I’m literally the only customer in the store. He means well, but sometimes I want to kick him in the head.
Callie brushes past me and it takes all of my frayed self-control not to grab her hand as it bumps into mine. Then she glances at me over her shoulder with a look that screams mischief. "Right this way," she almost whispers. Wait, did she touch my hand on purpose? Was Isupposedto grab her hand?
Fuck, I am so bad at this. I havegotto chill out. I'm going to scare her away before I even get the opportunity to make her fall madly in love with me.
I follow her to the used books and try not to drool on myself or something equally creepy since that seems to be my default mode with her when there’s not a cafe table betweenus. Apparently, all of my brain cells keep rushing south with the blood flow. I watch quietly as she scans the stacks and jam my stupid hands into my pockets before they get a mind of their own. This was decidedlynotthe correct move, because it pulls the rough fabric of my uniform painfully tight, and the friction sends a shock straight to my spine. I groan quietly, slowly removing my hands from my pockets and fisting them at my sides.
"Aha," she shouts, and my heart stops.Oh shit, she caught me.I whip my gaze to hers andthank fuckshe's staring at the book in her hand and not my current... situation. "Whoops," she whispers, leaning closer to me. I look around pointedly at the empty bookstore, about to tell her about the zero people who care about her yelling, but she's currently close enough that I can smell her floral perfume, so I make the smart decision to shut the fuck up before she moves away again.
"Okay, here it is." She takes a half step closer to me and holds out the book. "I love this book and it's another quick read so you could probably blow through it tonight." I'm busy trying to breathe as deeply and quietly through my nose as I can, so I don't realize she's waiting for me to take it until she grabs my hand and places it on the book. It feels like I'm touching one of those plasma ball toys, electricity zapping my skin wherever she touches it. Is that what she feels too? She stays there, her hands sandwiched around mine and the book, eyes locked with mine for what feels like eternity.
Plot twist, it was like ten seconds.
Her lips turn up slowly, and she gives my hand a light squeeze. "I'll be free tonight if you want to talk about it." She is most definitely not mad at me. Her hands arestillwrapped around mine, her thumb ghosting back and forth slowly over my knuckles. This is the most embarrassingly chaste thing that has ever left me with a hard on in my entire life. Thank fuck for thick fabric slacks.
I need to start carrying around a spray bottle for myself.No, bad dog. Stop humping the furniture.
I take a deep breath that shakes off the paralysis and wrap my free hand around hers. I’m definitely grinning like a psychopath with way too many teeth, but I can't help it.
"Thanks," I say in an exaggerated whisper, making a show of looking around cautiously for imaginary patrons we might be disturbing. She rolls her eyes at me, but the smile stays plastered on her face. "Unfortunately, I do have to get going," I tell her. She sticks her bottom lip out in a pout, and I want to bite it.Damn it, where's the spray bottle?
