Page 50 of The Boyfriend Material Novellas

“Often I think it’s the only thing worth chasing,” she says, then adds with a sigh, “but sometimes responsibilities get in the way.”

“They do. So you seize your chances for happiness.”

“Are you happy?”

I smile. “I’m pretty sure the way I feel right now is the very definition of the word.”

The look on her face is magical, like I’ve said the one perfect thing, so I do my best to keep up my winning streak. “Do you want to go to a bookstore?”

I’m rewarded with another smile. “I would love to. That’s the other definition of happiness.”

6

MARLEY

The bookstore is quiet, and the delicious smell of pages drifts through the shelves. Patrons lounge in well-worn leather chairs, reading books of poetry or tales of love gone awry.

Truth be told, I have no idea what they’re reading, but it feels like that’s what they must be inhaling. Or maybe they’re devouring stories of strangers who meet for a moment in time, who connect in an instant electric burst, then the firecracker fizzles out, leaving the night pitch-black.

For a second, a storm cloud descends on me.

That’s what today is with Reid. I knew that when we first rose from the bench and wandered along the river.

We’re a moment in time. A starburst. A spark against the sky that burns bright and fast.

But I’m embracing it.

Even though there’s a part of me that’s wishing, wanting for today to last beyond this date on the calendar.

Only that’s silly.

Today is what it is.

A day.

Heck, it’s a few hours. A moment in time.

And time should be cherished.

We walk past a table that holds gift books, including a coffee table one with photos of Paris. I run my thumb across the cover then open it, flipping through the images. I point to the ones I like best. Paris in the rain. Paris in the snow. Paris in the sun. “This makes me happy too. These pictures.”

He flips to an image of a café. “And that does the trick for me.”

I set down the book, and we wander through the mysteries, whispering about poisons and butlers and deadly nights. The steps creak as we head up the staircase to the second floor. It all feels so European. On the second floor, we wander through the stacks of English-language titles.

He picks up a book with a sad-looking man on the cover, staring forlornly into the distance. “He’s having a bad day, isn’t he?” Reid whispers.

“A terrible one, but if you get that book, yours will become worse.”

“I’ll return it straight away,” he says, tucking it back on the shelf, then stepping closer to me. “Perhaps I should find a book that will only make the day better.” He takes a beat. “But that would seem impossible.”

I look down, then at him, and smile. My stomach flips when he holds my gaze. “I agree.” I lick my lips, then continue along the aisle, where I grab a book with an image of a skillet on the front. “Top Skillet Recipes to Change Your Life.” I tap it. “This will make your day amazing.”

He nods seriously. “That’s true. That does look like a day-brightening book.”

“It’s your typical airplane read,” I tease as we walk past an alcove with an old typewriter perched on a tiny oval table. A handwritten note on the typewriter’s keys saysDrink each day.

I stare at it for a long time. Reid does the same. “Is that a directive to grab a pint?”

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