Page 32 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
This is a big deal. Adam hasn’t dated anyone since that redheaded film major his sophomore year. If he hadn’t taken the breakup so hard, it would have been a cute case of puppy love. But he did take it hard—failed classes, couldn’t get out of bed, drank himself to sleep hard. We’ve all been sort of protective of him ever since.
“You can’t tell anyone,” he says.
“Who would I tell? I’m not exactly on speaking terms with anyone in the family.” Not that it matters in the case of Julie and Portia. They’re both too busy for little-sibling drama.
Adam freezes. “Oh, right.” He giggles. “Right.”
“So…” I grab a slice of pizza. “Who is she?”
Adam inhales. “It’s really complicated, and I’m trying not to get ahead of myself.”
“Is she a film major?”
“No.” Adam shudders. “The universe isn’t that cruel.” Adam is an untethered buoy bobbing up and down. He opens his fridge only to close it, his lips pressed into a frown. “I don’t even know if I’m on her radar.”
It’s cute how much he sounds like an angsty teen right now. “Is she into the whole comics scene?”
Adam grins. “Oh yeah.”
“Then you’re on her radar.” I wipe my fingers on a napkin. “Now, what did your friend and my future landlord say?”
Adam successfully retrieves two bottles of ginger ale that I stocked in his fridge, along with a couple eggs. “He said you can sign the contract and get the keys on Saturday.”
“That’s three days away.”
Adam pulls the sugar out of his cabinet and knocks over a jar of cinnamon. “Just enough time to hire movers to haul all your cactuses down from Del Mar.”
“Who needs movers when I have a brother?” I bat my eyes and grin.
“Can’t. I have lab hours on Friday morning and work all weekend.”
“Fine.” I suppose I should figure out what I’m bringing anyway. “Hey, could you ask your friend if I could stop by the cottage on my lunch break tomorrow? I want to take measurements for furniture.”
Adam texts as he dumps flour into a mixing bowl. Moments later, his phone pings. “He says he’ll leave it unlocked.”
I’m happy to see the books still in the cottage. There are fewer today, though—only a couple of stacks on the floor, their spines to the wall—and the chair is gone.
It’s as if these books are just set dressing. Decoration only. “Not fooling anyone.”
I pull out my tape measure and set about measuring. Yes, my queen bed will fit, but I’ll need a skinnier nightstand. Doable.
Task complete, I give in to the call of the books. I grab the nearest and start reading all the notes. It’s an old but pretty hardback ofNorthanger Abbey. I might have passed out on the floor if it had been a copy ofPride and Prejudice. My soon-to-be landlord’s running commentary is exceptional, though he isn’t a fan of the book. The margins are filled with snarky comments.
Why,he wrote,does anyone read this book?
I grab the pen—a purple one—from my purse and begin writing in the margins too.Because Austen got it. She got whatit was to be wrapped up in a romantic idea. It’s satirical and charming and so gosh darn relatable.
I underline my favorite passages.Love isn’t always sexy passion. Sometimes unrequited love is clumsy, embarrassing, but still wonderful.
I find some of my favorite passages are already underlined. Others are not.This,I write.This is sweet.
I circle a passage.You missed this part.
And here.
It’s like I know this man. Like he’s in the room.
My phone buzzes with another FroggoDoggo request. Real life is calling, even though I want to stay with these books forever. I want to imagine a hand posed with a pen attached to a handsome man deep in thought holding this book.
