Chapter Four
Joy
My little four-door sedan was not made for steep, rutted roads in the snow. Even so, I was determined to make it to Alden’s place. Literacy was important, so I was delivering books.
Liar.
I was shooting my shot, but stealthily. I wasn’t going to jump on him when he opened the door. His reaction to seeing me should tell me what I want to know about how far into fantasy land I had traveled with this crush.
Besides, I didn’t have plans tonight. Since I’d had to work until five today, it made sense to leave all the festivities for tomorrow.
The fact that it left me plenty of time to sort of stalk Alden was a coincidence.
Too bad the snow slowed me down.
When I finally arrived in Alden’s driveway, it was a relief to put the car in Park.
It was a cold night, and snowflakes gathered on my curls as I hustled to his front door.
I knocked, and my eyes ran over him when he answered the door. He was wearing a simple pair of sweats with a well-worn T-shirt. Nothing groundbreaking in terms of fashion, but on him, it was way too enticing.
He stared for entirely too long, and the urge to fidget was strong.
Did he want me to go? Maybe I should go.
Finally, he spoke. “Joy?”
“Alden.”
“What are you doing here? It’s freezing out.”
“So I guess you should let me in, then.” So far, I had no idea which way this evening would go.
He stepped back quickly. “Right, yeah. I’m just surprised to see you, or anyone, actually. It’s Christmas Eve, and the snow’s really coming down.”
I pulled my coat off and hung it by the door. Alden didn’t quite seem like himself, but luckily for both of us, I wasn’t above being pushy. “I brought you some more books. The library is closed until the twenty-seventh. I thought you might need them.”
His face softened. “You really didn’t have to do that. You look like you were headed to a Christmas party.”
I glanced down. I was in a pair of red tights. My sweater was long enough to cover my butt and had a picture of a penguin in a Santa hat on it. Tame by the standards of my Christmas wardrobe. “I was working today. No plans tonight, so I can stay and give you a hand with your research.”
So much for playing it cool.
He froze.
“If you want me to.” Fuck, I began to think the answer I didn’t want was the only one I would get.
He licked his lips. “Um, yeah, no, that would be great.”
Was I making him nervous? Or did he just want me out of his house?
He grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses from the kitchen before sitting on the couch.
Smart man.
Now we were getting somewhere…or he needed booze to deal with me.
I watched him settle into his space. Part of me wanted to abandon my mission and just go home. I didn’t want to put him in an awkward situation.
Then a thought struck me. “Were you planning to spend the evening alone?”
He scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, I just wasn’t up for a big family Christmas this year.”
I nodded and pointed at the front door. “Did you want me to—”
“No, no, please stay. You always had a way of getting me out of my head. Besides, I’ve learned I am no expert on romance and you are.”
Expert might be a stretch, although I did have a degree in English lit and a Master’s in Library Science. I also had one hell of a romance novel addiction, but he didn’t need to know that.
What warmed my heart was the first part of what he said.
I had always felt like we balanced each other well.
Apparently, he thought so too. He was in a shitty place mentally and had come back here to heal.
My personality wasn’t small. I didn’t really have a filter.
In situations when someone needs to avoid crowds and be quiet, I am not the person to call.
But he said I got him out of his head. So for as long as this visit lasted, I wouldn’t treat him with kid gloves.
I would be myself and let the chips fall where they may. “Have you read any of the books yet?”
“Just one,” he said, pouring the wine and handing me a glass. “I was surprised by how…explicit it was.”
I laughed. “Oh no! Were you clutching your pearls?”
He glared at me. “I was expecting moonlight and roses and stuff.”
I snorted. “Oh, Alden, no. It’s about crafting a fantasy that resonates with your readers. Most readers are middle-aged women, so the fantasy includes a man with a decent dick who knows how to use it.”
He turned scarlet. Like, if I were a nurse, I’d be checking his vitals. “I’ll need to do more research.” He took a healthy drink of his wine.
I’d love to volunteer for some hands-on research.
I pulled a notebook from my purse. “I spent a little time thinking about the most important elements of a good romance story and wrote them down. We could start there if you want.”
He sighed. “Sure, I need the dumbed-down version, please.”
I blabbed on for a while about the basics of romance novels. The emotions, the connections, seeing a person for who they really are, growing together, and all of that.
“Okay, I think that gets me past Romance 101,” he said after I stopped talking.
“One more thing.” I turned to face him more fully, the wine creating a pleasant warmth through my system. “This is a vital rule. Do not use the word moist in a sex scene.”
“What? Like to describe a woman’s…area. Why?” The blush that had receded as I talked came roaring back. “I mean, you don’t want to describe it as dry, right?”
I nodded, noticing my wineglass was empty and reaching for the bottle to refill it. “Yeah, but moist makes people squirm, you know? You think of a basement with mold and spiders.” I shuddered.
His already low brows were pinched together. “This is seriously a rule?”
I nodded again. “Hang on.” I grabbed my phone and typed thesaurus: moist into a search engine. “Ah, see. Alternate words for moist include: clammy, dank, muggy, humid. Sounds great for growing orchids, but it’s not going to grow a lady boner in your reader.”
He blinked a few times and shook his head. “Lady boner? Is that how I’m supposed to describe her anatomy?”
“Oh.” I sat up straighter. I was on a roll now. “That is another mess to navigate. Gotta be careful how you describe the fun bits. Everyone on BookTok has an opinion.”
“BookTok.” He rubbed his temple. “So what do you recommend, oh wise one?”
I considered his question. “Well, it’s tricky. I’ve seen a flower metaphor used a lot. I don’t like the word petals, though. Petals are pretty, but then she’s going to want to get pounded, and there is nothing sexy about turning a flower to mulch.”
“No mulch, got it. I’ll be sure to write that down.”
“Exactly, but you don’t want anything too tough like Temple of Doom or something, that’s just terrifying.”
“This isn’t actually helping.” he said with a smirk.
“I am just giving you options. You could go fun and playful. Penis flytrap is a personal favorite. Overall, I’d stick with folds or pussy. But again…controversial.”