Page 23 of Love By the Book
Rhianna listens, her eyes dancing with amusement at first, but softening as I describe Claire’s disappointment. “Oh no,” she gasps, but she’s laughing a bit too. “Poor Claire. And poor you! It must have beenreallyrough if it got you that tongue-tied. You? Struggling with conversation? Hard to believe. You’re pretty smooth.”
Heat rushes up my neck. “Not most of the time, I’m afraid.”
“Only when you’re saying sub-par bands are on the same level with Stevie Nicks.”
“Bread is not sub-par!” We’re both grinning at each other like idiots right as the server arrives with nothing other than a basket of cornbread and butter.
Rhianna thanks the woman then pulls a slice. “Funny and able to summon things with your mind. Is there anything you can’t do?”
I chuckle, the earlier heaviness in my chest lifting. “I think I’m only those things when I’m with you.”
I say the words before I think it through, then immediately regret them. Rhianna’s eyebrows raise and color sweeps over her face. It emphasizes freckles I hadn’t noticed before and I have the desperate urge to brush my fingers across her cheekbone. Or to excuse myself from the table, go back to my apartment, then pack and leave town before I can make more of a fool of myself than I already have.
Rhianna laughs and takes another bite of her cornbread, chews slowly and swallows. “I’m adding ‘brings out the best in others’ to my resume.”
“You should.” My smile fades as I force myself to continue. “But… I think I need to take a break from this dating experiment. It’s not fair to the women you’d set me up with if I’m not ready.”
After all, I tried it. I walked up to the counter, signed up for the humiliating and terrifying matchmaking service, and went on an entire date. I’m pretty sure that qualifies as my second bold move. One more to go. Mark would’ve laughed and probably said it didn’t count unless there was skydiving involved.
But I’m trying. Even if these bold moves feel more likecautious nudges than the leaps I’d expected. Even if I’m not sure they’re changing anything yet.
“That’s okay. Dating is tough, especially when you’re not aligned with the person.” Rhianna’s smile falters a bit. “I definitely had that issue in my last relationship.” Her gaze drops to her plate, and something shadows her expression—just for a moment—before she blinks it away. Then her eyes brighten like she’s flipped a switch. “Oh! And the guy before him? Everything had to be a giant romantic production all the time with him.”
The server arrives with our plates—scallops and orzo for Rhianna, buttery shrimp and grits with lemon garlic sauce for me.
Rhianna dives into her food but I hesitate. Something in her shift felt… off. Like she’d skipped a chapter. The kind you leave out when it still hurts too much to say aloud.
I don’t ask. It’s not the time, and I don’t have the right. But I wish I could protect her from whatever left that shadow on her face. Wish I could go back and undo it—whoever he was, whatever he did to make her tuck that hurt so neatly behind a smile.
“Is romantic bad?” I ask about the previous boyfriend instead, keeping my tone light.
She chews through her bite before answering. “Not bad, necessarily, just not for me. Everything had to be such a big deal.” She rolls her eyes and I can’t help but smile at the gesture as she continues. “I swear, if I had to sit through one more candlelit dinner where a violinist played so close to our table that I got bow hair in my soup, I was going to snap that Stradivarius over my knee and use it as kindling for a bonfire instead.” She hovers her fork in the air for a moment before adding, “I actually think that would be a more fun date.”
A laugh spills from me. “I could see why that might be annoying.”
“Oh, it gets worse. Once he decided a picnic at the beach would be the most romantic gesture.”
“And it wasn’t?” I ask, food forgotten. I can’t care about dinner no matter how beautifully plated or magic-infused it is when Rhianna sits directly across from me, telling a story with her glistening eyes and dancing hands as much as her words.
“It was terrible. A whole flock of seagulls attacked us. Dive-bombed us like something out of an Alfred Hitchcock movie. Let’s just say, I’ve become an expert at speed-eating outdoors. No lingering with food in the open for this girl!”
We’re both laughing now. “So,” I say once we catch our breath, “I take it you’re not big on the dating scene these days?”
Her smile turns wry. “Not so much, no. I figure I’ll stick to matchmaking for others. It’s safer that way—less chance of seagull attacks.”
I pop a bite of food in my mouth and ignore the little pang in my chest at her words. Because this—whatever feeling this is—can’t happen. Rhianna is my coworker and I should avoid dating her on that point alone. I’ve already created an awkward situation with one coworker. Rhianna just said she’s not interested in romance. And besides, we’re too different. I’d bore her within a few months.
“I guess you probably think me wanting to drop out over a little dull conversation and awkwardness seems pretty ridiculous compared to vicious seagulls.”
She’s laughing again, and it’s all I want—to make her laugh, to listen to the rich sound of it and watch her face brighten.
“Deranged birds are too high of a standard for comparison. Awkward conversation is worse anyway. Oh my gosh, though it makes for one of my favorite romance tropes.”
“Which one?” I couldn’t name a single romance trope, actually. I’ve spent my entire career researching and teachingComparative Literature or reading old mythology tomes. Romance makes rare appearances and is usually tragic.
“Stuck in an elevator together.”
Being stuck in an elevator sounds like a nightmare and somehow I’d love to get trapped in one with Rhianna. Hours of conversation with her with no excuse for it to end. I imagine she’d have me chuckling within minutes and forgetting the situation not long after that. Disappointment would fill me when the electricity finally returned, and we began moving again.
